#cs olympics

“I’m not going to say that. You’re in the quarterfinals. You play against Svitolina, who you have an excellent record against, and then in the semis, it could go either way with French or Stephens. That’s who we’re worried about. We’re not thinking about the finals until we’re in the finals.”

“I’m not thinking about just the finals. I’m thinking about the fact that I played Madrid, Rome, Roland Garros, Eastbourne, Wimbledon, Washington, here. And now I’m supposed to fly to Rio for the Olympics, then fly to Cincinnati, and then New York. And after New York, we almost immediately fly to Beijing, and it doesn’t stop. I get, what? A month and a half off, but it’s not really off time because we spend that time fixing everything for next season. The only way I get a break is if I lose or I get injured, and I don’t want either of those things.”

Emma’s chest heaves as she finishes speaking, the words flying out faster than her mind can come up with them as she runs through her tournament schedule, and David doesn’t blink. He stares at her like he always does, and sometimes she swears it’s like staring at a male version of herself. And she knows what’s coming. She always does. David never got to play past college, the professional circuit too much for his body, and he always pulls the card of how much he would give to be playing right now, to be in her position. She gets it. If she was in his position, she would do the same thing, but right now, all she really wants is to cry.

“You have worked too hard to quit, Emma,” David sighs, giving her a patented big-brother condescending stare. “You are not going to quit. I know this part of the season is rough, but you push through it every year. And imagine how good it’s going to feel when you have a gold medal around your neck or when you have that US Open trophy in your hands. You don’t get to play forever, and you’re the one who said that you weren’t quitting when everyone would have easily expected it. Do you want to prove them right?”

Emma moves in the bath, sinking a little lower, and damn, her sports bra is going to be impossible to get off. Her gaze shifts from David to the TV where ESPN commentators are sitting at a desk, her Nike-approved picture on the screen beside them. They run through the stats of her match and then her overall career stats. She’s twenty-eight, which is apparently at the end of her career according to them, world number seven, which is also abysmal to them somehow, and she is not living up to her potential when she is a former world number one, six-time grand slam champion, and a gold medalist from four years ago in London.

She groans and tries not to think about how much she hates all the people who work for ESPN. They have their favorites and the ones they hate, and since she is not a mediocre American male or one of the all-time greats, she’s somewhere in between. Usually, she doesn’t listen to the comments, to the pundits, to the assholes. She tries to stay away from that because it will drive her into a deep state of negativity, but lately, it’s like she can’t get enough of listening to what people say about her as if it is going to give her some kind of insight to her game.

She doesn’t crave their validation, but maybe, in a twisted way, she does.

“She gave birth sixteen months ago,” Mary Jo sighs. “She came back a year after giving birth. She is not going to be who she was before she had a child. The fact that she’s won enough this year to be in the top ten is amazing when she started with no ranking since there are no tour protections for maternity leave. She’s a champion, and sometimes champions struggle as they get their form back.”

“Sixteen months is a long damn time,” Patrick says, and Emma’s vagina would beg to differ. “She should be back to how she was or she shouldn’t be playing.”

“Have you given birth, Patrick? Because unless you have, I don’t think you get a say.”

“It’s my job to say what I think.”

“Still, I think – ”

The television clicks off, and Emma’s gaze finds its way back to David. “We’re not listening to them. It’ll piss you off. Mary Jo is right. You’re doing amazing, and I don’t want you to forget that.”

Emma doesn’t know if she’s doing amazing, doesn’t feel that way a lot of the time. This job is hard enough, to kill your body while also having the eyes of the world on you, but adding in a baby? It’s nearly impossible. A few other women have done it before her, not all with spectacular returns or returns at all, and she wants to keep getting better and play for long enough that Olivia will be able to see her mom play and remember it.

She’s not just doing it for herself. She’s doing it for her daughter, whose entrance into the world was unplanned, terrifying, and the best damn thing to ever happen to Emma even if she doubts herself in motherhood every day.

“I miss her,” Emma whispers to David, reaching up to play with her necklace, Olivia’s initials engraved in the gold circle. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it two more weeks without seeing her.”

“Do you want me to get Mary Margaret to FaceTime you with her? They’ve been watching your match at home.”

“No, no.” She shakes her head and releases the pendant, her resolve back as she inhales and focuses on her job. “Let’s do the rest of my recovery and talk about the match. I’ll call them when we get back to the hotel. I don’t want to get my mind too much out of the game.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

-/-

She wins her next match. And the next.

She loses in the final.

It stings more than her losses usually do, and there have been a hell of a lot of them, but she wanted to win another premiere event. She’s only been winning small events so far this year and making it to the later stages of the bigger events, but she keeps falling short when it’s time for her to push herself over the limit. Emma knows that her time will come, but she’s exhausted.

-/-

She flies to Rio with the rest of the American team who were playing in Montreal and Toronto, and she sleeps the entire ride down.

It’s the most sleep she’s gotten since she gave birth.

-/-

The 2012 Olympics felt familiar for Emma. The matches happened at Wimbledon, a place she’s known since she was sixteen years old and has watched on TV since she was even younger than that. Tennis players were isolated from the rest of the sports and events, and they all stayed in their usual rented houses and apartments instead of the Village or other hotels. Rio is different and completely unfamiliar. She’s staying in the Village, and while the amenities aren’t the best, the spirit of the Games are everywhere. She’s seeing athletes she’s only ever seen on TV before, meeting dozens of people whose names quickly slip out of her mind no matter how hard she tries to keep them there, and it’s impossible not to get excited to see all of these great athletes gathered together.

When she was a kid sitting in a foster home with David, the two of them wondering if they’d ever have a forever home, they would watch reruns of the Olympics on the TV, just waiting for the live ones to come around. It was an escape to get to watch people only a few years older than them doing these great things, and even after Ruth adopted them and paid for them to play sports, they never could have imagined being here.

Emma, sitting on a park bench outside with prestigious gymnasts walking in front of her, still can’t imagine it, and she’s literally here.

“Am I allowed to sit here or is that considered fraternizing with the enemy?”

Emma glances up and sees Killian Jones already sliding onto the bench in front of her. He’s darker than the last time she saw him in person, his hair longer, teeth possibly whiter, and he definitely hasn’t shaved in a few too many days. But the cocky, almost a little too arrogant, smile is the same, and even if she said no, he would still sit across from her. She knows him well enough to know that now.

“As far as I’m aware, you’re not playing mixed doubles, so I don’t think you count as an enemy.”

“Ah, but, love, Americans and Brits have been enemies since the beginning. That doesn’t change here.”

“Everyone else gets along. You’re just a competitive ass.”

“Indeed I am.” He wiggles his brows and leans forward, smirk stretched across his lips. “So, I was handed a bag full of Olympic-themed condoms when I checked in. Would you like to go try them out?”

“Shut up,” Emma laughs, kicking his leg. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Too many things to count.” He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, muscles ever-so-slightly bulging underneath his Team Great Britain t-shirt. She’s wearing a similar one with USA emblazoned in the biggest font she’s ever seen. Not a lot of subtly going on at the moment. “Where’s Ruby? David? Any of the other Americans? Shouldn’t you all be eating or practicing or doing something besides sitting on a bench by the water?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“Touché, Swan. Touché. Will and I were on the way to eat, but I saw you and got distracted. I don’t have practice until later. Rob is forcing me to give myself a break so I don’t exhaust myself after Toronto.”

“Well, you do have old bones.”

“Oi, I am thirty-two and at the top of my game. How many people can say that?”

“Anyone who is not an athlete.”

Killian shrugs and tilts his head to the side, rolling his shoulders. He’s right, though. Killian is playing better than he ever has. He’s always been good ever since he was touted to be Great Britain’s next big thing. She watched for years as the British media slagged him off for not having won Wimbledon despite having won the other majors two times around, but six years ago, he won after a five-hour, grueling match and fell onto the ground. The image was everywhere, and now, every time she’s in London or Wimbledon, that image lines the walls. It’s how she felt when she won the US Open. All of the major are special, but winning your home one, if you’re lucky enough to have one, is something else. And now Killian is world number one once more, has won two majors in a row with several premiere events in between, and with his form, she can’t imagine him losing.

But that’s why you lace up the sneakers. You never know what’s going to happen.

She’s been around the game long enough to know that.

Killian too.

Their paths have crossed for years, mostly because they have the same sponsors and do a lot of promotional events together, but the more they both started winning, the more they’d see each other at tournaments and dinners and everything in between. It’s a busy life, and while there’s time to make friends outside of tennis, sometimes it’s easier to find people in the industry.

She’s not entirely sure she would call Killian Jones a friend.

“Have you eaten, love?” he asks.

“Not yet.” On cue, her stomach growls, and he smirks, not that he really stopped.

“Why don’t you come with me? You can sit with us before we take the bus to the courts for training.”

“What happened to fraternizing with the enemy?”

He leans forward and winks. “For you, I’ll make an exception.”

Emma laughs but nods and stands with Killian as they walk to the main dining hall. It’s packed, the room echoing with conversation and laughter, and Emma and Killian are stopped several times to take pictures and sign autographs, something she will never get used to, before they sit down with Will, Rob, and several other plays from all around the world. For a minute, it’s like they’re in their usual bubble that they live in for the rest of the year with only tennis players around, but then Emma sees Usain Bolt walk by and she knows they’re not.

This is weird.

This is wonderful.

This is almost everything.

-/-

The Opening Ceremonies are long and sometimes boring, and she hates the outfit she has to wear, but she doesn’t know if she’ll get to do this again in four years so she savors it.

She savors it all, walking side by side with Ruby, Ashley, and Anna, and she takes all of it in before her mind switches to work-mode as she runs through her opponent for her first match. The nerves have been pushed down in favor of the experience, but they’re back and in full-force.

She cannot lose in the first round.

-/-

She doesn’t. -/-

She doesn’t lose her next few matches either.

-/-

Emma’s made it to the quarterfinals in both singles and doubles with Ruby after several days of long matches and struggling to see the ball – whoever thought making a fully green court with green side walls for tennis has obviously never played tennis, and she never wants to play on center court again – and she knows she’s one win away from guaranteeing that she plays in a medal-winning match.

It’s a relief and pressure all at once, something she’ll never grow used to, and as the sun sets and the village begins to get loud, Emma sits on her balcony watching the fountains in the lake light up. Ruby is off with Mulan somewhere Emma would rather not know about and will probably not be back to their room until at least tomorrow morning if the look on Ruby’s face was any indication, so Emma thinks she might get a little time to sit down and breathe for a moment, watching different events on TV. She could go watch them, but she doesn’t think her legs will carry her there.

Until her phone buzzes with a text that she quickly answers, and not three minutes later, there’s a knock at her door.

Emma quickly opens it, pulling him inside, and Killian kicks the door closed behind him as he cups her cheeks and kisses her, long and slow but with enough heat simmering below the surface that Emma knows there could be a promise of more later.

