"What's happening with your face right now?"

Emma twisted her eyebrows, but Ruby didn't blink, just stared at her with a calm, cool expression that was the opposite of every single emotion Emma was fairly certain she'd experienced in the last twenty-four hours, but couldn't quite name.

She sank into one of the seats and the league had given them a suite for the game, something about gold medals and important that felt a bit heavy-handed all things considered, but the chairs were padded and Emma wasn't going to scoff at that particular gift.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Emma said, doing her best to keep her voice even and it didn't really work.

She didn't need Ruby's quiet scoff to prove it either.

"Hey, Emma," Roland shouted, twisting around in the seat in front of him and he was trying to climb out of it before anyone could even stop him, one leg flung over the back and an arm stretched out towards her.

"Rol, relax," Emma mumbled, leaning forward to help tug him towards her before he ended up on the ground. He grumbled a bit when he moved, muttering something that sounded like I can do it on my own but Emma didn't move her hands, tugging on the front of his Locksley jersey and ignoring whatever it was Regina was doing with her face.

Emma tried to remember to breathe. And not touch her left hand. Or her stomach. And stop smiling so goddamn much.

She couldn't do that last one.

"You know where my phone went?" Emma asked, glancing at Ruby out of the corner of her eye. Ruby's smile stretched across her face in slow motion, some sort of unspoken understanding and that media relations training was the absolute worst because no one in the world was better at inferring things out of silence than Ruby Lucas.

"You lose your phone, Em?" Ruby asked and Regina made a noise in the back of her throat. "Something else going on?"

"What's going on?" Henry asked, standing up when the first few cords of the Canadian national anthem made their way into the arena.

"None of you are supposed to be talking," Emma hissed, wrapping her arms tightly around her middle and that probably wasn't helping her cause at all. "You're disrespecting the entire country of Canada."

Henry shrugged. "Ah, well, we don't really like Canada now do we? Plus, Killian can't lose the bet. That'd just be embarrassing."

"Not to mention a bad look for the face of the league," Ruby added. "Isn't that right, Regina? Not a good look for the endorsements."

Regina didn't answer, just rolled her eyes and glanced back down at the ice and Emma heard her gasp slightly when she noticed who was standing on it.

They were on the same line.

The 'Hawks guy put them on the same line – Robin and Killian standing next to each other at the blue line, sticks in hand and set shoulders and Emma's heart did something absurd at the sight, tugging her lip tightly in between her teeth so she didn't start to cry.

Ruby would totally know something was going on then.

Ruby absolutely already knew something was going on.

"Finally," Regina muttered and Emma should really find her phone. El would want to know. What time was it in Colorado?

Three o'clock puck drop and that made it...something at home. And, shit, Reese's. She'd never called Reese's.

Ruby was still staring at her – Emma could feel it, eyes going narrow as soon as Roland started singing along with the anthem and Henry shifted on his feet, settling back into protection when Emma assumed her eyes went a bit glossy.

"Emma," he said slowly, reaching out to wrap his fingers around her wrist. "You alright?"

"Fine," she answered immediately and she wasn't even surprised by how true it was. Ruby was laughing during the final notes of the national anthem, ignoring Roland's quiet reprimand completely.

"Yuh huh."

"I promise, kid. Absolutely fine. You got your camera still? We should make sure we get photos when we win."

"No jinx."

"Yeah, we're not doing that anymore," Emma said and Ruby stopped laughing immediately, eyes going wide and mouth hanging open. Emma grinned at her. "No need. Or something."

"Or something," Ruby repeated. Henry looked skeptical.

Emma nodded. She should really find her phone. "You really don't know where my phone is?"

"Why is everyone on this team obsessed with phones? You got something you need to be telling someone, Emma?"

"That's almost a little too obvious, don't you think?"

"You tell me."

Emma rolled her eyes, but she didn't get a chance to answer before the game started and she was standing before she even realized she'd moved, heart in her throat and nerves in the pit of her stomach and they needed to win.

That was only fair.

Regina started tapping her nails on the armrest as soon as Robin won the opening faceoff and Roland was already screaming about a penalty or offsides or something and eventually, Emma was certain, he was going to make one hell of a hockey player.

"Here," Ruby said, five minutes into the period, shoving Emma's phone into her hands. It was ringing.

"Where were hiding this?" she asked, wincing slightly when Killian collided with the boards a bit harder than he probably should have considering his hand was still on the wrong side of green. "God, why doesn't he know how to stop?"

"It's a momentum thing. Your phone is still ringing."

Henry groaned, rolling his eyes when both Ruby and Emma glanced his direction. "It's absolutely not a momentum thing," he explained. "He knows how to stop, he was trying to hit that Canadian guy without actually hitting that Canadian guy."

