It was finally happening.
David leaned over the sink, eyes going wide as he spotted a lone gray hair amid his dirty blonde locks. The culprit was situated right above his forehead, a neon sign proclaiming his loss of youth for all to see and almost mocking the prince. He shouldn't have been surprised. Although physically he was in his early thirties (he supposed not everything about Regina's curse had been bad) mathematically he was well into his sixties and had a thirty-year-old daughter to show for it. He knew he was getting older - Neal had just celebrated his first birthday and was already walking, Henry's growth spurt over the summer had left him almost as tall as David, and the bundle of joy his daughter was due to deliver in four months would make him a grandpa (again). One lone gray hair shouldn't unravel his confidence and self esteem.
But it did.
He was still young, dammit. He worked out regularly, chased Will Scarlet through the woods on a bi-weekly basis, and was vital enough to have sired another child almost thirty years after his first was born. Sure, the stress of living in Storybrooke could have been associated with the arrival of the offending color in his hair. Even after Emma had beaten the darkness - with True Love's Kiss from a pirate of all people - there was never a shortage of villains popping up in Storybrooke wanting to wreck havoc. But he was certain the physical sign of him getting older had more to do with age than stress levels.
"David we're going to be- what are you doing?"
Turning from the mirror the prince saw his wife - his young, vibrant, with not a hint of gray in her raven locks, wife - stop just inside their bathroom door with a confused look on her face. Pointing at the front of his hair he said in a too-high exasperated voice, "I have a gray hair!"
Mary Margaret blinked at her husband. "What?"
"Here-" Walking toward her he leaned down so his hairline was at her eye level. "See?!"
"David, I don't-"
"It's there," he groaned, straightening up. "It's there and it's proof that I'm getting old, Snow."
Mary Margaret rolled her eyes at her husband's dramatic statement. "You aren't old, David."
"Tell that to the gray hair!" he cried, crossing his arms like a petulant child. "I'm thirty-three and I have a gray hair and yet our 300-year-old son-in-law is walking around with a head full of gorgeous black hair!"
Mary Margaret fought to contain her smirk. Of course her husband would compare himself to the pirate. Ever since Camelot - really it went further back than that, possibly to the humid jungles of Neverland - Killian and David had developed a bromance of sorts, the two men bonding over their shared code of honor and love for Emma. It was a fact she found endearing if not a little strange at times, like when Killian and Emma had announced her pregnancy three months ago.
David hadn't known whether to congratulate his friend with a round of beers or punch the pirate in the face.
"You think Killian has gorgeous hair?" she asked, unable to stop her smile this time.
"You know what I mean," David muttered. "He's been alive almost as long as Gold and has endured countless curses and he- he still…. "
"Looks good enough to eat whole?" Mary Margaret supplied.
David's eyes widened comically. "Mary Margaret!"
"Oh stop it," Mary Margaret chastised as she pushed her husband towards the bathroom door. "No one is going to notice your one gray hair and it doesn't suddenly make you an old grandpa - your oldest grandchild turning fourteen next month does. Now come on before we're late for poker and wine night."
Grumbling about former bandits finding leather clad pirates hot, David let his wife lead him out of the bathroom.
No one could remember when poker and wine night had started (probably as a way to have some normalcy between villain attacks) but it was a tradition certain citizens of Storybrooke upheld every Friday night - unless an attack kept them from it - and even then they had gotten creative over the years. There was still bickering about the card games they had resorted to while in Agrabah and if Killian really had played with loaded dice against the Sultan himself. Not that the pirate would ever say he had considering the horde of treasure he walked away with. It was a way for them to unwind, to put aside the mantles of Savior, Sheriff, heroes, and Mayor for one night and come together as friends and family.
Poker and wine nights were held at Regina's house which was large enough for everyone and was away from any prying eyes and ears. The boys took up residence in Robin's study, a dark wooded room that screamed male - or forest, if you asked Regina - while the girls tucked themselves into Regina's living room, their feminine laughter occasionally drifting up the staircase to where the men were. David wasn't completely sure what the women talked about or did during their girl time - even his secret-blabbing wife wouldn't tell him - but they always seemed to leave less stressed and with smiles on their faces. Since Emma had found out she was pregnant they'd stopped adhering to the traditional poker and wine night rules (boys playing poker while girls drank wine) and instead had adapted to drinking hot cocoa so the Savior didn't feel left out of the festivities. They were currently down there now - Regina, Mary Margaret, Emma, Guinevere, and Belle - laughing about something someone said.