She’s seen him nearly every day for the past week, but she’s missed him.

She’s missed this.

His mouth moves expertly over hers in a rhythm that’s been practiced to perfection, and she feels dizzy with his kiss and holds onto his hair to keep her standing up. The Brazilian summer air wafts through the room, coating it in a thick heat, but Emma doesn’t pay any attention to that as heat curls between her thighs, warming her more than the air ever could. Her legs ache from the match, her arms feel heavy, but Killian makes her forget those things as he lays her down on the bed and kisses every inch of her body, spending time with his dark head of hair buried beneath her thighs until she can no longer speak.

Until she can scarcely breathe as well.

She manages to laugh, though, when he pulls out one of the condoms that has the Olympics logo on it, and she and Killian makes jokes about it as he slides into her, a thick sheath of heat that she never gets used to. It’s slow at first, a gentle rocking that keeps her teetering on the edge, but their bodies are tired and worn, and soon, it’s a race to the finish line.

Emma comes in first, not that it matters.

(But it does feel good to beat him.)

(They’re both competitive asses.)

(Even when they shouldn’t be.)

After, they’re both slick with sweat that doesn’t go away as their bodies press together on the small twin bed. Emma almost wishes she had rented a house outside the village like David and some of the other coaches did, but she doesn’t want to give up the experience. And it’s fine, especially as Killian shifts behind her and lets her settle into him, her hips pressing back into his as his arm wraps around to rest on her stomach, fingers occasionally searching out for her breast.

Emma is exhausted, but this is the best she’s felt in weeks.

(She definitely couldn’t walk to any of the events now, and she did want to see Phelps swim.)

“You played bloody fantastic in your doubles match today.”

“Not my singles?”

“I played at the same time as you. I didn’t get a chance to watch.”

Emma hums and leans further back into him. She’s glad Killian did most of the work because just thinking about how much she’s got to move again tomorrow is making her sore. “I played well there too. Straight sets.”

“Atta girl.” His lips press into her neck, stubble scratching across the skin. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh, that’s always dangerous.”

Killian laughs but nudges his knee into her, which really only settles his cock between her ass, but she’s too tired to think of doing anything else. “I’ve been thinking,” he continues, “that I’m going to withdraw from Cincinnati and fly home instead.”

“To London?”

“To Palm Beach. I think it might be nice to have a calm week between tournaments to spend time with my girlfriend.”

“Oh really? You’ll have to tell her your plan. I’m sure she’d like that.”

Killian tickles her stomach, making her squirm, before he lightly pinches her side. “Mhm. I thought we might also like to spend time with our daughter since FaceTime isn’t cutting it for me anymore. I swear she’s grown three feet since I last saw her.”

“Four, I think. She’s basically a full-grown adult now with all that walking and talking she’s doing.”

“Has she said any new words I’m not aware of?”

“Nope. She still can only say the three.”

“Good. I’m glad I didn’t miss anything else.” Killian kisses the side of Emma’s neck again, and she twists around, wrapping her arms around him and pressing their noses together as she stares into blue, blue eyes that aren’t diminished by the darkened room. “I think we should bring her to New York with us. Hopefully at least one of us will be there for three weeks, and that’s just too long to go without her.”

“We’re staying in a hotel in New York. In two separate suites, I might add.”

“But we don’t have to.”

“Killian…”

His hand brushes down her side, warmth permeating from the rough fingertips, before it rests on her hip, thumb moving in soothing circles. “I’ve already called and seen if they could give me the Penthouse. It’s an entire floor with private entrances and a private elevator. Our teams can stay with us or they can stay in the original suites we were designated. I know you bring her with you when you can and that I sneak in visits, but I want to be able to stay with my daughter.”

This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation, and if she doesn’t say yes to it, it won’t be the last.

Things between she and Killian are complicated. They’re relationship isn’t, not anymore. At first, she couldn’t stand him, thought he was genuinely this cocky asshole from the way he talked in matches and in off-court interviews, like he was God’s gift to the sport or something. Then they ended up both winning in Australia four years ago, and while doing press together, she saw a different, kinder side to him that she hadn’t previously seen when they worked together in Nike promotions.

Fast forward through a lot of early morning calls, late night rendezvous in their hotel rooms, and a heck of a lot of texts and FaceTime sessions, and somewhere along the way, the impenetrable Emma Swan fell in love with the impossible Killian Jones.

They kept it secret, the both of them knowing how vicious the media is to athletes that date each other, especially since Killian was going through a wrist injury that was somehow his fault according to the pundits and that he was getting hounded pretty hard at the time. They didn’t know if it was going to work, neither of them having stellar relationship records, but they figured eventually they would be okay with the world knowing.

Then came the positive pregnancy test, and Emma’s entire world shifted.

She was at the top of her game, at the top of her world, and as hard as it is for her to admit now, she didn’t want Olivia. She wanted to keep living her life the way it was. That was a possibility but not one she was willing to take, so she stopped playing but kept training as she and Killian figured out how they were going to do this.

They’re never home, rarely together, and they were both way out of their leagues. It would have been easier to tell the world they were together, that Killian was the father, but Olivia’s protection is worth more than their ease.

Now, though, looking at the crease between Killian’s brow and the sadness pooled in his eyes, she wonders if they’re doing the right thing.

“I know. I’m sorry. I – ” Emma’s lips quiver, and she nearly cries. She’s exhausted beyond belief and doesn’t know what to do, so she buries her face in Killian’s neck and wraps her arms around him. “Can we talk about this on the plane ride home?”

Emma says home as if they’re going to the same place after this. They’re not. But maybe she should listen to Killian and take the break she’s been craving.

“Aye, love, if that’s what you want.”

She nods and feels his lips ghost over the crown of her hair. “I want to lay here with you and not think about tennis or make hard decisions.”

“You want to talk about how bloody uncomfortable this bed is?”

Emma laughs. “It really makes you miss those awful ones in Paris.”

“You had to ask for a new one.”

“It was so worth it.”

-/-

They FaceTime Olivia in the morning. Mary Margaret has her in a matching outfit to Emma’s uniform, and Killian scoffs that she’s representing America instead of Great Britain.

Emma thinks it’s the best thing in the world, and it reminds her who she’s playing for.

It’s not for her country, not for herself. It’s for her daughter.

Their daughter.

-/-

The next two days drag by and yet she has a difficult time keeping up with them. Her practices are long, recovery longer as her shoulders are massaged and legs are iced, and Ruby has to drag her out onto the court for doubles when all she wants to do is sleep. She’s not used to playing this many matches in such a short period of time, and while having Ruby on court with her helps lessen how much she runs, her legs are still aching.

She’s almost to the finish line. She can make it.

“Those legs are too pretty for you to be dragging them like that,” Ruby jokes as they sit down during a changeover in the third set of their quarterfinal match. Emma reaches for her energy drink and takes a sip before biting into a banana while Ruby shakes her legs.

“I can’t make them move.”

“Yes, you can,” Ruby insists. “You already won your singles today, and we’re four games away from winning this match. I will kick your ass if we don’t win this.”

“Can you kick my ass if it’s already kicked?”

“I can indeed.” Ruby pats Emma’s knees and smiles. “Come on, hot mama. We’ve got this.”

And it’s tough, but they do.

Emma and Ruby go through recovery, and when Emma checks her watch, she sees that Killian’s match is just about to start.

“Do you want to get a bus across the grounds and go watch swimming?” Ruby asks her as David massages her calf. It’s not his job, so he obviously can’t stop complaining about doing it.

“I think I want to watch Killian’s match. Can we get seats in the stadium? Is his box empty?”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” David asks her as her muscle spasms.

“If we all go, it won’t be suspicious. He’s playing Sam, so they might think we’re supporting the Americans.”

“Aren’t we?”

Her eyes roll. “Not in this situation. Come on. Text Rob and see if we can get into Killian’s box.”

David levels her with a stare, and she knows he’s going to say no, that it’s a bad idea. But then he releases her leg and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

They end up going still dressed in their match clothes, and Emma puts on a sweatshirt, a cap, and sunglasses to hide herself as much as possible. She knows it won’t work considering she’s literally wearing the outfit she has worn all week, but she can at least try. It’s been years since she’s gotten to watch one of Killian’s matches from somewhere other than the locker room or her hotel room, and she’s missed the magic of watching him play. He’s fluid with his motions, even if they are slower than they used to be, and his groundstrokes are powerful from the baseline. She knows from the moment that she sits down that he’s winning this match. She can tell by the way he’s carrying himself and the determination in his eyes. She grabs her phone and snaps a picture just as he looks her way, brow raised in question but a smile on his lips.

-/-

Killian wins his match, and she finds him in the tunnel afterward, his team creating a wall around them, and wraps her arms around him, not caring that they are both disgustingly sweaty or around other people.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“And I you.” The corner of his lips brush against her temple. “You’re amazing, Emma. Bloody amazing.”

“You too, my love.”

-/-

Emma wins the semifinals of both of her matches.

Killian wins his.

They’re both playing in gold medal matches – Emma definitely brags about how she’s playing two while Killian is only playing one – and she wants to vomit.

Holy shit.

-/-

“Say hi to your mommy,” Mary Margaret tells Olivia as Olivia keeps smacking her hand on the screen. “Your mom and dad are there trying to talk to you, Livvie.”

Emma leans her head onto Killian’s shoulder as they both stare into the screen waiting for Olivia to move her hand. She does with some help from Mary Margaret, and then bright green eyes show up. She has Emma’s eyes and dirty blonde hair that’s thick and wavy, but everything else about her screams Killian, especially her smile. Emma has missed that smile.

“Hello, little love.” Killian waves and tries to get her attention, but she couldn’t care less. “Don’t you want to talk to us?”

She makes a noise that isn’t a word, and Mary Margaret sighs. “I’m sorry. She’s been asking about you two, but now that you’re there, she doesn’t care. I tried to tell her what a big deal the two of you were, but she doesn’t care.”

“I’ll have to tell her how incredible her mother is later. She’s going to be the first women to win two singles golds in a row as well as the first mum to do it. And she’s going to have two more medals than me. Showing me up in every category.”

“That’s assuming you win, Jones. I could have three more gold medals than you.”

“I do love a challenge.”

Olivia starts giggling, Emma’s favorite noise on the planet, and she tries to memorize it to keep with her always. She knows Killian does too.

-/-

Emma’s gold medal matches are the day before Killian’s, and she’s jealous he gets a day off to rest. He tells her he’s going to spend the entire time training, sneaking in and out of other events, and watching her matches. She rolls her eyes at his texts because she’s sure he won’t have time to do all of that.

And yet he does.

She sees him in the stands during her doubles match. Ruby points him out when they’re in the middle of discussing serving spots, and Emma laughs at her calling him “lover boy” in a horrible British accent. She always calls him a ridiculous name, and of the few people who know of Emma’s private life, she’s glad Ruby is one of them.