"What?" Emma asked and Henry should patent that eye roll. "Your face is going to stick that way."

Ruby cackled and Emma shot her a pointed glare. Her phone stopped ringing.

"He's trying to hit that Canadian guy," Henry repeated, glancing at Roland. "What's his name?"

"Has Roland memorized the Canadian roster too?" Ruby asked, but there was something that almost could have been construed as pride in her voice.

"Thomas," Roland said, not taking his eyes off the ice. He'd stood up when Emma did, but hadn't gone back to his own seat and they were taking up the same few inches of space in between rows of chairs, both of them bobbing on their feet whenever the puck moved into the Canadian zone.

"And some French last name he can't pronounce," Henry added knowingly. Roland made a face. "Anyway," he continued. "He was trying to hit him without really hitting him so he wouldn't get whistled. Will will probably make fun of him for it. That's what he's always telling me to do."

"Scarlet's telling you not to hit people?" Emma asked.

Henry nodded. "Penalties don't help me score, you know."

"Of course not."

"It's an intimidation thing."

"Does Cap need to be intimidating Canadians?" Ruby asked, glancing at Emma out of the corner of her eye. "Or is this some kind of celebration in the form of intimidation because he's got all these pent up emotions to deal with?"

"What?" Henry asked, gaze snapping towards Emma and she could almost feel his confusion.

"Oh my God, Ruby, shut up," Emma sighed.

Roland yelled something – a mix of noises that might have landed decidedly in screaming territory – nearly elbowing Emma in the side when he started shouting skate, skate, skate at the ice. Emma's phone started ringing again.

Ruby didn't try to push it in her hands through, her own eyes going wide and Emma heard Regina's breath catch in her throat.

"Shit, was he almost offsides?" Ruby asked softly and Emma nodded, joining whatever chant Roland seemed to be staging just in front of her.

Jeez, he was fast.

And he absolutely was almost offsides – moving quicker than a goddamn puck on the ice. Emma tried to keep her eyes trained on Killian, a streak of red and white just over the blue line and she could barely make out the puck bouncing in front of him.

He had to twist his stick around to make sure it actually moved in front of him and the closest defender was two and a half steps behind him already.

"He promised two," Roland said and Emma pulled her eyes away from the ice half a moment to stare at him. "In the car here. Two goals. One for me and Henry."

"At least," Henry added, glancing back at Emma with a smile on his face and she felt her stomach flip. "Three might not be bad though."

She couldn't come up with anything to say and Roland was screaming again, jumping on his feet and shouting Hook until he was almost out of breath.

Emma had spent a good part of the last year and a half consistently impressed by anything Killian Jones, face of the entire goddamn NHL, did on the ice. He was faster than anybody she'd ever seen play and, despite the tendency to turn the puck over in the neutral zone, he could weave through defenders like they weren't even there.

He was good.

Absurdly good.

And she'd never seen him look better than he did in that moment.

It was like he wasn't even moving, which didn't make sense at all because he was very obviously sprinting, but he covered ground in a matter of seconds, pushing off the front of his skates and the defender didn't even stand a chance.

"God, shoot Cap," Ruby screeched next to her and Emma shook her head. He wasn't going to shoot. Not yet.

And the goalie probably should have just skated out of the way completely for as much as he froze on the move – forehand, backhand and he got an impossible amount of lift on the shot. The tabs would probably use the word liftoff in the headlines.

The goalie was flat on his stomach, legs splayed open and it didn't matter at all. Killian's shot sailed over his shoulder, hitting the center of the net with a sound Emma swore she could actually hear.

Or maybe feel.

That was kind of sentimental.

It was that kind of day.

Roland leapt up in front of her, feet colliding with her shins when he jumped and Emma barely even noticed, hand wrapped around the one ring she actually did have and the other arm wrapped tightly around her waist and she didn't move an inch.

She hoped Matthew Jones was as fast as his dad.

"Oh my God, make fun of his celebration later," Regina muttered, but she was grinning in spite of whatever criticism she had.

Ruby chuckled. "Em, you've got to get him to do something else. That's awful. Oh, shit, we should be SnapChatting this shouldn't we?"

"He does the same thing every time he scores," Emma reasoned and her pulse could probably be heard in every corner of the entire, stupid arena. "Even the stick shift. He kind of pulls his stick across his body and then yells. It's a thing. And Mer's taking care of SnapChat. We're just in charge of video when we win."

"Athletes," Ruby said and that pride was still in her voice. They were winning. And Emma could barely see Killian anymore – just bits of jersey and half of his number visible when Robin and Will jumped towards him against the boards, knocking him up against the glass.