The men - Robin, Killian, Arthur, Will, and himself - were into their eighth round of poker and unsurprisingly Killian held the most chips. The beer - or rum and ale in Killian and Arthur's cases - was flowing freely as the men chatted. Normally after a hard working week David looked forward to the friendly male banter around the poker table but tonight he found himself sitting silently, glaring across the table at his son-in-law's perfect hair.
The pirate had let it grow out over the last few months citing Emma liked it that way - David had studiously ignored the wink his son-in-law had thrown Will's way - and the prince suddenly found its length annoying. He thought it absurd how the hair at the pirate's neck was so long it curled forward or the way the front would fall over the man's forehead as he contemplated his cards, somehow giving him a boyish quality. Most annoying was its color - pure inky blackness with not a hint of gray in sight.
David had stewed quietly on the drive to Regina's as his wife refused to hear another word about his 'supposed gray hair' and his mood had only soured more as he watched his daughter say goodbye to her husband. The way Emma let her hands wander in the pirate's hair as he gave her a chaste kiss had David turning to his own wife.
"Why don't you ever run your hands through my hair?"
Mary Margaret had rolled her eyes and not said a word as she none-too-gently shoved her husband toward the poker table before exiting the room with their five-month pregnant daughter.
"Your turn, Dave."
David turned his attention from that perfect replica of bed head that was on his son-in-law to the cards in his hands, not really paying attention as he threw a few chips into the pile. "Call."
"You sure you want to do that, mate?" Killian asked with a smug grin which only infuriated the prince more.
"You can't always have the perfect hand there, Mr. Hair Model," David muttered before taking a long pull of his beer. He noted the quirk of one of Killian's eyebrows and the way Arthur shared a confused look with Robin.
"Did I miss something?" the Camelot King whispered as he threw his own chips into the growing pile.
Robin shrugged. "I honestly have no idea."
"Stop yer gossipin' and play," Will grouched, having had more than his share of beer already.
David's frown only increased when Killian won the hand.
Killian looked at his father-in-law with concern. "Something the matter, Dave?"
"Nope," the prince replied shortly as he took the next round of cards from Robin. "Just playing cards and drinking beer like the young, virile man I am."
Killian raised a skeptical eyebrow as his father-in-law downed half his beer in one gulp before motioning for Arthur to hand him another one. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen the prince drink this much - that one night in Camelot aside - and it was mildly concerning since he was already on his fourth beer and they had only been playing for thirty minutes.
"You sure you should be drinking that much, mate? If memory serves, my mother-in-law isn't forgiving when you stumble home drunk-"
David brought his new beer bottle down onto the felt poker table with a loud thud. "Are you saying I'm too old to keep up with you, pirate?"
"That's-" What the bloody hell was the prince going on about? "It was never my intent to claim you are too old, Dave. I was merely suggesting-"
"That I can't keep up with you?" David scoffed. "It's you who can't keep up with me, Jones."
Clearly something was bothering the prince and he was choosing to flex his metaphorical muscles rather than admit what was wrong. Killian tilted his head to the side in contemplation. He tried to not annoy his father-in-law often these days but Killian wasn't the type of man to let a challenge go unanswered- even if that challenge was coming from his riled up father-in-law.
"Want to make a bet on that, your Highness?"
David narrowed his eyes. "You're on. Robin, where's your whiskey?"
"Dave, I don't think-"
"Whiskey, Hood."
Robin sighed. There was no way this was going to end well for any of them. "Top shelf of the wardrobe. Tumblers are in the door to the right of it."
Will grinned like a madman once he realised what was going on while Arthur threw Robin a worried look. Both men knew their wives were not going to react well to them leaving poker night drunk. Slightly buzzed, fine. Falling down drunk? No. They were going to pay for this one and by the looks of the whiskey David was pouring into five tumblers, falling down drunk was going to be the only option that night.
Handing a glass to his son-in-law David grinned. "May the best man win."
"The lights are on, but you're not home. Your mind is not your own…"
Killian rolled his eyes as his father-in-law broke out into his fifth rendition of the song, wondering how in the bloody hell he ended up almost carrying the prince at two in the morning down a darkened Storybrooke street.
Oh yes - the drinking challenge.
