No one spoke in the ready room. The only noises were the dull roar of the crowd outside the room on the pool deck stands, watching the race and the patter of nervous feet behind her, bouncing up and down. Tucked inside her long jacket Emma was warm, a necessary evil to keep her body ready, chin down the neck with her mouth worrying at the zipper. It was the only sign of anxiety she showed.

She was determined not to show nerves. Not when her rivals stood mere feet behind her. Not when there was a camera in her face broadcasting her to the entire country. Wearing the stars and stripes, especially since it was her wearing them, made the reporters pay closer attention and it was just a lot. Not for the first time Emma was thankful for the polarized lenses of her googles.

This wasn't Emma's first Olympics. Not by a long shot. She'd done two before, her first at sixteen in Bejing and then London. Her ability to act completely unfazed, completely blank, had earned her the nickname of Iceberg, right from her first race in China. Not because she was big, Emma was actually small for a swimmer. But because people thought she was made of ice.

This wasn't her first Olympics. But it was going to be her last.

Emma was twenty-four. Not the oldest in the circuit by far. But she was done fighting constantly. Done of competing for survival in every aspect of her life. Going into her first Olympics Emma hadn't thought she'd quit until her body had completely given out of her. Because swimming was the only thing she'd ever had.

Everyone knew the story. How Emma had grown up in the foster care system, swimming at the local gyms during free swims until she was adopted at age ten by Ingrid Arendelle. Ingrid recognized her love for swimming and her talent and enrolled her in proper swimming immediately after the adoption went through. Six years later she swam on the world stage with Ingrid watching and took a bronze medal in the two-hundred-meter butterfly. It was the first moment Emma had truly felt safe in her adoption with Ingrid. Emma had been given back once by the Swans, she always believed it could happen again. But standing on the podium, eyes finding Ingrid's in the stand beside the pool deck, she knew she'd made her mother proud and was safe. Emma had gone for two years to Boston University while she trained for London before it became a decision of pursuing her education while swimming or pursuing a greater Olympic dream because she still made just a mediocre showing considering her talent- just two bronze medals. So Emma had quit university, supported by Ingrid like always, and started swimming full time.

Each competition she won more and more. This year alone, Emma had won the 200 butterfly at the Pan Am games, Olympic trials and then again at the Worlds. She'd silver medaled in the 100 butterfly at Olympic trials. This Olympics was to be the competition of a lifetime for her. Emma had four individual races and one relay and she was expected to come back to the United States with at least three medals. She'd already come in second in her 200 butterfly semi to get her to the final, holding back just enough to get there without exhausting herself.

People were surprised that Emma was going out at her peak. But they didn't get that she no longer was just surviving.

Now Emma had more than swimming. Now she wanted a life.

Emma had a mother who went to all the competitions she swam at. Who always had big and obnoxious signs and flags so Emma could always find her in the stands after a race. Who had moved to Boston to be near Emma as she trained, even though Emma no longer lived at home at that point. It was overwhelming to have Ingrid after ten years with nothing. And that wasn't even all Emma had.

Emma also had Killian Jones. Their story was all over the sports magazines because it wasn't just Emma the sport world was watching. It was also Killian who was an Olympic sailor in the laser dingy division. 'The Darlings of the American Team' Sports Illustrated called them when they photographed them together for their Olympic issue.

Killian and Emma had met while in London. Two weeks before the Olympics Emma had been exploring the city and stumbled upon a sailing club, drawn to the water as usual. After seeing Killian capsize in his small dingy she jumped in, thinking she was saving him from drowning. Of course, she hadn't known he was actually an Olympian himself and could easily flip his boat and climb back in. That had been an embarrassing mistake on Emma's part, dragging herself soaking wet onto shore while Killian, also drenched, sailed in, laughing at her reaction. They'd gone to each others events after that, not really making any more moves than that. Emma was still wary of outsiders and Killian had just gotten out of a shitty relationship. After the Olympics they went back to their respective countries, Emma with her two bronze and Killian with a silver in the laser. And Emma thought that was the end, the last time she'd ever see the handsome sailor with the lilting accent and the eyes bluer than the water he sailed in.

Until four months later when Killian's brother died and Killian, needing to escape the memories, had taken advantage of his duel citizenship and come to the United States. Killian had shown up late one night at her door with no warning, no where else to go, clearly distressed. Emma had let him in and listened late into the night as Killian explained what had happened. It had taken another year after that for them to be comfortable enough, Emma with the idea of allowing another person in her heart and Killian healing from losing his only family, to start dating. That was three years prior.

And now he was out in the stands next to Ingrid, waiting for her to race. Maybe he had a stupid sign too.

There was movement in the door of the ready room and Emma looked up to see the official come in to let them know that it was alright for them to enter the deck. One by one as it was a final. Emma was in lane five which meant she was introduced towards the end. The Japanese Swimmer went out first, followed a few moments later by the South African. It went like that until it was just Emma and the first place semi-final finisher in the ready room, an Australian named Regina Mills, though who Emma liked to call the Bitchstroker. They didn't look at each other. Didn't speak to each other but Emma was pretty sure that if they were ever left alone in the pool together Regina would try to drown her.

"Emma Swan, USA."

A cry went up and Emma, sucking in a deep breath, left the ready room and walked out onto the pool deck. She didn't look up at the crowd. Didn't try to find Ingrid and Killian. It wasn't time yet. Now she had to focus. Two hundred meters was all that stood between her and her first gold medal ever. Or complete defeat. She needed to pour everything into this two hundred meters or the second option would come true.