Even if she’s still laughing and double faults on an important point.

It doesn’t matter, though, because within an hour and fifteen minutes, their shortest match of the tournament, she’s on the court’s floor with Ruby sobbing because they won a fucking gold medal.

She gets so little time to savor it, however, because the medal ceremony happens so quickly that she can barely take It all in. She also has press to do, and David has to practically force her into the media room where she and Ruby are hounded with more questions than congratulation as they clutch onto their medals. Ruby handles it like the pro she is while Emma’s nerves start to get the best of her as more people start talking about what she has on the line.

To be the first man or woman to win two gold singles medals in consecutive Olympics.

To win another gold medal for her country.

To be the first mother since Clijsters to win a major tournament.

To win her first big tournament since her comeback.

To have the possibility to win another gold medal in Tokyo in four years if she’s still playing.

It’s a lot, and she knows it. She’s been thinking about all of it every day this week, and her track record of choking in finals lately is pushing at the forefront of her mind.

She doesn’t know if she can do it.

And yet she does.

She laces up her sneakers, pulls her hair back, and takes a deep breath as she blocks everything out of her mind except for her game plan. She knows how the game is played. She’s been playing since she was twelve years old, and even though that’s a late start compared to most people, it’s gotten her here.

Emma walks out of the tunnel as her name is announced over the speakers, and even though all she can hear is the cheer of the crowd, she lets her mind go back to Olivia’s laugh, Killian’s smile, David’s pep talk, Ruby’s ridiculous texts. She thinks of all the things that push her when she wants to stop, and she reminds herself that no matter what happens, she’s done her best.

She could have given up the moment the stick said “pregnant.” She could have packed it all in, but she didn’t. She’s here, and she’s better than any excuse she could come up with not to be.

People have tried to tell her who she is her entire life, but she’s pushed back and said, “no, this is who I am.” Emma still has to do that now, no matter how many times she has proven herself.

The ice bath in Montreal where she wanted to quit seems years away when it was only eight days.

-/-

Emma looks to Ruby then David then Killian as she takes a deep breath on match point. Killian smiles and gives her a subtle nod, and then she raises the ball in the air, ready to toss it.

-/-

Game. Set. Gold freaking medal.

-/-

Afterward, she falls to the ground, her knees aching as they hit the asphalt, and her body can’t stop shaking with her sobs. She doesn’t know what she feels or how she feels or even where she is, and she only gets up from the ground when she hears her family calling for her. She slowly rises from the ground, runs across the court to congratulate her opponent on playing a good match, and then she’s running to the stands and climbing up with David’s help. She embraces him first. She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. he’s been her rock for her entire life, and he keeps her steady. Then it’s her physio and her agent and Ruby. Then, over to the side, is Killian, and their conversation from a few nights ago comes back to her.

She loves him. She’s proud to be with him. They shouldn’t have to hide their family anymore.

They haven’t exactly been doing a good job of it this week anyway.

So Emma very literally pounces on him, her legs wrapping around his waist, before she remembers that he has a match tomorrow. She can’t miss his back up. He’d never let it go if she did. Her feet fall to the ground, but her arms stay wrapped around Killian’s neck as he whispers words of encouragement and congratulations that she’s always going to keep close to her heart, right next to the necklace with the initials O-S-J on them.

Two people thousands of miles apart were brought together by chances, a whole myriad of them. If Ruth hadn’t adopted Emma and David, they never would have picked up a racket. If Emma had never picked up a racket, she wouldn’t have found her purpose in this world. She wouldn’t have a job or a daughter or a man who loves her in spite of how hard she is to love. There was so much that could have derailed her, both good and bad, and while she could say none of it matters, in some way, it all does.

Because it led her here.

And she doesn’t want to be anywhere else even if she would give anything to be able to hug Olivia right now.

“You did so good, Swan,” Killian whispers, his voice the only one she hears.

“I know.”

He pulls back, and there are tears in his eyes that mirror her own. “So, I guess I have to win tomorrow so your bragging rights don’t get too big.”

“Oh, Jones, you are never catching up with me now,” she teases, all of the exhaustion melting away. “I’m miles ahead of you, but you better win. Olivia doesn’t need to be embarrassed by her dad.”

“Pretty sure that’s my job.”

“Right now, your only job is to help me back down onto the court and then go win yourself a gold medal.”

“Don’t tell the presses you’re rooting for a Brit.”

Emma shrugs as Killian thumbs away tears underneath her eyes. “I don’t care anymore, and I’m definitely going to be sitting in your box tomorrow, cheering louder than anyone else.”

-/-

When Killian wins the next night after a torturous four hours, his fall is almost identical to Emma’s. Though, when he climbs into the stands to get to the box, he immediately goes for Emma, cupping her cheeks and kissing her for the entire world to see.

“I guess I’ll have to figure out a way to embarrass our daughter in another way.”

“I think her parents making out on international TV might do just that.”

-/-

Two days after they get home – they spent the entire first day sleeping and holding Olivia – Emma puts on her three gold medals, Killian puts on his one, and they hold Olivia in between them, her toothy smile brighter than the gold as the photo is taken.

Olivia Swan-Jones has a pretty cool mom and a dad who has some catching up to do in the gold medal department.

It’s Emma’s most liked picture on Instagram, not that she cares about any of those things, and it’s the biggest news story for three days straight despite the literal Olympics still happening.

All Emma cares about, though, is that she has a week off – she opted out of Cincinnati after all, despite David’s protests – she can spend with her family before she and Killian are off to New York where the pressure will be the highest it’s ever been and the media will most likely be losing their shit over Emma and Killian’s announcements.

Olivia will be with her, Killian too, and in the end, that’s all that matters.

Oh, that, and the fact that Emma Swan is officially back, and it feels damn good.

-/-

-/-

Elsa raised her eyebrows at him. "Why are you even reading that, Jones? Given that Regina had to issue actual threats to get you to talk to that journalist I'd have thought you'd want to avoid it."

He sighed and dragged his hand across his face wearily. "Yeah, I bloody well should have.”

He had known the piece would be like this, that it would hurt to read, but the events leading up to the last Olympics caused a wound that wouldn't heal. (Or hadn't, until her, The Saviour, his saviour.)

It was their final rehearsal before they at last took to the rink to compete for Team GB. They had knocked it out of the park, scored a touchdown and a variety of other sporting metaphors. He spun Milah around in delight, kissing her passionately. He'd always known they were contenders, but now he was sure that gold medal was theirs. Tessa and Scott couldn't touch their chemistry - they were so beloved that it seemed the whole world was #Team Millian, regardless of nationality.

Then came the blow to his head that sent him crashing to the ice and his whole world along with it. When he awoke everything had changed: Milah was dead. His left hand damaged. Gold, their former coach and her ex, walked free without so much as a slap on the wrist from the Olympics Committee.

So he ran away, defected to the states, determined to get one over on the country that failed him.

And now that time had come.

Well, tomorrow it would, for now he had to rest.

They were minutes away from taking to the ice and Killian was nervous. They weren't even the favourite of the American teams in the running for bloody bronze. The idea of anyone but the Canadian or French winning silver and gold had not even been considered, it was so utterly unlikely.

But they could do it, Killian knew they could.

The world may have been skeptical at the announcement of their partnership, but dancing with Elsa had seemed entirely logical. Her detached demeanour (“Frost by name, frosty by nature” was a joke she'd heard one too many times) suited his need for an entirely platonic relationship. And her looks running in stark contrast to Milah’s didn't hurt either. He was to help Elsa to put her heart into sometimes sterile style, she could improve his precision and refine his technique.

The latter of these worked at least, they could twizzle in perfect unison and they had the required pattern down. But it was the free dance that could earn them the big points and that's where they'd faltered. His spirit had been poisoned such that it was hard to convey deepest devotion when every spin on the ice bore a reminder: love brought nothing but endless torment.

But then came Swan.

It was some kind of romantic ice dancing cliché: falling for your coach - second only to falling for your actual partner. And yet, here he was.

She was just so easy to love, or so he thought. She challenged him and made him better - made both of them better. Elsa’s relentless perfectionism had eased under the coaching of a true friend. She could often be heard reciting the mantra Emma taught her “let it go, let it go.” And as for him? She had helped him to heal and move on. Not that she would ever know.

They'd been working with Emma for weeks and the improvement was significant. It was enough to make Killian wonder if she actually did have magic powers. They were stood in their final pose, having just completed their dance for Emma. They had skated well and he could see the tiny flicker of pride in Elsa’s eyes that he was sure was reflected in his own - they had nailed it for sure.

“Seriously? That's what you call romance?” He turned to her in disbelief.

“What more do you want from us?”

“You have to use your emotion - in a good way. You look like.. like a man who's pissed at his robot for not loving him.”

Elsa huffed, quietly indignant, but outwardly calm as ever while he raged. “Well perhaps you should show us how it's done, almighty Saviour.” He gave her a mocking bow, eyes flashing at her in challenge.

“Please. You couldn't handle it.” His eyebrows shot up in shock, he'd never seen this teasing side to her before.

“Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it?”

She rolled her eyes but skated over to them. She shooed Elsa to the side and guided him to resume the final pose with her wrapped in his arms. She gazed up at him with adoration and it felt incredible. His heart beat faster and his breath quickened - he might have cursed his body for its clichéd reaction to the feel of the warmth of a beautiful woman's body, if he weren't so busy getting lost in her eyes. His own eyes softened and he smiled despite himself, leaning in when she licked her lips. “And that's how it's done,” she said, pushing back from him and turning to Elsa. “Killian’s got a romantic soul, flash him a look of love and he will follow your lead. Now, try that dance again.” Emma skated back to the side and Killian touched his fingers to his lips, startled at his close he'd come to kissing his coach. Sure, he'd always kind of fancied her - when she wasn't yelling at him - but this?

“Come on, Jones!” Elsa called, “enough with the yearning looks, it's time to skate.” She dropped her voice low so that only he could hear. “Something tells me that you'll never look at me the way you look at her.” His jaw dropped open, he wanted to fling a sarcastic remark back at her, but he stopped himself, unwilling to let Swan hear. (And besides, a small voice inside whispered that she was right.)

They'd gone from strength to strength since that day in the rink as they had each grown closer and closer to Emma and now all there was left to do was dance.

Their names were called. Emma reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek and whisper “good luck” in his ear. His nerves were soothed and he breathed more easily. He glowed with the joy of that simple kiss. He could do it, he would do it - would do anything - for her.

Killian felt light and joyful as he glided around the ice. The music seeped into his pores, guiding his movements. Elsa and he danced like a dream, every twist, turn and twizzle was in perfect harmony.

Their dance reached its crashing crescendo and they hit their final pose, looking for all the world like a pair of lovers.