Regina clicked her tongue, fingers flying across her phone. "Stupid 'Hawks idiot. They should have been on the same line from the very first game."

"A rather pointed opinion."

"That came from El," Regina argued and she couldn't quite keep the laughter out of her voice. Her phone made noise again and Emma's ringtone was barely noticeable over the din of the crowd and shouts of USA USA USA and the two kids in the league-provided suite were probably louder than all of them put together.

"Or maybe Anna," Regina said, twisting her lips slightly when her phone actually shook in her hand. "Oh God, yeah, definitely, Anna. No one's ever been that excited in the history of anything."

"Em," Ruby muttered, pushing the still-ringing phone in her hand. "Give David a break. I think he's going insane without you around."

Her phone wasn't connected to wifi. There was no wifi in the arena. And she didn't really have time to think about what she was doing or what it would cost her after she did it, but David's photo had popped up on her screen and Emma's mind raced back to what Mary Margaret had told her the night before.

He's been worried about you.

She swiped her finger across the screen.

"Hey, Dad," Emma smiled and David grinned at her, something that felt a bit like understanding in his gaze.

David sighed loudly, rolling his eyes as he slumped into the corner of the couch and Emma could barely make out Mary Margaret's quiet laughter on the other side of the laugh. "You just going to start this conversation off by being difficult then?"

"You're proving my point."

"I'm asking you a question."

"Why'd you call?"

"Answer the question, Emma."

"Dad."

"Emma!"

"Oh my God, both of you stop," Mary Margaret interrupted, grabbing the phone out of David's hand and ignoring whatever sound he made at the move. "Hi," she continued, staring pointedly at Emma who had to resist the urge to melt into the floor of the arena, certain the weight of Mary Margaret's stare was more than enough to get her into the ground.

"You are doing a very specific type of thing with your face, Reese's," Emma accused, pushing out of the seat and making her way towards the door. She ignored the quiet yells that came from the suite, exclamations of disbelief as she moved into the hallway and she muttered something about TVs out there. There were – little screens dotted along the top of the walls and Emma could even hear the commentary in the background on the New York side of the call.

"We're winning," Emma said as soon as she slammed the suite door shut behind her and Mary Margaret's face shifted slightly.

"Is that code?" she asked.

"What?"

"Code," Mary Margaret repeated, hissing the words in some kind of strangled whisper like David couldn't hear when he was sitting six inches away from her. Emma could still see his shoulder in the frame of the phone.

"I'm not that creative."

Mary Margaret shrugged. "I don't know about that," she argued. "How come we've never come up with a code though?"

"That's a very you guys thing to do," David muttered, wincing slightly when someone got hit on the ice.

"Who was that?" Emma snapped. Her eyes darted up to the screen and David's shoulder was moving now – he was laughing at her. And Killian wasn't on the ice.

"Whoa, relax overprotective weirdo," he chuckled. "Didn't the petition promise they wouldn't actually hit each other?"

"Yeah and a fat lot of good that did us against Finland."

"How'd his hand look today?"

"Uh," Emma stuttered, gaze still focus on the screen and Canada had taken three shots on net already. Will blocked the last shot, skating back to the boards a bit more gingerly than she would have liked, and Mary Margaret gasped loudly. "God, that goalie is awful. But, uh, yeah, the hand looked ok. I don't know. I'm not a trainer. Or a doctor."

"Didn't you see it?" David pressed, confusion seeping into the question and Emma pulled her eyes away from the screen long enough to look at Mary Margaret. She shook her head quickly, lips pressed together until they were nearly pulled back behind her teeth and Emma's heart swelled slightly.

She hadn't told David yet.

Maybe they did have some kind of unspoken code after all.

"Yeah," Emma answered, doing her best not stumble over the words when she realized she hadn't actually responded to David. "But, you know, only quickly. It's kind of green still. Ariel said it was fine yesterday."

"Only quickly?"

"David, are you interrogating me?"

He rolled his eyes again and Canada hit the post that time. "Of course not," he said, but there was something on the edge of his voice that made Emma narrow her eyes. And look at Mary Margaret again.

She shrugged.

"Are we all having four different conversations, right now?" Emma asked. David and Mary Margaret couldn't answer quickly enough, loud protests and promises of of course not and definitely no and Emma scoffed.

They were absolutely having four different conversations.

At least.

"It's got to be more than that," Mary Margaret said. Emma lifted her eyebrows – although she wasn't sure if that was because Mary Margaret seemed so certain or because of whatever noise David was making, some kind of half-strangled thing that sounded a bit like he was actually choking on his attempt to not say words.

"God, Reese's," Emma muttered. "Clap the Detective on the back or something. He sounds like he can't even breathe."