The cameraman buzzed around her again as she pulled off her jacket and slipped her pants down her toned legs, throwing both into the little plastic box by her chair. Ignoring him Emma checked over her block, securing it into place and then scooped some of the cool water from the pool out, splashing it across her bathing suit.

Three measured steps and she was back in her chair. Three deep breaths, in and out at a speed to match every press of her foot as she crossed the tiled deck. A press of her goggles to make sure they were tight against her face. A slap to each arm. Warm, she needed her muscles to stay warm.

A couple quick blasts and Emma was standing again. Time to go. Everything seemed to slow down. Emma could feel each muscle twist, each time there was a tightening and loosening of the fibers. Another blast and Emma stepped up onto her block. The texture of the block surface ground her and the deep voice of the official instructing the swimmers to prepare for the start excited her. She bent into her position.

This was what she'd trained for.

This was what all the years of pain and rehab and frustration and sweat was for. The victories and losses. The close calls and the runaway finishes.

This was it.

The shot went off and Emma sprung from the board, the water swallowing her as she dove in. Her legs exploded in a few dolphin kicks before she burst through the surface at the 15-meter mark. Air filled her lungs before she went under again.

Kick.

Surface.

Arms circling.

In and out.

The wall quickly approached. Emma flipped into her turn, feet pressing on the wall and pushing her off.

There was nothing but the rhythm. But the muscle memory that had her arms confidently turning. Every time she surfaced she heard the crowd roaring, cheering on their favourites. Emma wasn't particularly sure what order everyone was in. She could feel Regina moving the water beside her but that was it.

One hundred meters in and Regina was keeping pace with her. Matching Emma's progress, stroke for stroke. Regina cut through the water like magic, as if it were effortless. There was a lot left in Regina's tank. Everything would pour out soon and Emma had to be ready.

The final turn. Emma flipped and kicked off the wall as hard as she could. This was the closing. The make or break. Fifty meters to go.

A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.

Killian's words filtered into Emma's mind. It was something his brother used to say to him and quickly became something that Killian would say to Emma whenever her muscles ached and she felt like quitting.

Killian and Ingrid were watching, counting on her. This was her last 200 butterfly race ever. She wanted the first finish.

Come on Emma, fight. Turn and burn as Ingrid would say.

Her feet started to kick harder.

Her arms pulled longer and stronger.

Her lungs burned.

Her body ached.

Faster.

Faster.

She was at the five-meter mark.

Counting her strokes, she kicked once more, hard, and swung her arm long, her fingertips grazing the cement wall of the pool. Done.

Emma surfaced, gasping, treading water and spitting out into the pool. Regina was right with her, both of them waiting as they were joined by the rest of the racers. The crowd was screaming.

Emma glanced up at the clock, pulling her goggles off.

Emma Swan 2:01.25

Regina Mills 2:01.27

First.

Gold.

She'd won.

She'd won.

Emma launched herself out of the water with a quick kick, her pleasure breaking through her usual façade as she whooped in glee. But the celebration wasn't right, yet.

Killian. She wanted to see Killian.

Emma turned to the crowd, eyes scanning until she saw someone dashing down the stairs to the wall that lifted the crowd above the deck. The dark hair gave him away. Killian was trying to get as close to her as he could. Shouting and smiling.

Emma jumped out of the pool and ran at the wall, climbing up through the journalist pit. The photographers moved aside, grumbling and trying to protect their equipment from her dripping body. Killian met her at the wall just as Emma jumped up on one of the abandoned chairs, reaching upwards.

Killian, always knowing what she wanted, caught her hands and towed her upwards, into the crowd and his arms. Emma scrambled with her bare feet against the wall to help him before she climbed over the top gate and was fully with Killian.

"You did it, love!" he shouted into her ear as she held on to his neck, kissing his stubbled cheeks frantically.

"I got the gold!" Emma was crying now, relief coming out in the form of salt water. The crowd surged around them but Killian kept her safe in his arms despite her frantic wiggling and kissing.

"I know. I saw. You did so good!" Killian spun her around. Killian kissed her hard before setting her down. They pulled apart a bit and Emma noticed the tears in Killian's own eyes. Killian coughed, clearing his throat before motioning to his t-shirt.

Killian had forgone his athletic clothing, in favour of a homemade t-shirt. Because of course he would wear something goofy to help support her. The t-shirt was white with an iron-on picture of her face, the one that was on her Olympic profile, and above it was written Emma Swan, now that you have your own gold, will you wear mine? Emma glanced at him, both blown away that he'd assumed she'd win well before she raced and also confused as to what he was getting at.

With a grin Killian bent down on one knee and pulled a little velvet box from his pocket. Emma's hands went to her mouth as a hush fell over the crowd. Everyone was watching them. Killian opened the box to reveal a familiar gold ring with red stone. Liam's ring.

"What do you say, love? Will this go well with the medal?"

All Emma could do was nod.

The rest of their celebration was cut short as the officials ushered her back from the stands to the medal ceremony. But Emma couldn't find it in herself to mind. Not when she now had two new pieces of gold and a fiancé screaming along to the anthem as their shared flag rose above the pool.

And especially not when she had to figure out where to find the material to make her own t-shirt for Killian's race the next day.