The music died and he pulled Elsa into a fierce hug, lifting her off the ice with joy. “We both know I'm not the blonde you've been thinking of,” Elsa whispered into his ear with a giggle. He was so happy he couldn't even been bothered to chastise her.

They won. Of course they won. And no one was talking about their record-breaking score, all anyone could mention was the romance, their chemistry.

He'd turned off his twitter notifications after he received approximately a million mentions in a matter of minutes.

"OMGGGGGGGG @TheKillianJones & @ElsaFrost01 must be in LOVE! #FrostJones"

"I can lip read, she definitely said I love you!!!! @TheKillianJones @ElsaFrost01 #FrostJones #CanYouFeelTheLoveTonight #IShipIt”

“I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE DAMN MEDALS THEY ARE IN LOVE AND MY HEART IS GONNA EXPLODE!!! 😍💖😍💖😍 @TheKillianJones @ElsaFrost01 #FrostJones”

He had to laugh at how far from the truth they were.

And now he was sitting off to one side at their impromptu gold medal celebration taking it all in - most of the rest of the USA figure skating team were there drinking bubbly wine and cheering drunkenly although Neal and Tamara were conspicuous by their absence. He shook his head at their pettiness. Sure their unexpected win had robbed the pair of their own chance at a medal, but he suspected the no show was more a “fuck you” to their former coach, Emma. (He couldn't deny being glad of that, remembering the hint of tears that had glistened in her eyes at revealing how she'd discovered that Neal had been cheating on her with his partner. Not to mention how she'd been dragged into a possible doping scandal when she found herself blamed for a failed test - he still wasn't certain how Neal had weaseled his way out of those allegations. Tonight was Emma's night as much as theirs and she didn't need that dickhead bringing her down.)

“Hey.” Emma bumped his shoulder affectionately, sitting down next to him. “Beware of lurking gold medallists!”

He smiled wryly at her. “Just thinking, love.”

“Lurking and brooding - a classic combination.” He laughed. “Shouldn't you be celebrating?”

He raised his plastic cup to show off his rum then placed it down beside him. “Don't worry, I'm celebrating, I was just thinking how we couldn't have done this without you.”

She blushed, and twisted her mouth into a small smile that he found utterly adorable. “You guys have the talent,” she said with a shrug, “I just helped you to polish your routine.”

“You did more than that, I wasn't sure if I'd ever skate like that again after, well, you know.” He gestured vaguely and she nodded. She did know. He'd told her all about what happened, back in that night when they'd traded tragic backstories and came within inches of kissing. He still remembered how beautiful she'd looked, could feel her breath on his lips and the bitter disappointment welling in his soul. He gathered his courage, spurred on by the high of his win and the rum in his belly. “That is, until I met you.”

Her eyes widened and she looked deeply touched. She leaned closer to him, his breath caught in his chest and he watched as her eyes flicked down to his mouth. He wet his lips instinctively and moved closer to her, breathing in her air and waiting. Waiting.

She took a deep breath and gently touched her lips to his. Soft, that was all he could think. Her lips were so soft. His heart felt full. It was the barest of touches and it had him completely undone.

A part of him wondered if he was having that effect on her - hoped we was. Then she moaned against his lips and deepened the kiss and all thoughts were lost.

He pulled back from her the barest amount when the need for air got too strong, keeping her as close as possible, wanting to stay in this affectionate bubble forever. “That was -” he breathed.

“The reason a thousand hearts broke around the world. At least.” He looked up to see Elsa smirking at the pair of them. “Mine included, according to the interwebs. Don't look so worried, Jones, I think I'll live.” Her last comment was said with a wink before she disappeared back to the crowd of merrymakers.

“We better get back to all the partying and celebrating you and stuff,” Emma said, but her forehead was rested against hers and she showed no sign of moving.

“Do we have to? I'm sure we could just -”

She pushed him backwards with a smile. “Be patient.” He was about to protest, but she silenced him with one last soft kiss. “We can have our own private celebration later.”

“Promise?” He intended to sound flirty, but he sounded far too sincere.

“Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes and dragged him back to the party.

Fluffy fics

Gold Medal T-Shirt part one & part two by @slimacwrites​

Adorable piece of fluffy fluff. Emma’s a swimmer. Killian’s a laser dinghy sailor (I think that’s the right term?). They are very much in love and want to show the whole world how proud they are of each other. I actually cried reading the second part - happy tears of fluffy joy.

Untitled by @kat2609​

A heartwarming little fic set during the Olympics Opening Ceremony. *happy sigh*

Love of the Game by @wait-for-the-snitch​

Emma’s a gymnast and Killian’s her coach. This is a sweet little story with some bonus Captain Charming.

Golden Waters part one of ? by @icingsfanfic​

Emma’s a gymnast and Killian’s a tennis player. I really love the attention to detail here. Emma’s brought a love of ballet to her discipline that’s upped her game and Killian has an as-yet-unexplained hatred of Andy Murray. I’m really intrigued.

Lifeguard by @lenfaz​

Emma’s the Saviour of the Swimming Pool - or utterly useless as a lifeguard at the Olympics - depending on your perspective. I really loved the way Lena played with some of our favourite CS quotes, very witty and totally fitting!

faster, higher, stronger part one by @alexandralyman​

Princess Emma of Misthaven is competing in the archery, Killian Jones is her bodyguard. The set up’s promising enough, but it’s also beautifully written and I can’t wait to see how it ends.

Side note: Every time I’ve seen this fic show up in my dash, Daft Punk’s Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger has started playing in my head. :)

And I’m finishing up the fluffy fics section with my own fics

Rio 2016 #1,  Rio 2016 #2 and  Rio 2016 #3

I kind of imagined these like one of those portmanteau films with all the interconnecting stories and a really dumb, obvious name like Valentine’s Day and New Year’s Eve except all the stories are Captain Swan. If you wondered why the name’s a bit lame and there’s random references to how they look like someone else, that’s why ;)

Hot hot heat

Taking the Plunge part one & part two by @amagicalship​

There’s no actual getting down and dirty (...yet?) but none the less this fic is super hot. Killian’s a diver and Emma’s in charge of handing out towels. Much like us all, she appreciates his good form.

Copacabana Dreams part one, part two, epilogue by @initiala​

Emma plays beach volleyball. Killian’s a fencer. They meet and it is smoking hot. Very nsfw. Very worth reading. Like now.

Drabbles, edits and headcanons

Killian watching the Olmpics by @hook-come-back-to-me​ made me smile.

CS Olympic Figure Skating Partners AU by @loving-cs-fanfiction​

Rio 2016 may be nearly over, but it’s only two years until the next Winter Olympics. Feed your obsession early with this edit.

A little shout out to @captain--kitten​‘s headcanon about Killian’s sport for a CS Olympics manip. I really hope this manip happens. Or a full blown fanfic taking that little headcanony drabble as a starting point. I don’t ask for much.

She called out his name in the waiting area, and had to suppress a gasp when a man who could only be described as sex on legs stood up. He had a lithe but muscular figure, dishevelled dark hair and a pair of stunningly blue eyes.

As he moved towards her she admired the way he moved, noticing as she did that in place of his left hand he wore a prosthetic.

She ushered him into her treatment room and sneaked a glance at his ass - tight, just like she expected - before following him in.

“Hi, I’m Emma, what can I do for you Killian?”

“My big event’s tomorrow and...” he trailed off, and scratched nervously behind his ear.

Oh god, he’s British. Keep it together Swan.

“The pressure's getting to you.”

“Aye. I'm more than a little tense. And while I can think of more enjoyable ways to relieve some tension with a woman while I'm on my back,” he winked, “here I am.”

“You aren't expecting a happy ending are you buddy? Because I'm not that kind of massage therapist.” She deadpanned, irked by his comment. He snorted with laughter and she instantly forgave him.

“You'd leave a man to find his happy ending on his own?” His eyes danced with mirth as he said it.

“Aye” she shot back in a poor impression of his accent. “You couldn't handle it”

“Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it.” His voice was husky and she could imagine it whispering in her ear in the throes of passion -.

“Oh I assure you, my patients are always completely satisfied.” She flirted back wildly, her voice equally husky. He chuckled and she revelled in the glorious sound.

A noise from outside the room snapped her out of her daze and instantly she was all business.

“Any particular areas you want me to work on?”

“Well…” He licks his lips salaciously, then laughs at himself. “Sorry love I can't seem to stop the innuendos from coming around you. My scalene muscles are really tight.”

“You’re a pain in the neck?” The words were out of her mouth before she could think. Why couldn’t she be a professional with him?

“No darling, I have a pain in my neck.” He leaned forward, “I think you’ll find I’m utterly delightful and devilishly handsome to boot.”

He laughed at himself even as she rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the way her body was responding to him.

“Right then, I’m going to leave the room. It’s up to you whether you keep your prosthetic on or take it off, just do whatever’s most comfortable for you.

“You’ll need to strip down to your boxers,” his eyebrows wiggled suggestively. She tried to ignore him. “And cover yourself with the towel. Make sure you cover yourself buddy, or you’ll have to massage out the tension by yourself.”

She heard his laughter as she walked out of the room.

As soon as she closed the door she let out a deep breath. Just talking to Killian Jones had her all wound up. She wasn’t sure how she’d survive actually touching him.

“Keep it together, Swan” she muttered to herself, before softly knocking on the door.

“Are you decent?” she asked before heading in.

“I’m covered up, if that’s what you mean.”

Keep it together, Swan, keep it together. She chanted in her head as she covered her hands in oils and started to glide her hands over his gorgeous body.

After a few minutes, she thought she had her lust under control. She was concentrating hard on her work, when she found a particular tense area of muscles and increased the pressure ever so slightly.

He groaned involuntarily, and the deeply sexual noise hit her hard.

“Don't be afraid to really get into it” she muttered under her breath. Then winced that she actually said that out loud.

He heard the comment - of course - and moaned “oh right there, baby”. It was such a ridiculous move that it was clearly designed to make her laugh and she found herself grinning in spite of herself.

“So what's your sport?” She asked, then suddenly feeling awkward she continued, “If you want to tell me, we can stay silent if you’d prefer.”

“I prefer it when a lady feels comfortable enough to get vocal.”

“Is there nothing you can’t make dirty? Don’t answer that, I swear I can feel your eyebrows rising.” She felt his shoulders shake slightly in a silent laugh.

There was a minute of silence and she was sure he’d decided to just enjoy his massage when he said, “I’m in the modern pentathlon.”

“The what?”

“Modern pentathlon. Fencing, swimming, show jumping and a cross country run combined with pistol shooting.”

“Why is that a thing?”

She really needed to stop talking.

Luckily for her, he just laughed a little, before she massaged a particularly tight area and he moaned.

“Too much?”

“No, keep working at it.” he hissed out.

She focussed on soothing the tension, kneading at the knots. When she felt the muscles loosen, he spoke up again.