David groaned, but Mary Margaret did as instructed, smiling just a bit when she noticed how red his face had gotten. "Whatever, Emma," he grumbled, sitting up a bit straighter and glaring at her from the other side of the world. "You're grounded now. No going out on the weekend."

"Seems kind of harsh."

"Yeah, well, the number of conversations we're having is absolutely your fault."

"How you figure?"

"You tell me."

"God, David, at least try and make sense."

"You know how difficult this has been for me?" he asked sharply and Emma pulled her head back. "It's not like I'm good at this. And you're not helping at all either, all FaceTiming during shootouts and doing whatever it is you keep doing with your face. Oh shit," he added, eyes darting away from the phone screen and Emma slumped against the wall.

She hadn't been paying attention at all. Not even a full twenty-four hours into being a fiancée and she was already the worst fiancée into the world.

Canada had scored – some name she thought she recognized from the Devils roster the season before – and Killian had been on the ice. She could just make out his number in the replay, not even bothering to listen to whatever thoughts Pierre McGuire had on the state of the United States' game in the defensive zone.

"Who is that guy?" Mary Margaret asked, nodding towards the TV in front of her. "Does he absolutely hate America?"

"Jeez, he's talking about plus-minus like that's a real stat," David muttered and Emma had worked her way to the floor, mind racing and a tie game in front of her and it all seemed to hit her in one fell swoop.

She wished it would stop doing that.

She should have looked at Killian's hand more before he left the media room. She'd been kind of preoccupied – getting engaged and telling your fiancé you were, maybe, probably, almost definitely, pregnant had a way of take precedent over hand injuries.

It had been really green.

Emma was, suddenly, exhausted, eyes wide and practically boring a hole into the TV on the opposite wall. He was mad. She didn't need the camera close-up or the barely-audible sounds of Doc Emerick's commentary to know it.

She could see it in the set of his shoulders and and the way he'd practically collapsed on the bench, gripping his stick so tightly she was positive his knuckles were white underneath his gloves.

A fiancée. She was a fiancée. They were going to get married.

They were going to get married and have a kid.

Matthew Jones.

And she was exhausted and Killian was furious and they weren't really winning anymore, but they weren't losing yet either and that seemed like some kind of sign.

She'd become dependent on the clichés.

Emma let out a shaky laugh, joy seemingly bubbling out of her, as if that was something that could physically happen and she didn't really care about the goals or plus-minus, just cared about what would happen when the game ended and they got back to a hotel room and a bed and each other.

"Em," David said, jerking her out of her thoughts and she gasped slightly when she realized there was a ring somewhere in the country of South Korea. What had Killian said? Two hours away in a safe? He'd brought a ring to the Olympics with him.

He'd brought a ring to the Olympics with him to give to her – she got a ring and a family and some kind of picture-perfect something that was real.

"Holy shit," Emma mumbled and Mary Margaret laughed softly from the couch.

"Which conversation was that in response to?" David asked, the threat of a smile on his face as he tried to actually look like he was disciplining Emma for not listening to him.

She rolled her eyes, balancing her phone in between her knees and resting her hands across her stomach. Mary Margaret's eyes practically fell out of her head. David looked like he was about to choke again when Emma's fingers traced over the back of her left hand.

"David, you've got to tell me what you know," Emma commanded. Or, at least, tried to command. She still kind of felt like the petulant teenage kid in this conversation.

"I can't," he sighed, slumping forward for added effect.

"Can't or won't?"

"You tell me."

"You're repeating yourself now. That's not a good look, Detective."

"Emma, oh my God, I'm serious. I cannot." He took a deep breath, chewing on his lower lip thoughtfully before it looked like he got a second wind. Emma steeled herself for the argument. "And, anyway, I don't know anything. Nothing. At all. Negative amounts of things."

"That's not proper English is it, Reese's?" Emma asked.

Mary Margaret shook her head. "Not even close."

"Ok, it's not fair if you guys team up on me," David groaned. "This is like Poker Face all over again."

"That was totally different," Emma argued. "There can't be any alcohol involved here."

Mary Margaret's eyes widened again – brown and concerned and asking questions in some kind of unspoken code that was only serving to infuriate a very clearly lying David.

"Can't," he repeated slowly, darting his head towards Mary Margaret who just shrugged in response. Emma gripped the front of her blazer tightly, tugging on the fabric until she was worried she would rip it and that was a horrible look for an expectant mother. Oh God, she was an expectant mother.

Maybe.

She should really buy a test. Maybe she should have learned some more basic phrases in Korean. How would someone say I'd like to find out if I'm actually going to have a kid and maybe like some sort of reassurance that I won't totally fuck it up and that my boyfriend will win a gold medal.