It hadn't taken long for the prince to succumb to the alcohol - ten glasses in he was throwing way more money than he should into the chip pile and by fourteen glasses was holding his cards facing the wrong way, a fact Will was too drunk to notice thankfully. Having built up a tolerance for alcohol over the course of three centuries Killian was barely fazed as he kept up with David, only beginning to feel the effects after they opened the third bottle of whiskey. While not as drunk as the prince, Arthur and Robin were definitely past the point of simply being buzzed, especially when the Camelot King started talking about the size of his 'excalibur' while Robin remarked about how 'it wasn't about the size, dear Arthur, but how well you aim with it'.
The women had not been amused in the slightest to find their husbands drunk and had all promptly left after issuing orders that they not kill themselves trying to get home later. None of his mates had been sober enough to notice the withering looks and narrowed eyes but he was, and he had never been more thankful for his high tolerance of hard liquor than in the moment his pregnant wife's eyes landed on him. He wasn't completely out of the doghouse as Will would say - he knew what that raised eyebrow meant. Emma Jones knew he had something to do with the state of his friends, in particular her father, and he wasn't going to be completely off the hook for it.
Although Killian was fairly certain having to listen to the prince sing off key about someone being addicted to love should be punishment enough for him.
"How do you do it?" came the sudden and slurred question. Killian looked over at his father-in-law to see those blue eyes that Neal had inherited gazing at him in wonderment.
"How do I what, mate?"
"Be so devilishly handsome."
Killian quirked an amused eyebrow as he kept his father-in-law from running face first into a pole. "You find me devilishly handsome, Dave?"
David shrugged. "Who wouldn't?" he asked, overly enthusiastic from the alcohol currently in his bloodstream. "Just look at you! All scruffy and dark leather - seriously, how do you even get into those pants? You don't see the women of Storybrooke fawning over my blue eyes, do you? And don't even get me started on your hair."
Now Killian was confused. "My hair?"
David hummed, reaching up to run a very sluggish hand through the pirate's dark locks. "It's all black and perfect and… black." The prince made a face. "Mine isn't black."
"Aye," Killian agreed, reaching out to stop the man from trampling over the shoe lady's flowers. "Mine is black, yours is blonde." Had the alcohol fried some of the prince's memory? Bloody hell, Mary Margaret really was going to have his head for this one.
"Mine isn't all blonde," David said, sighing dramatically. He came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, swaying from side to side as he looked at Killian with glassy eyes. "Can you keep a secret?"
Killian had absolutely no idea what was going on with his father-in-law but thought it best to go along. "Pirate's honor," he said seriously, crossing his hook over his heart. He watched as David nodded solemnly before looking him in the eye.
"I found a gray hair this morning."
Killian was not expecting that. "You what?" he dead panned.
"A gray hair," the prince repeated, clumsily motioning to his hair and almost hitting himself in the face. "The sign that I'm becoming an old man."
Oh. Well the prince's odd behavior from earlier made somewhat sense now. "You found a gray hair and you somehow feel your youth slipping away?"
"Don't mock me," David huffed, continuing on unsteady legs toward the loft. "You wouldn't understand with your perfectly black hair despite being 300 years old. Do you use Garnier or something?"
"Garden what?" Killian asked, confused.
"Nevermind," David muttered. "I'm an old man, Killian. I know I'm a grandfather to a fourteen year old and father to a thirty year old daughter but I don't feel it. This damn hair is a physical reminder that I am, in fact, getting old."
Killian smirked at the swaying form of his father-in-law's back. "You aren't old, Dave."
David whirled around to face the pirate, almost tripping over his feet and Killian's hook deftly catching his wrist the only thing that kept him from falling into the middle of Main Street. "Easy for you to say Mr. 'I'm a 300 year old pirate with still perfectly coiffed hair.'"
Killian rolled his eyes as he guided the prince in the direction of the loft. "Age is about how you act, mate. Aye, I'm 300 years old but I live my life like I haven't seen the dawn of three centuries. Even if I were to suddenly sprout ten gray hairs it wouldn't bother me."
David glanced at him. "It wouldn't?"
Killian shook his head, leading the prince across the street to the loft's opening. "You have to look at it like a mark of wisdom, a sign of what you've endured. Think of it as a mark of pride."
"You really don't think it makes me an old man?"
Killian gave his father-in-law a genuine smile. "Of the two of us, Dave, I'm the one who should feel like an old man."
(Six months later when Killian found a gray hair David assisted his pirate son-in-law in breaking into Gold's shop to reclaim their youth. Emma was not happy to get a phone call at three in the morning from Gold to learn her father was stuck head first in a display case and her husband had set off a magical booby trap.)
(Their daughter, on the other hand, was ecstatic when daddy came home as a black, blue eyed kitten with a single streak of grey on its left ear.)