“It’s meant to be the skills a 19th century soldier needed to escape from behind enemy lines. I prefer to think of it as the skills a pirate needed to escape from the brig.”

“Fancy yourself as a pirate?”

“Captain Hook is my hero - you don’t see many one handed folk in popular culture and he was the best of them.”

“I think you read that book wrong.”

“I think you did.”

They continued like this for the rest of Killian’s appointment, talking and joking all while she worked on his muscles.

When she finished she suddenly felt bereft. She really didn’t want to stop talking to him.

“Time’s up, Hook.” she threw out, forcing a lightness that she did not feel.

He turned his head to the side and grinned at her.

“I knew you’d come around to my way of thinking about the good captain.”

“Who said I did?”

“Well you called me Hook,” he paused - clearly for dramatic effect - before continuing in a stage whisper, “and I can tell you like me.” He raised his eyebrows, daring her to disagree.

“You sound pretty sure of yourself.” She had meant to use a bored tone, but instead the words came out breathy.

“Aye, that I am.” He lowered his voice, oozing charming with every syllable. “Perhaps I like you too.”

“I’m going to give you a minute to get dressed again and I’ll get you some water. Take as long as you need.” She raced through the words, needing to put some space between her and the would be pirate.

Then she turned and practically ran out of the room.

Coward, her internal monologue started up, he was nice and hot and funny and you never meet anyone that you can talk to like that, so why the fuck did you run away? 

OK so the Olympics ends in a few days, but that doesn’t stop you getting some now.

She tried vainly to ignore the taunting and focussed on fetching a glass of water.

After a few minutes she softly knocked on the door, entering when she heard Killian call out “come in.”

“So how do you feel?” she asked brightly.

“Right now? A little sore, but so relaxed I might have to take a nap. You really do have healing hands.” She caught the soft tone he used when he complimented her and felt a little blush creep up her cheeks.

“You should, a massage is a work out for your muscles and you want to be well rested for your event. Remember to drink lots of water too.”

As she spoke he moved closer. He stared deep into her eyes. In a rom com she knew this would be it, the moment when she would set aside  all her worries and kiss him.

She didn’t kiss him.

Her next appointment was due to start, she was a professional and it wasn’t worth starting a relationship that could only last five days.

Secretly, she knew it wouldn’t be enough for her.

“Good luck tomorrow, Killian.”

Killian sighed deeply before moving to the door.

“Thank you Emma.”

And then he was gone.

She echoed his sigh then moved to set everything up for her next appointment. Lying on the bed she found a scrap of paper, which she picked up curiously.

In a beautiful flowing script he had written “Call Captain Hook +44 (0)7852 361 529 for a happy ending x”.

“Your bag, m’lady”

“I see that” she huffed, snatching it back.

“Much as I’d love to stay all day and chat, I have an Olympics to watch”. He turned on his heels, she reached out and grabbed him immediately, curiously noting that she was holding a prosthetic. “If you wanted to hold hands darling, all you had to do is ask” he murmured seductively, running his tongue along his lips.

“You’re going to wait here until I’m sure that that -” she gestured with her free hand, “- was not a ruse to steal anything from me. I swear to God if you’ve taken anything I’ll have your other hand.”

At that the handsome stranger grimaced.

“Tell me, are you this delightful to everyone you meet or is this my lucky day?”

She ignored him, digging through her bag to ensure her tickets, wallet and phone were all in place. He stared at her sullenly throughout.

“It’s all there. You can go.”

“As you wish” he gave her a mocking bow before running off.

“What a prick.”

“Who was that?” Mary Margaret asked, suddenly appearing behind her.

“I have no idea”.

***

The next day Emma and Mary Margaret were making their way to the Olympic Tennis Centre far too early in the morning. They’d had a late night dancing and drinking caipirinhas with some cute guys.

It had been fun. Really though, she should’ve thought about how early she had to get up before she accepted just one more drink and another and maybe a fifth?

She had kept her long curly hair down. It was her attempt at shielding her eyes from the light not already blocked by her massive sunglasses. She was completely relying on Mary Margaret to steer her in the right direction.

They joined the back of what to her mind was an already overlong queue and she tried not to think about the way her head was pounding as she took a sip of water from her bottle.

“Little brother, it’s your lucky day! A girl’s joined the queue behind us who looks just like that commentator you fancy!”

She heard the British voice right next to her and sighed. It was one thing to get hit on in a bar, but another thing entirely when she was queuing with a hangover.

“It’s younger brother, and leave the poor lass alone” came a familiar voice.

Her eyes shot up. Sure enough it was the one-handed prick from yesterday. He was half turned away from her, a faint blush visible on what she could see of his cheeks.

“You” she hissed involuntarily. He stiffened at her words.

“Have we met before or are you just this charming to everyone you - oh” He had turned around lazily, his eyes widening slightly in recognition as he saw her face.

He plastered a smirk across his face.

“You want to hold hands again, love? Or -” he stepped a little closer, “perhaps you’re more of a cuddler? Whatever you need. Just, you know, don’t be afraid to really get into it.”

He was far too close to her, so she put a hand to his chest and pushed him back softly. He clutched at his heart and staggered back melodramatically.

“You two know each other?” Mary Margaret asked curiously.

“This is the asshole who knocked me over yesterday” she said, never once taking her eyes off his face. His eyes narrowed slightly in response, he raised an eyebrow, issuing an unspoken challenge.

“Brother, this angel is the one that I bumped into when that pickpocket tried to grab my wallet. You know, the one who proceeded to treat me like a common thief”

He was clearly talking to his brother, but he was watching her. She was glad she had sunglasses to hide behind. They meant he couldn’t see her wince when she heard that he actually nearly was prey to the same con she’d accused him of.

A flash of triumph crossed his face, but he couldn’t have seen that, could he?

“Oh I remember little brother, the one you said that you would have quite fancied if she’d stopped yelling at you?” It was his turn to look embarrassed, the taunting smirk replaced with a wide eyed look of horror and a deep blush.

Emma’s eyes light up at that. Not only was it good to see his attitude gone and the smirk wiped off his face, but also he looked kind of cute when he blushed.

Wait, what? Nothing about him was cute. Not his impeccably bone structure, or his sex hair or his fuck me eyes..

“I’m Mary Margaret Blanchard,” she heard her friend introducing herself to the men. “And this angel,” her face was a picture of innocence but there was a devilish gleam in her eyes, “is Emma Swan.”

“Liam and Killian Jones.” The One Handed Wonder’s brother, Liam, gestured between them as he spoke.

“And I’m David Nolan” a third man had just joined them, and he held his hand out to Emma to shake. She took it warily, unsure that she wanted to become friends with the three musketeers. Couldn’t she just wait in line and suffer her hangover in peace?

She heard a little gasp from Mary Margaret. Looking over at her curiously, she watched as David took her hand but instead of shaking it, he kissed it like a real life prince charming.

Well, Emma always did say Mary Margaret looked like Snow White.

The two of them were looking at each with soft, dazed expressions, their faces practically morphing into heart eyes emojis before her eyes. David hadn’t let go of Mary Margaret’s hand and they seemed entirely unaware of the world beyond the two of them.

So much for a quiet morning.

*** By the time the venue finally opened Emma’s hangover had eased sufficiently that she was able to look forward to a day of watching tennis. At the Olympics no less.

And she was loathe to admit it, but she may have ever so slightly misjudged Killian.

Sure he could be overly smug and sarcastic as hell. She had to admit though that his cockiness was kind of earned and well, her humour tended towards the dry side herself.

He was unnervingly perceptive - and sweet with it.

She had expected a morning of unbearable “banter” but he seemed to sense that she needed to be quiet and left her alone. Until he presented her with a huge bottle of water, quipping about how being around someone as “hot as me would leave any woman thirsty”.

She’d rolled her eyes, but took the bottle anyway. As she thanked him and gulped down the water, his hand went up to scratch behind his ear in an adorably nervous gesture. Seeing that, she wondered if all the bluster and innuendo was just for show.

As they neared the gates she looked at Mary Margaret and David.

At some point they’d wrapped themselves around each other such that she actually wondered how to separate them. Should she offer to swap tickets with David? For her best friend’s sake of course - not because she wanted a little longer with Killian.

“So, which court have you guys got tickets for?” She asked Killian and Liam, not taking her eyes off the lovebirds.

“Centre. Going to watch Murray smash the competition!” was Killian’s enthusiastic reply. Liam started chanting “Team GB! Team GB! Team GB!” in a mocking impression of a pumped up jock.

Emma tried to affect a nonchalance that she did not feel, “us too. Where you sitting?”

Her and Killian both took their tickets out to study them and Emma’s heart nearly stopped when she saw the seat number. They were sitting right next to each other.

“Fancy that lass, you’re not getting rid of us just yet” he said softly.

“Mary Margaret will be so pleased.” she deflected.

“And what about you?” he stepped a little closer.

“Me?”

“Well, you’ll have a devilishly handsome pickpocket by your side, why wouldn’t you be pleased?”

“You’re never going to let me forget that are you?”

“Nope” he said, popping the p as he did.

***

It wasn’t horrible, she had to admit.

There had been a bit of dancing around over who was going to sit where when they actually got into the Olympic Tennis Centre. Eventually she was sat with Mary Margaret to her right and Killian to her left.

At some point during the Nadal v Simon match David and Mary Margaret had given up all pretense of caring about the sport and started making out. So she was left to talk to and cheer along with the brothers Jones instead.

After Nadal was safely through to the next round, she could sense Killian tensing up.

“Nervous your man’s not going to win?”

“What? With Djokkers out, Murray’s got the gold for sure.”

“Eh.” Really, Emma was sure he was right, but teasing Killian was just too much fun.

“Don’t you “eh” me, Swan. I stood on Henman Hill and watched Murrary win gold the last time. He was on good form then, but he’s better now. That gold is his.” His beautiful eyes flashed thunder at her.

“Wanna bet?” she said flirtatiously. Instantly the rage in his eyes turned to desire. He licked his tongue across his lips.

“What are your terms?”

“If Fognini wins this match, you buy me a drink. If Murray wins…” she trailed off seductively, leaving him to fill in the blank.

“I get a kiss.” There was a beat where Killian gave her a wicked grin. “Unless you’re scared you couldn’t handle it.”

She almost wanted to kiss him right there and then. But anticipation is half the fun.

“Oh, I could handle it.” She swayed slightly closer to him, leaning into his ear “But you’re not going to get it.”

“Oh brother” she heard Liam groan.

*** “One set to Murray.”

“His form has been sub par.”

“And yet he still took the set.”

“There’s still two sets to go. We’ll see.”

*** “I drink rum” she declared when Fognini takes the second set.

“You’ll have to lick it off my lips.” Her breath caught in her throat and she was certain that Killian noticed. Tramping down her lust, she needed to come up with a suitably nonchalant reply.