Fiancé.

Actually he's my fiancé now. We got engaged. Just now. Before a gold medal game. In the Olympics. He bought me a ring.

That wasn't exactly a common string of words.

"Emma, what is going on with your face?" David asked and she laughed loudly, mumbling something about how Ruby had asked her the same thing.

Her jaw was starting to cramp, alternating between smiling like a complete idiot and worrying about the state of her clothing and whether or not her fiance would break his stick from frustration on the bench. "I'm happy?"

"Was that a question?"

"David!" He groaned loudly and the first period had ended. "That was fastest period in the history of hockey."

"Still twenty minutes, Em."

"Felt fast."

"You trying to get through the game? Got something to get back to? Some plan? Some event?"

"After a gold medal game, David? Maybe. When they win I've got a ton of work to do."

"That's not really what I was talking about."

"Yeah, I realize that. You know how I realize that?" David didn't even move, just twisted his lips and crossed his arms over his chest and Mary Margaret looked concerned that one of them was going to actually start throwing punches, verbal or otherwise, through the phone. "Because," Emma said, emphasizing every letter. "You are an awful liar, Detective."

Mary Margaret did her best to turn her laughter into a convincing cough and it didn't really work. David shot her an exasperated look over his shoulder before turning his frustration back at Emma. She lifted her eyebrows in response.

"I'm trying to help, Em," he said, straining over the words and for half a moment she was almost mad at herself for whatever argument they were staging. They'd stayed up for the game. Or gotten up early for the game.

It didn't matter.

They were still the most supportive and consistent things in Emma's entire goddamn life and she, suddenly, had a pretty good idea as to what David absolutely, positively, under no circumstance, couldn't tell her.

"Well, stand down, Detective," she said and she was back to smiling, the muscles in her cheeks protesting slightly at the movement.

And maybe she was almost crying.

They were probably going to start the second period soon.

"What?" David asked.

"You don't have to keep the secret anymore, David. I know."

"You do?"

Emma nodded and David's smile matched hers now. "As of two hours before puck drop. You're off the secret-hook now."

"You've got to actually say the words, Em," David said, the excitement in his voice making it difficult to completely understand him. "I'm not risking this. Killian can absolutely destroy me in some kind of fight for your hand."

Mary Margaret screeched – an actual, honest to goodness screech that probably shook the windowpanes of the loft and maybe did some damage to the door or David's eardrums. She leapt off the couch, knocking over a glass of something on the coffee table and David just barely pulled the TV remote out of harm's way before Mary Margaret yanked the phone out of his hands and stared at Emma like she'd never quite seen her before.

Emma was never going to stop smiling.

"Words," Mary Margaret demanded, still standing in the middle of the loft with the phone held out in front of her.

"What did you spill?" Emma asked. "Are you drinking wine in the middle of the night?"

"Emma!"

Emma nodded, pursing her lips slightly, but she couldn't quite look away from Mary Margaret – half convinced she was the physical embodiment of sunshine and positivity and she'd known from the very beginning.

"You guys already stole the Rangers theme," Emma said slowly, not entirely sure when she'd started crying or Mary Margaret had started sniffling. "So we'll have to come up with a slightly different color scheme than just straight up blue-seat blue."

Mary Margaret whimpered slightly, pulling up one hand to press her knuckles against her lips and her eyes were already inching towards the wrong side of puffy.

"How'd it happen, Em?" David asked, stepping back into the frame and slinging a supportive arm around Mary Margaret's shoulder. "This was supposed to happen, like, weeks ago. It's been the absolute worst."

"I apologize for the lateness of my engagement," Emma grumbled.

David and Mary Margaret both yelled again, matching looks of overjoyed on their face and Emma couldn't wipe the tears away quickly enough, keeping one hand trained around her middle.

"Engaged," Mary Margaret repeated in awe. "Is there a ring? Let me see the ring! Oh my God, I knew this was going to happen. I knew it!"

"Witch," Emma accused and she couldn't even work an ounce of venom into the word. She was too goddamn happy. "And it happened here. As mentioned. Two hours before puck drop."

"But you weren't together last night!"

"Wait, what?" David asked sharply. "Where'd you go last night, Em?"

Emma blinked, smile falling off her face slightly when her jaw dropped and her two best friends in the entire world now bore startlingly similar looks of confusion. "Hold on a second," she said slowly. "Did you guys not tell the other what you both already knew?"

Mary Margaret shook her head. "But you guys tell each other everything," Emma yelled. This conversation didn't make any sense anymore. They needed to go point by point. They needed some kind of schedule.

She'd left the post-it notes in the hotel room.

"Yeah, well," Mary Margaret muttered. "This was kind of your thing. And you deserved to tell Killian first. Oh my God, did you? You did right?"

Emma's heart felt like it stopped, slowing down to a level that absolutely could not have been healthy, before speeding up again andthat couldn't have been healthy either. She nodded again and Mary Margaret sagged against David's side.

"Deep breaths, Reese's," Emma said softly, but she couldn't really hold her head up either.

Fuck, she was happy. Those words probably shouldn't be used in the same sentence, but it had been an impossible few hours and she couldn't quite get the memory of Killian's face out of her memory – eyes wide and hopeful and so goddamn blue it wasn't even fair – as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

Yes and pregnant and Killian couldn't seem to stop brushing his fingers across her side on the walk back to the locker room, palm wrapped around her waist and thumb tracing out tiny half-circles across the corner of her stomach like he was trying to make sure they both knew he was there.

Both of them.

There was a both of them now.

And he'd pulled her up short before walking back into the locker room, tugging them into a corner and ignoring Emma's grumblings that he was going to get both of us in trouble. He'd kissed her instead, soft and meaningful and she could feel it in her toes, the trace of his tongue against her lip and that quiet sigh he let out when her fingers tugged on the front of his t-shirt.

"I love you," Killian muttered, repeating the words like some kind of mantra every time he pulled away to take a breath.

"Yeah, I think I got that impression," Emma laughed.

"Swan. I am being romantic, here. You're ruining some really solid work."

She made a face, sticking her lower lip out tightly and gasping softly when Killian's hand worked under her blazer, pressing against her stomach slightly. Her eyes went wide and he looked almost nervous, like he'd overstepped some unspoken line and they still didn't really know. She should stop lying to herself like that.

It wasn't healthy.

Not a good example for a mom.

"Ah, well, I apologize then," she said softly. "And I think you're doing a pretty good job. You know, romance wise."

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely," Emma promised and it felt bigger than just talking about a moment in a hallway in South Korea. "You keep doing that, you know."

"What?"

"A good job. Romance or otherwise. And, you can't seem to keep your hands off me, Jones."

He chuckled lightly, ducking his head to kiss her again quickly and her back collided almost painfully with the wall. Or it would have, probably, been painful if Emma wasn't half convinced she was being held up by some invisible buoy of perpetual happiness.

"That's because I keep trying to make sure you're actually here," Killian answered and the buoy jostled slightly by a sudden wave of guilt and, maybe, just a bit of nausea. He noticed – of course he noticed – and he was absolutely going to be stupid overprotective for the next nine months.

Or eight'ish.

She should see a doctor when they got hom.

"I really hated last night," Emma said, forehead falling forward to rest on Killian's chest. He didn't move his hand, twisting his wrist to keep his palm flat on her stomach and his thumb sent a shockwave of something down Emma's spine. "I barely slept at all. As displayed by voicemails one through four and, just, a ridiculous amount of Googling."

"I should have woken up," Killian argued bitterly and Emma got the distinct impression he'd thought that more than once in the last few hours.

"That's not your job. You don't have to keep constant tabs on me."

"Yes it is."

He'd said it so easily, the words falling out of his mouth with the kind of conviction that didn't really belong in a hallway and she'd tried to take a step back out of instinct. There was a wall in her way.

She couldn't move.

And the metaphor or the lesson or whatever was so obvious, Emma nearly groaned right there in the middle of the hallway. That probably would have ruined the romance too.

"At least," Killian corrected softly, rocking back on his heels until Emma moved her head and he ducked down into her eyeline. "I hope it is."

"You know," Emma said slowly, trying to figure out the right words and she wasn't good at this. Still. How was she supposed to combat sweeping proposals and promises that she'd changed everything when she could barely think as soon as Killian Jones, her fiancé, looked at her like she was the center of everything?

She huffed slightly and Killian looked at her incredulously, eyebrows twisted slightly, but he didn't actually say anything. He waited for her – always.

"You did too," Emma finished, groaning loudly when her head hit back up against the wall.

"What?" Killian asked and his eyebrows hadn't moved. "Swan, stop jerking your head back, you're going to give yourself a concussion."

"I've never had a concussion. I wouldn't know the symptoms."

"I have. And that's not helping. Now, come on, what are you thinking, love?"

She didn't say what she was actually thinking – that she hoped he didn't stop calling her Swan after all of this, that even after rings and vows and a kid, God, he'd still call her Swan and still stare at her like he wanted to make sure she was there.

That's exactly what she should have said.

She just wasn't very good at talking.