“It would be bad form to back down on our bet, Jones.”

“All I’m saying love, is that the only way you’ll be tasting rum is when you kiss me, Swan. I’m quite impartial to the drink myself.”

And if the thought of tasting rum on him sent a wave of desire rushing through her body, well, that was Emma’s little secret.

*** “Just one more game and you’ll have to pay up.” Killian murmured into her ear. His hot breath against her lips sent a shiver right through her body.

“You wish.” Her retort came out far breathier than she intended.

“Aye, I do.”

*** Break point.

Murray was almost certainly going to win.

Fognini served, Murray returned it easily and Fognini hit it straight into the net. And just like that Killian won their bet.

“I believe you owe me a debt” Killian taunted her, tapping his lips. His goddamn smirk was back. At least she had an excuse to wipe it off his face.

She grabbed hold of his t-shirt and pulled his lips roughly to hers. At first there was too much force for either one to really enjoy it. It was all brutal passion, teeth clashing and lips attacking each other.

They parted just enough for them to draw breath. He stayed nuzzling against her nose, unwilling to break contact completely.

He glided one hand up the back of her neck into her hair. He used the hand against the back of her head to draw her back to him.

This time the desperation had dimmed slightly, melting into pure passion. Their lips were pressed tightly together, but they were parted to allow their tongues to explore enthusiastically.

She couldn’t get close enough to him. She didn’t want this kiss to ever end. She -

Liam coughed loudly and they sprung apart. She caught his eye over Killian’s shoulder and he feigned a nonchalant look of innocence that made her smile in spite of herself.

“That was -” Killian began, touching his lips and looking awestruck.

“A one time thing.” She said, struggling not to actually pant and show how badly she was affected.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh really? Because I said Murray was going to win gold, that’s only seen him through to the quarters.”

“Like I said, this is as far as your man goes, you won’t be winning any more kisses from me.”

“Wanna bet?”

*** By the time the gold medal match had started, Emma had kissed Killian every day.

She couldn’t help but feel a little nervous about the outcome of that final match. For some reason, kissing Killian just because she wanted to felt dangerous. And yet, she wasn’t ready to give it up.

There was only one thing for it. Murray had to win.

*** They were sat in a bar watching the match on a big screen. All around there were people drinking and dancing. But her and Killian only had eyes for the tennis.

“Go on Murrary, go on Murrary, go on Murray” she was muttering when it came down to the final point.

If Killian heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it, looking far too strung out himself. She felt like her whole future was resting on whether or not Andy Murray beat Juan Del Potro. How had that happened?

She felt sick. She considered turning away and not watching, but that would’ve been equally unbearable.

Time slowed down, her heart was pounding in her ears, what would she do if Murray didn’t win?

***

She didn’t need to find out. Murray won and she launched herself into Killian’s arms.

As all the relief she felt poured into her kiss, she finally admitted that this was something special. Something she wanted to continue.

This time when they finally separated, Killian gazed at her with a deep longing in his eyes. She knew just what to say to make it better.

“Murrary’s going to win gold in Tokyo.” Killian caught her meaning at once, eyes full of delight.

Everything had slowed down and the months of yearning for this sweet and snarky man was finally coming an end. Her new best friend, the man who had befriended the prickly yank fresh off the boat, introduced her to his friends and made London her home with frightening speed was on the verge of becoming much more.

Then bloody Will Scarlett had spilled his drink on Belle, causing the girl to shriek and breaking the mood such that Killian had finished by saying “ELO”. Then he proceeded to sing Mr Blue Sky at the top of his lungs with the rest of the room, while she looked on, struck dumb.

That was the closest they'd come to kissing in four years and she'd long since given up on hoping for it.

Sure she fantasised in the privacy of her room. She may have even had the occasional dream that she woke from panting with desire, but actually expecting her happy ending in reality? She wasn't a masochist.

Rio 2016 could not be more different.

The whole shebang didn't start til 11:30pm and she'd been knocking back shots since 7. So she was fucking wankered before a single beacon was lit, flag waved or song sung.

She'd had a rough week at work.

Her roommate had announced she was going travelling leaving Emma almost certainly homeless.

Then there was the Killian And Tink Issue™.

It was four weeks since she'd first heard about that and she'd been avoiding Killian ever since. And he knew it too.

Today was the first day she hadn't had a single missed call, WhatsApp, text or any other notification from him. And while she'd been the one to freeze him out, it hurt that he'd stopped trying to break down the ice wall that she'd put between them.

She'd tried to pull out of the party, feigning illness, but Merida was having none of it. She turned up at her door to drag her out, insisting that a few tequila slammers would loosen her up and get her ready to see her erstwhile best friend again.

So she was four shots deep when she arrived at Robin and Marian's just an hour later.

At first she drank because she was afraid of seeing Killian. Then because she was afraid she wouldn't. Scared she'd finally fucked up the best thing to ever happen to her.

He still hadn't arrived when the ceremony started. And so she drank some more.

By the time the athletes parade started at stupid o’clock Emma couldn't see straight. She even thought there was a member of Team GB who looked just like Killian, but figured she was hallucinating because she was so desperate to see him.

“Bloody hell, did you see that girl?” Will’s voice startled her. He grabbed the remote and rewound, pausing when he found what he was looking for.

Emma squinted at the screen, all she could make out was blond hair pulled into a messy bun. Just like Tink's.

“Looks like Killian's type” she muttered darkly.

“I have never had sex with Killian Jones” Elsa stated, looking defiantly at Emma. The other girls all looked her expectantly, clearly waiting for her to drink.

All but one.

Tink slowly raised her glass to her lips and drank.

Emma was sure the room was spinning.

“Tink! You - and - Killian?! What..? When?”

“Does this mean you haven't? Because the way that you two look at each other, we were all certain that you had. Not that we all talk about it when you’re not there or anything. It’s just that, well the Sexual Tension between you is so hot you could start a fire! Not literally of course -” Anna was saying all the wrong things - as usual - and Emma was not in the mood.

“Of course we haven’t had sex. He's my best friend,” she cut Anna off flatly, her eyes never once leaving Tink's face. The damn pixie-like lady stared at the floor, refusing to look at Emma.

It was all too much for Emma. So she ran.

She was halfway down the street when Tink caught up to her.

“Emma, wait! I'm sorry! I assumed you knew -”

“Why would I know that?”

“Because you tell each other everything and this meant nothing.”

“Was it a one time thing? Some kind of drunken mistaken?”

Tink couldn't look at her.

“No. It was more of a friends with benefits thing.”

Emma's heart stopped.

Killian was a one night stand man, for him to have had a relationship he hadn't told her about, even one that was all about sex... She couldn't comprehend it.

She rubbed her temples, trying to make the ache go away. When she looked up, Tink was staring at her, eyes pleading for her not to be angry.

“It's over now, Em. I'm not who he wants. He isn't who I want. I guess he didn't tell you because he didn't want you to think he wanted someone else.”

“What?” she snapped.

“He talked to me -”

“Oh he talked to you did he?” Even Emma knew her voice was unbearably harsh. “Did he call me to say goodnight while you were keeping his bed warm?”

Tink looked like Emma had slapped her.

“He talked to me about you! About how you're all he ever wanted!” But Emma didn't hear her, she was too busy muttering to herself, “He talked to me every day. How could he not have told me this? Don't I matter to him at all?”

“Damn right she's Killian's type! That girl is like your clone! Emma, if you weren’t sitting here in this room I’d swear that was you!!” Oh god, she could actually hear the exclamation marks in Anna’s words. Didn’t she ever shut up? And wait, what had she said?

“Huh?” The room was spinning, she was trying so hard to focus but she could see double of the mystery blond on screen.

And, wait, they thought the girl looked like her and that made her Killian's type? What.. could he..

“You don't know anything about your family do you Em?” Elsa mused, “Maybe you do have a twin and you were separated at birth and -”

“Who is that goddess?”

The voice of the one and only Killian Jones cut through the rest of the conversation.

Her head snapped up to look at him. She immediately dropped it back down. The room had lurched in a strange way at the movement. Honestly she couldn't say if it was the alcohol or him that caused it, but either way - it needed to stop.

“Emma's long lost twin” purred Elsa innocently.

“You think she looks like Emma?” She heard footsteps, it sounded like he was stumbling across the room. She felt his thumb curling under her chin, pushing her face up towards his.

When she finally looked back at him she could see clearly for the first time in hours - or weeks, if you were going to get technical.

His eyes were soft and warm, but full of a deep sadness that she hadn't seen there in such a long time. They were questioning her even as they roamed over her features and there was a glassy quality that - when combined with his unusually clumsy gait - told her that he was wasted too.

He was stroking her jaw idly before he realised what he was doing and moved away.

“Can't see it myself,” he drawled. 

She would have paid more attention to the resulting protests echoing round the room. Except that he had walked over to fucking Tink, cozying up to her, whispering into her ear and nuzzling against her neck.

It was too much. The knowledge alone had been unbearable, but to actually see it happening before her? She was going to be sick.

She leapt to her feet. It was a terrible mistake.

Maybe it was the booze. Maybe a sudden head rush. Maybe the wave of nausea instilled by the sight of her Killian snuggling their friend was just too much.

Whatever it was, Emma lost her balance, tripped over her own feet and fell hard. She cracked her elbow on the coffee table and skimmed her head against the sofa on the way down. Pain surged through her arm before everything went black.

She came to in bed, with a hand gently running through her curls. She could hear voices. It took a few moments before she realised they were arguing and a few more before she recognised it was about her.

“She needs to see a bloody doctor! She's unconscious!” A voice - His voice - carrying a distinct note of hysteria declared.

“She just fainted, she has a pulse, she's breathing, she'll be OK.”

“But she hit her head! Don't you understand how serious head injuries can be?! Bloody hell, if you won't call an ambulance I swear to God I'll carry her to the hospital!”

“Don't -” she croaked, “don't put yourself out on my account”.

She tried to sit up, and was overwhelmed by the need to vomit.

“I - sick”

A bowl was placed before her just in time. As the retching subsided, she became dimly aware that Killian was wrapped around her, holding back her hair with his good hand and stroking her soothingly with his prosthetic.

“It's OK, love” he murmured. “I've got you, you're OK”.

Next thing she knew she was waking up in Killian's arms.

At first the feel of him and his scent and the sound of his breathing in her ear was deeply calming.

Then she saw his lips pressed against Tink's ear and in a flash she was in the bathroom vomiting, trying to purge the memory along with the last of the tequila. Her body was actually physically rejecting proof that Killian wanted anyone but her.

It didn’t work.

She closed her eyes and replayed those moments ad nauseum - literally. By the time Killian crept into the bathroom to see if she was ok, she was silently weeping.

“Hey, hey -”. He rushed to her side, moving to wrap his arms around her. She froze, steeling herself against his offered embrace, preparing herself to not enjoy or take any comfort from it.