"I love you an absolutely ridiculous amount too you know," Emma said and the words came out like a challenge. Killian grinned at her, smirk settling on his face as his eyebrows shot up his forehead.

"Yeah?" he asked, a note of amusement in the question that Emma wasn't entirely sure she appreciated.

"Yeah. And you got your great, big romantic speech. So turnabout's fair play or whatever. I love you and I am…" Emma took a deep breath, shoulders moving and, at some point, Killian had worked his left hand behind her head so she wouldn't inadvertently concuss herself before a gold medal game she wasn't playing in. "I want it to be real."

He narrowed his eyes slightly, confusion falling on his face, but it only took half a breath before he caught up. Turnabout and all that.

"What did you spend all night looking up, Swan?"

He ran his thumb across the front of her dress – red and American and nearly the same color as the one she'd worn during that party neither one of them had wanted to go to and maybe they should be writing all of these clichés down.

"He's the size of a lentil," Emma whispered. "And his face is starting to form, which is gross if you spend too much time thinking about it, so don't because I did and that would explain my voice in voicemail number three."

Killian nodded slowly, lips slightly parted and his thumb had stopped moving entirely. He looked a little stunned. "Still with me, Cap?"

He nodded again, letting out a shaky breath and then he was kissing her again. And if the moments on the walk back to the locker room had been decidedly in the realm of sweet and meaningful then these were a bit closer to desperate and needy, all lips and tongue and just a bit of teeth, crowding against each other until Emma could feel him in every inch of her, hips pressed against hips and they were both going to get fined for being late.

He pulled away from her only long enough to take a deep breath, ducking his head again and Emma could feel his smile against her mouth, could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Or maybe that was his.

"What else?" Killian asked and Emma would have bet a considerable amount of money that his eyes had gotten bluer at some point.

"What?"

"Something else," he said. "Tell me something else, Swan."

It was definitely her heartbeat echoing in her ears, like it was trying to prove this wasn't some weird, fever dream she'd come up with when she inevitably contracted some kind of deadly disease from Will and Phillip's room.

"Um," she muttered, trying to remember the dozens of pages she'd scrolled through the night before, not quite able to fall asleep completely without Killian's quiet breathing behind her. "His heart is beating really fast. Like double the speed of ours. More than hundred beats a minute or so some shoddy website claimed."

"A hundred," Killian repeated, a stricken look on his face. "Is that healthy?"

"Well, I mean he doesn't have an entire body yet, so, I don't know what you're counting as particularly healthy."

He tilted his head meaningful, a reprimand without actually using the words and he'd turned it around again – she was, decidedly, charmed and she hadn't really finished her side of the epic, romantic announcements.

"You keep doing that," Killian said.

"Falling back on sarcasm out of habit?"

"Swan," he sighed, tugging on the front of her dress slightly and his lips landed on her forehead seemingly out of instinct. He didn't say anything for at least several eternities and Emma's pulse picked up again. It probably matched the lentil. "You keep saying he," Killian whispered, mumbling the words against her hairline like he couldn't quite bring himself to look at her when he said it.

Oh. She had. And so had Will.

She hadn't really noticed before, had just fallen into that particular decision as soon as Killian had given her a name in the backseat of the car and, well, that was that or something.

"Yeah," Emma sighed, resting her own hand on top of Killian's. There was yelling coming out of the locker room, chants of USA and something that sounded like the 'Hawks guy demanding to know where Jones is, goddamnit and Emma licked her lips, once again struggling to find the right words.

"It could be a girl."

"It could be a whole lot of nothing if I don't take a test," Emma muttered and she did her best to keep the disappointment out of her voice. It didn't work.

"Hey," Killian said, tucking a slightly green left hand under her chin until they were almost eye-to-eye. "I want it to be real too."

Emma closed her eyes lightly, trying to will the moment in the deepest, darkest corners of her memories, the spots that had been occupied by a childhood marred with loneliness and being left behind and everything she'd never even allowed herself to think about having.

"Matthew," she whispered, pressing up her toes so she could mutter the name against his jaw and he jerked back slightly when her lips pressed against his cheek.

"Yeah?"

"I like it. It'll sound good on draft day."

"He might not play hockey, Swan."

"Please. He'll be better than you."

"I hope so," Killian said and Emma swore she could feel the words land in the pit of her stomach or maybe the back corner of her brain and saying her soul just felt almost too cliché, but that might have been the most honest one.

She hoped so too.

Emma Swan - optimist.

"Jones," a voice called from the doorway. Emma didn't recognize the voice, could only just hear Will screaming something that sounded a lot like leave them the fuck alone, he'll be here in a second. Killian rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, not looking away from Emma. "I'll be there. Tell Ignis it's fine."

The voice didn't say anything, just retreated back into the locker room and shouted back in Will's direction.

"We should thank him or something," Emma muttered.

"Swan, he's the reason you didn't sleep last night. And half the reason I'm convinced my blood pressure will never recover."

"You're a professional hockey player, I don't think you have anything to worry about when it comes to blood pressure."

"I've got to go."

"You should have gone an hour ago. You'll barely have time to get dressed."

"Ah, well, it makes a good story to tell the kids."

"Are there more than one?" Emma asked and the tips of Killian's ears were tinged red. She kissed his cheek again, fingers pushed into his hair until it was sticking up slightly and she needed to find the team suite or Ruby was never going to let her live this down.

"Just the one for now, love," Killian said, pressing his hand forward slightly like he was proving his point.

She needed to find a South Korean pharmacy.

"Go," she muttered, pushing on his shoulders. As if that would, somehow, get him to move.

Killian nodded again, smile etched on his face and he moved quicker than she was ready for, brushing his lips against hers before grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss against her palm and she'd never quite understand how she managed to stay upright when he held her own hand against her stomach, grinning at her like he'd never been happier in his entire goddamn life.

"I'll see you post-game, Swan."

Emma blinked once and someone was shouting her name and she was back in a different hallway and the present, again, with a phone resting precariously on her thighs. "Jeez, are you alive?" Ruby yelled, sinking onto the floor next to her and Emma wasn't sure she had an answer.

She'd forgotten about Mary Margaret and David on the phone, wrapped up in memories and whatever it was her face appeared to be doing still.

"You've still got that look on your face," Ruby pointed out, reaching a finger up to tap against Emma's jaw.

"We stopped even trying to get her to pay attention," David muttered and Emma shot him a glare. "She just kind of drifted off in the middle of the conversation. We figured she was planning color schemes."

Ruby's hand fell back to her side with all the force of an anvil falling off the side of a building. "What," she snapped.

David blinked once. "You didn't tell, Ruby?"

"It happened, literally, two hours ago," Emma argued. "Well, more like three now, I guess. Is the second period over?"

"God, Emma did you time travel or something? The second's almost over. Still tied."

Ruby didn't look impressed by anything that had to do with the game, swatting at Emma's shoulder until she turned her head towards her. "I thought you told him," she yelled. Emma winced. "You were supposed to tell him today! I figured you told him about mini-Jones and that was the reason for the look on your face."

David dropped the phone. "What?" he yelled and Mary Margaret had dissolved into hysterics.

"Reese's, please," Emma pleaded. "Ok, enough with the multiple conversations. We're doing this once and then no more. Got it?" Three heads nodded in agreement and Emma tried to pull on some kind of word-speaking determination she wasn't sure she had. "Your stupid set-up paid off, all of you overly interfering idiots, because not only are Killian and I engaged, but, well, I think I'm pregnant."

Mary Margaret was inching closer to the realm of sobbing and even Ruby looked like she'd just gotten the greatest media scoop in the world, but Emma's eyes flashed to David – some kind of unspoken hope for understanding or support and she didn't get it, at least not the way Emma expected.

She got it tenfold, a quiet smile that looked halfway torn between stunned and overwhelmed and his eyes were just a bit glossy when he let out a breathless Em on the other side of the world.

"I don't know about the second one for sure though," she said quickly, a caveat that didn't really need to be there, but she was stillEmma and still cautious and absolutely terrified of how absolutely hopeful she was.

"We're pretty sure though," Mary Margaret added.

"Wait," David shouting, twisting on the couch and nearly dropping the phone again. "You knew? When?"

"That's a very long story," Emma muttered at the same time Mary Margaret said, "You knew Killian wanted to propose."

"Can we stop having four different conversations, please?" Emma pleaded, squeezing her eyes closed as the second period buzzer went off. "We are trying to stay in the area of positive for his existence, but we're not jinxing anything."

"His," David repeated and the quiet smile was practically a flashing neon sign in Times Square now.

Emma shrugged. "Maybe."

Ruby rolled her eyes, groaning as she stood back up and Emma hadn't noticed there was a bag slung over her shoulder. "Alright," she said, a note of authority in her voice that left little room for argument. She'd taken over the situation. "No more multiple conversations and no more maybes for possibly-boy, mini-Jones. We're not doing this for another period of hockey game."

"What?" Emma sputtered, arm tightening around her waist out of instinct.

Ruby shrugged the bag off her shoulder, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor as David and Mary Margaret both demanded to see what was going on. Emma leaned forward with the phone clutched tightly in her hand and Ruby pressed a box under her nose.

A pregnancy test.

"Who wants to find out if we've got a first-rounder on our hands?" she asked.