He noticed and stopped short.

“Swan, I realise that when you’re curled up on the floor recovering from alcohol poisoning is perhaps not the opportune moment to ask what exactly it is I’ve done. But seeing as you won’t accept my help right now, why don’t you bloody well tell me so I can apologise and we can move on?”

He wasn’t making any sense.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m quite perceptive love, and you’ve been avoiding me.” He stared down at her, daring her to prove him wrong.

“Unless you mean to tell me that your phone was stolen, your computer died, you’ve been banned from using the internet at work and you hit your head so you forgot where I live. In which case, accept my humble apologies for jumping to unfair conclusions and let me hug my best friend when she’s sick.” He dropped his voice and she heard the desperation in it, “please.”

She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t tell him that she found out that he wanted someone else and it had torn her heart to shreds.

They sat in silence for longer than was comfortable.

“Why do this to me?” His voice broke and the sound broke her. “Why cut me out of your life without a second thought or a chance to redeem myself? Do I - do I really mean that little to you?”

Her heart couldn’t take his pain, she had to help alleviate it, however much it might hurt her to do so. When she looked into his face she was startled to see that tears were sliding down his cheeks.

She reached out to wipe them away, horrified that her Killian was crying because of her. No, wait, Tink’s Killian.

The thought stilled her hand for a moment, but as his tears continued to fall she forced herself to touch his cheek. He instantly nuzzled into her hand.

Just like he nuzzled Tink’s neck.

She forced herself to concentrate on Killian and only Killian. On his face. On his pain. She needed to be brave so he could understand. She would sacrifice anything to make his day a little brighter, and her pride was a small price to pay.

“I know -” she closed her eyes, she couldn’t bear to see his reaction. “I know about you and Tink.” 

For half a heartbeat all was silent. He pulled away from her and all her worst fears were confirmed. She didn’t know how to continue.

“Bloody fuck. I didn’t want you to - fuck. Oh Emma, you hate me for using her like that, don’t you? I - she said she was happy with - that she knew how it was - I’ve hurt her though, right? Fuck, I hate myself -”

“What are you talking about?” Emma had to stop his rambling, her head hurt and she was frankly lost at the exchange.

“Tink and I had sex.”

“I am aware.” she gritted her teeth.

“More than once.”

“So I heard.”

“I guess you’d say we were friends with benefits.” She would’ve rolled her eyes if they hadn’t hurt so much.

“I don’t need diagrams Killian,” she huffed, “get to the point.”

“It was just a bit of fun, something to ease a bit of tension. But I couldn’t keep it up - ” she snorted at his apparently unintentional pun. He ploughed on regardless, “she just reminded me too much of -” he stopped dead. “I just couldn’t keep using her when they were feelings involved.”

“So you stopped just fucking so you could be together for real.” She could feel the panic building inside, “you said you’d never lie to me, but you hid the most important relationship in your life from me.”

“You think Tink and I are together? Did she use that word?” He spoke slowly, his head cocked to the side, a deep frown spread across his beautiful face.

“She didn’t have to. I saw you two last night.”

“Ah, well.” He reached up and scratched behind his ear. “Last night was not my finest hour. When you realise the love of your life -”

That was too much. Emma choked back a sob and darted towards the door. Killian caught her in a flash.

“Don’t keep me here Killian!” she shrieked. “Don’t make me hear about how much you love someone else. I cannot take it anymore. I will not!”

He released her, but still was stood between her and the door.

“Emma…” he started slowly. “I’ll not hold you here against your will. But just tell me one thing: Do you think Tink is the love of my life?”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the floor.

“And that made you unhappy?” he questioned her earnestly.

Again she nodded.

“And why is that, love?” he breathed into her ear. When had he gotten so close?

“Because you belong with me.”

She closed her eyes and concentrated hard on making magic happen and actually disappearing. The conflicting emotions swirling through her were enough to make her skin tingle, so if she could just focus really, really hard on believing, maybe -

She felt his hand lift her chin. He was stroking her jaw, but in stark contrast to last night, when she looked into his eyes they were shining with happiness.

She nearly gasped at the sight of pure joy radiating from him. He had never looked more beautiful than he did right then.

“Emma, I need you to listen to me very, very closely. Tink and I are nothing but friends. I could never be with her because my heart belongs to someone else.”

Her heart stopped at his words. Disbelief was running through her veins. She had to know what this meant, she had to ask. “Who is that?”

“Don’t you know Emma? It’s you.”

For a moment - or maybe a millennium, she couldn’t be sure - she simply stared at Killian. She seemed to have forgotten how to move, not quite able to believe what her ears had heard.

She couldn’t tell you whether he moved closer to her or she to him. Or maybe they were drawn together, their hearts reaching out to each other, longing to intertwine after far, far too long apart.

But suddenly she felt his breath against her lips, his nose was touching hers in the softest of eskimo kisses. As she closed her eyes, she felt a tear slide down her cheek, her breathing quickened, and at last his lips were against hers.

They moved slowly, lips brushing languidly. She could feel as he trembled against her and it made her whole body shiver with delight. She moved her hands up the back of his neck and into his soft hair, using them to tilt his head to the side so she could deepen the kiss ever so slightly.

His tongue glided across her lips and she parted them, letting his tongue gently caress hers, exploring her mouth with the utmost devotion.  He held her close in his strong arms and it was everything she ever wanted.

Decades (minutes?) later they parted, leaning back just enough to gaze upon each other’s faces. His eyes were shiny with happy tears and his whole face was aglow, reflecting the same lovestruck expression she could feel on her own face.

“Does this mean we can be together now?” she whispered, sure she already knew his answer.

“Forever” he agreed, surging forwards to kiss her once more.

Watching the opening ceremony of the Tokyo 2020 Olympic games is a far more sedate affair.

He is holding her left hand in his right, idly stroking the rings on her third finger as they snuggle up on the sofa. They laugh and joke about the grand event softly, lest they wake their precious newborn, asleep in a moses basket beside them.

Emma was able to centre herself the next day, sending her mother to the regatta in her place to watch and send her updates on Killian’s races through text as Emma prepared for her own two races. The last two races of her career and it was a battle to concentrate through the morning. Especially when she kept pulling out that homemade t-shirt tucked in the bottom of her swim bag, away from Killian’s prying blue eyes.

Because of his medal race the next day Killian couldn’t make it to her last races. It killed Killian to have to miss them but honestly, Emma preferred him to stay at the Athletic Village because that way she wouldn’t be distracted by Killian and her swirling thoughts. Without him there she could be an Olympian only, force herself to compartmentalize like she used to do as a younger, harder child. It was a skill she hadn’t used in a while but it was one she found she was still good at, completely sobering to full Iceberg mode. Just like riding a bike.

That night Emma went back to the American House in the Atheletes Village with two more medals. A silver with the 100m breast stroke and a gold with the relay, the American team loaded with world record holders like Ledecky. A feeling of sadness hung over her, like the kind that followed saying goodbye to a best friend. Swimming had been her life for so long. Had been the one joy she had during her foster care years. Emma had seven Olympic medals to show for it, the two golds, silver and bronze from this Olympics soon to join the three bronze from her previous two Olympics on the trophy shelf in her living room. But it still felt strange to see all those years and emotions boiled down into the medals hanging from her neck. She wasn’t quite sure how to say goodbye to the sport and perhaps that was why she was going immediately into coaching, at least for a little while before she would be forced to take a break. But Emma couldn’t be sad for too long, not when Killian met her at the door to the house wearing that silly t-shirt once again and kissing her soundly.

“Congratulations, love,” he murmured, kissing her cheek before letting her go. “I watched your race on the TV.”

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” Emma answered, hand sliding down his toned arm to entangle with his own and dragging him inside the large house.

“I couldn’t sleep without my fiancée.”

Emma rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Well, she’s here now. So, go get ready for bed.”

Emma didn’t sleep much that night. She was too wound up. Too worried about how the next day would go. She hadn’t even told Ingrid what was on the shirt she was planning to wear. What if Killian didn’t win? Or what if he got a silver and not a gold medal and the writing of the shirt would just be a reminder of his placing?

Guilt at those thoughts coursed through her, tightening her chest and making her eyes sting behind her closed lids. Killian had never doubted her. Killian had never doubted her ability even though she went into the final in second place. Killian had never waved once. But Emma had grown up constantly expecting the worst. Hell, she’d expected Ingrid to give her back for the first six years after the adoption. Sometimes she just couldn’t help the thoughts. There was no way to stop them and they so often pulled her under.

The only one who could pull her back was Killian. Emma had no idea what she would do without Killian. She rolled over in bed and buried into his chest, her nose finding that spot she loved between his strong pectoral muscles. Killian’s arms came around her, noticing her increased closeness even in his sleep, and held her tight.

Emma decided then that she was making the right decision telling him her surprise tomorrow.

She had to trust that he would pull through.

Killian had the skill.

Killian had the heart.

It would come together. Emma just had to have faith.

If only that wasn’t so hard for her.

Killian left before Emma did the next morning to go and get everything ready at the course. Emma took her time waking up, stretching her sore muscles and rolling her back up as she sat, vertebrae cracking. She had four hours before the regatta and had been talked into giving an interview with the rest of the relay team prior to the competition. Emma had already denied any other interviews though because she was determined to make it to the regatta on time.

Emma dressed, pulling on that secret t-shirt that she’d made a few days before, and covered it up with her American team sweater so no one could see. Emma was nervous about what she was about to do. She knew it was risky to reveal it, especially to the whole world, at this point. But Emma was healthy and strong. For once in her life she had to trust that everything was okay. Believing that anything else was going to happen was just too heartbreaking to imagine. Things would be okay. They had each other. They would always be okay. With a final nod to convince herself Emma left the dorm room and went to go find her relay teammates for their interview.

And of course, at the end of the interview, the attention turned once again to Emma’s personal life.

“So, Emma, your fiancé Killian’s medal race is in just a few hours.” Emma nodded, trying to smile for the camera and not show how nervous she was. “I think everyone is wondering; will we see a similar reaction from you as we saw from Killian?”

Emma’s teammates turned to her as did all the crew. No one knew her plans except for maybe the helpful checkout lady who’d rung up her supplies and saw the picture she’d scanned at the store’s printing facility. But Emma was pretty sure the lady had no idea who Emma was. Emma had to twist her fingers around the microphone to stop from playing with the zipper of her sweater. “I guess you’ll just have to watch and see,” Emma answered with a light shrug. The interviewer grinned, clearly delighted with her coy answer and closed the segment.

“Are you going now to watch the regatta?” the interviewer, a tiny blonde woman with a gigantic bun on her head, asked.

Emma nodded. “I am. I hate to run but I’ve got to go if I’m going to be there on time.”

“Good luck,” she quipped back, a mischievous grin. “We’ll be watching.”

Emma gave another tense nod and practically ran out of the room. She had an hour now to make it to the regatta location. Ingrid would be waiting for her, having already staked out a claim on the hill overlooking the water. Hopefully she’d gotten as close to the race as possible.

Sitting in the cab on the way to the regatta Emma couldn’t help but give into the nervous tick and play with the zipper on her sweater. The shirt had turned out good and Emma was thankful she’d saved the picture she used for it on her phone before leaving for Brazil. She was also thankful that Rio was a city so it was easy to find the supplies she needed to make her own shirt at the last minute.

This plan had to work out. It just had to.

Heads turned constantly as Emma made her way through the spectators, people recognizing that she was the fiancée of the man who’d been so happy of her gold and pulled her into the stands with just his brute strength and overwhelming joy. Emma tried to ignore them, feeling the emotions that had become so much stronger over the past month welling up inside of her. If she got upset now she’d want to run and hide because of her pride and Killian needed her to be present.

Eventually, right at the front of the fenced off spectator area, Emma spotted Ingrid’s blonde head. Her mother was wearing a t-shirt that made from an American flag. At her feet was a rolled up piece of poster board and in her hands was another.

“Hey,” Emma greeted, coming up behind her mother. Ingrid turned to her with a warm smile. The sign in her hands read My Son-in-Law is Going to Win! Emma snorted at it, not missing the places that were a bit textured from where she’d pulled off the glittery letter stickers that looked like they’d once spelled Killian and replaced them with Killian’s new title.

“How are you?” Ingrid asked, handing Emma the sign at her feet. Emma unrolled it. Ingrid had once again made a stellar American themed poster. The glitter stickers were all in red, white and blue and there was even a shoddy bald eagle drawn in one corner to look like he was placing the first letter of My Fiancé Will Blow You All Out of the Water! but was actually covering more of the sticker removal texture. “You look tired.”

Emma shrugged at her mother. “I am. Didn’t sleep last night.”

“The interviewers are stressing you out aren’t they?” It wasn’t hard for Ingrid to guess that Emma hated people digging into her life. All Emma thought the interviewers needed to know were her times in the water. There was no reason for them to need to know whether Emma was planning a spring or a fall wedding. She’d been engaged for less than a week but she’d been swimming for years. It had taken Emma years to get used to interviewers prying in her swimming business. She had no desire to force herself to get used to them asking about her romantic life when she’d only be in the spotlight until after the closing ceremonies.

“They are so nosy,” Emma answered, crinkling her nose in distaste. Ingrid gave her a long look, as if she suspected Emma wasn’t giving the whole answer. Turning her head from her mother’s scrutinization lest she spill her surprise, Emma watched as the boats started to line up.

The lasers had to get to a certain point in the water before the countdown but not pass the line made between two boats until the gun went off, signalling the start of the race. The course was set up along a stretch of water and involved several turns around big yellow buoys before a final sprint to where a third boat was set up just to the side. A few safety boats, the rubber hulled coast guard type, milled around the lasers. Killian’s boat was visible, jostling right up to the line with the ten other lasers, the American flag big on his sail.

The leader of the race at this point had 15 points. Killian was going in with 16, the third position back at 22. As in the medal race the points went up to double, so as long as Killian came one position ahead of the Greek leader he’d come out with a lower point value and win the competition. The surf wasn’t too bad, the sky just mildly overcast. It was conditions Killian was used to considering first training in London then in Boston. So long as he concentrated and didn’t capsize he should have a decent race. The question was how decent.

The official’s gun went off and the ships took off, the sailors letting out their sails to catch the wind, rather than trying to restrain the lasers like race horses in the starting block. Boats moved around each other, the sailors leaning hard off the washboards of the laser to get them to move with their body weight.

Killian was a bit reckless when it came to leaning, often training with the balance just teetering on the too much level to see how fast he could turn. It was why he’d ended up in the water that first day Emma had met him. Killian liked to call himself a rapscallion instead of reckless but with her stress running high and watching Killian lean hard to get around a boat from Cyprus Emma just thought he was stupid.

The race was the longest fifty minutes Emma could remember ever having to live through. She cheered right along with Ingrid but she wasn’t sure how she was able to as she was constantly forgetting to breathe. Every time the boats came close to each other she found herself bouncing on her toes to see better, scrunching up her face in panic. Ingrid kept glancing at her with her eyebrows drawn down, noticing the difference in Emma’s composure from when she usually watched races. Emma was glad she was revealing the surprise today because if she had to make it through another race with her emotions uncontrolled like they were she was going to explode.

The last turn of the race before the sprint came down to the top two and the fourth place racer, all three battling to get the inside lane around the buoy. The points leader made it around the buoy first, Killian keeping pace despite being forced into the outside lane. With the two boats even as they were at the start of the sprint, and considering the direction of the wind, the leader’s laser was getting the most wind, his sail blocking Killian’s. There was no way Killian was going to be able to keep up like that and he needed a first place finish for the gold. But he couldn’t just turn regularly to get around the leader and get the wind. It would take too much precious time.

Emma knew what Killian was going to do before he did it.

Killian wrenched on the rudder, turning it hard and dove across the boat to shift the weight. The laser turned on it’s stern as if it were a motorbike doing a trick on it’s back wheel and zipped behind the lead boat.

Killian dove the opposite way, back to where he’d been previously, causing it to make another harsh spin to even it out and get the boat back on the straight sprint. The laser rocked precariously and water splashed high over the sides, soaking Killian.

Now, just a foot behind the leader Killian let all the slack out of the rope coiled around his hand, giving the sail everything, as if giving a horse it’s head to run. It was reckless, giving the laser, with it’s easily tippable base, that much sail. It would tip if it were trying to get around a corner or if it were hit. But Killian needed the speed.

The announcer was screaming over the loudspeaker, in complete disbelief of the ridiculous turn Killian had just made. Even if he didn’t get the gold, the move would go on the highlight reel of Sportsnet the next day. People usually weren’t that ballsy when it came to the easily tipped lasers, especially in an Olympic medal race.

The two lasers were so close together and so close to the finish line.

Ingrid jumped up and down, waving her ridiculous sign around and getting it in Emma’s view so she had to step away, moving through the crowd and keeping pace with Killian’s laser. She wanted- needed- to be directly in line with the finish so she could see who crosses first.

Emma couldn’t breathe.

Mere inches separated the tip of the lasers’ bows.

But Killian had the wind.

Killian always knew how to find the wind, like some sort of 18th Century pirate.

Emma came up parallel to the line, arms wrapped around her midsection causing the poster to bump against her legs, eyes straining to see the lasers better.

Two feet until the finish line.

The bows close together, no distance between them.

And then, one gust of wind.

One laser crossed the line.

Killian’s.

Emma started screaming and cheering. She threw the poster somewhere behind her, jumping up and down. Killian had won by one point, 18 to the silver medalist’s 19. All she wanted to do is leap into the water and swim out to Killian’s boat but she couldn’t. The water wasn’t safe for swimming and Emma had her health to worry about. Plus, the security would be pissed if she pulled that kind of stunt, even if the media would have loved it.

Killian turned his boat towards the warf and Emma followed, walking slow enough that she’d reach the warf at the same time Killian did and also not make the security too jumpy or the camera crews too curious. She slipped under the rope that corralled the spectators together, the crowds and cameras at her back. Which was what she wanted. A private moment with Killian before the world descended on them.

As her sneakered feet stepped onto the warf she started to unzip her sweater, letting it slide down her arms and fall to the ground. Killian, grinning, hopped out of his laser, and met her just as the soft fabric pooled around her feet. Killian’s eyes didn’t leave her own and even Emma found herself getting distracted from what she was supposed to say.

“Congratulations Mr. Gold Medal winner,” Emma greeted as he swept her up in a crushing hug. His wet body pressed dampness through her shirt, which he hadn’t noticed yet. Coaches and techs watched from their spots by the water as they pull in the lasers, the other competitors giving the couple space but still curious. Eventually when Killian kissed her so soundly to the point where she could no longer breathe and her cheeks were hot with a blush, Emma pulled back and coughed.

“Do you think we can get a third gold medal made?” she asked, the tears she’d barely held back all race pooling in her eyes. “Like a mini one?”

Killian raised a single brow before catching on that she was not wearing an athletic uniform shirt and looked down. Emma pressed her lips together, waiting, as Killian stared dumbfounded. Not sure what to make of the shirt. Or the picture on it.

A sonogram.

A picture of a baby.

Their baby.

The words My daddy is an Olympic gold medal pirate were written near the neckline in Emma’s shaky handwriting, the magic marker ink bleeding a bit through the cheap cotton. But it didn’t matter. Not when Killian’s eyes were getting bright with wetness and he was still looking at her like she had hung the moon for him.

“What?” he stuttered out. “How?”

“Three months ago,” Emma answered, voice rocky with her own emotion. “When we got a bit too stupid that night after the Sports Illustrated shoot. I’d missed a couple of birth control pills due to all the travelling for the Olympic trials and, um, oops?” She raised her hands and shrugged, trying to inject some levity into the situation.

“When did you find out?”

“The day before we left for here. I threw up a few times over the last two weeks but I thought it was because I was pushing myself harder in the pool. But coach sent me for a physical anyways and the doctor told me and sent me straight to the OBGYN to make sure I’d be okay to swim.” Emma chewed on her lip, waiting for Killian to do something other than stare at her. “Are you mad? I thought this might be a fun way to surprise you after what you did my first race. I’m sorry if I upset you.”

Killian fell to his knees in front of her, face pressing against her belly and arms going around her waist, pulling her close. “Of course I’m not mad, my love. Just surprised,” he answered, sliding his face upwards so he could lean back and see her properly from his position at her feet. “You know I wanted children. Did I think we’d get married first? Sure. But this is perfect.” Killian turned back to her abdomen, lips so close to her belly that she could feel the pressure of them moving through her shirt as he spoke. “You’re perfect my little lad or lass. You’ll be an Olympian too, just like your mother and me. What sport? Maybe gymnastics? Or a swimmer like your beautiful mother? Or a sailor like me?” Killian laughed, a disbelieving wet sound that made a happy gasping sob slip from Emma’s own lips. “Just don’t pick a winter sport,” Killian continued on, as if he were now revealing a great secret. “We can’t beat the Canadians and we want a medal for you.”

“Killian,” Emma admonished with a laugh, swatting at his head.

Killian laughed too and stood, groaning a bit as his muscles stretched from their crouched position, her discarded sweater in his hand. “Honestly love, I don’t care if the baby decides he or she wants to spend time crocheting hats for dolphins, so long as they’re healthy and happy. You’re healthy, right?”

Emma nodded. “I’m fine. Doctor said not to worry since I’ve barely gotten through my first trimester and I’m retired now anyways.”

Killian swooped forward and planted a quick kiss on her lips before pulling back. “And happy?”