Work Text:
It's the ass crack of dawn when Scott's alarm wakes them up. He's out of bed almost immediately, Kip groaning next to him with something that sounds an awful lot like curse words.
"Remind me again why we agreed to this?" he moans from under the blanket's he's draped over his head.
"Because we agreed that our daughter could try everything once, and you let me be the sperm donor so she got all my athletic ability," Scott's grinning to himself from where he's putting his socks on, the blue and yellow stripey ones that Allie got him for his birthday.
Allie Hunter-Grady had all of her dad's athletic ability and all of her daddy's hatred of early mornings. Which is why Scott make Kip get her up, rather than face the rath of their nearly six year old before she's had her morning apple juice.
She gets that from her dad, the love of routines and rituals. Apple juice, boiled egg and toast soldiers every morning for breakfast from the time she was old enough to eat solids.
Kip says he doesn't get it, that variety is the spice of life. Scott sees it though, was the same when he was a kid, is the same now, even if he is nearing retirement age.
Kip drags himself out of bed and makes his way to their daughters room across the hall, leaving the door open so Scott can see as he gently wakes her up, all hushed voices and fingers running through chocolate brown curls.
"'m tired, daddy, 's too early," she murmurs against his chest. Scott's heart clenches, these moments, the quiet ones where the day hasn't really started yet are his favourite.
Kip walks them both to the kitchen, sitting Allie down on the kitchen island, blue pyjamas bunching up around her calves, hair wild from a night of dreaming.
Scott joins them, puts a pan on to boil for their eggs and pours some juice into her favourite cup.
She grips it with both hands, sipping on the glass while she tracks them both as they potter around, brewing coffee and slicing toast.
"What time do we need to leave?" Kip murmurs, hands clasped around his coffee in a mirror image of their daughter.
"Seven at the latest—"
"Will you do my hair daddy?" Allie muses, bringing her legs up onto the island to fold them beneath her.
Kip stands to her left, turning a little to run a hand through her unruly curls with a smile.
"Of course baby, you wanna curl it like Shannon does?"
Allie nods, sliding to the edge of the island as Scott plates up their breakfast.
"Shannon says curly hair is her good luck charm," she muses on her way to the table, covering her mouth while she yawns.
"We're going to win today anyway, but dad says luck doesn't do any harm," Kip laughs, rolling his eyes affectionately at his husband.
"Well your dad would know, his good luck charm won him the Stanley Cup."
Scott tips his head back and barks out a laugh, his husband certainly isn't wrong.
"Do you think I'll play tomorrow? Coach says I'm making im—impro—daddy what did coach say?"
"That you're making improvements, baby," Kip replies as he sips the dregs of his coffee.
Allie was insistent that she could mantain cheer and hockey at the same time, and they'd deliberated for weeks over whether it was healthy to let her do both, but she got her stubbornness from Kip and she wouldn't budge on it.
So, their weekends—and weeknights, and sometimes the mornings too—looked like a jam packed schedule of ferrying her to cheer competitions now the season had started, and then taking her to the rink, sometimes all in the same afternoon.
By the time they'd finished breakfast Allie was now looking much brighter, and Kip mentally prepared himself for replicating the hairstyle of her favourite cheerleader.
They'd practiced of course, Allie insistent that he wouldn't get it right on the first go and everything had to be perfect for her first competition.
It had been a slow process, a solid month of attempts before he called in the cavalry—see, Elena—to help.
So he'd bought the ultrathin curling wand, and all the spray and the gel he could get his hands on and when he'd dumped it all out on the counter, Scott had laughed himself pink.
"It's very serious business you know, the hair is half the outfit," he'd snapped at his husband.
Scott had acquiesced, remembering the eye watering bill he'd dropped on her hockey gear and the way Kip had tagged along good naturedly despite little interest in it.
"Right, babygirl, go get your uniform on and I'll meet you in the bathroom." He said to his daughter, tapping her on the shoulder as she dropped her plate off next to the sink.
Scott came up behind him, laying a kiss down to the side of his neck.
"God I hope she picks hockey, this hair stuff is no joke," he murmurs, turning in Scott's arms and laying his head on his chest.
"I thought you said she had to pick her own destiny, that I wasn't allowed to influence her anymore that my job already does," Scott laughs, lips pressed to his forehead.
They'd talked about that too of course, about how despite the fact she'd insisted she wanted to be just like him when she grew up, that they wouldn't push, and that they had to find the line where constant activities became too much for a six year old and they tipped into what Kip had not so affectionately refered to as 'insane hockey dad's'.
"That was before I realized how much prep goes into just getting her there," Kip groans.
"Go on, it'll be worth it when we get there."
Kip goes with a smile, grabbing his phone to look at the notes he'd written down from Elena.
Allie is patiently waiting in her pink and white sparkly uniform when he gets there, she's sitting on the counter next to the sink with her current book in her hands.
His dad had brought over a load of books from the attic that Kip had when he was a kid, and she'd taken to Roald Dahl's works like a fish to water.
George's Maverlous Medicine had been his favourite when he was little too, so when he'd found her rooting around in the spice cupboard earlier in the week to add to her own 'medicine' he couldn't even be annoyed about it.
"Okay baby, turn around for me and we'll get this going, you got your bow?" he asks.
She nods but otherwise continues reading her book, moving it up into her eyeline as he tips her head back to get her hair out of her face.
By the time he's got it done, curls in tight little ringlets and bow clipped in, he's in desperate need of his second cup of coffee and some food.
"All done, go see if Daddy's got your bag ready," he says, lifting her down.
He gets himself ready, shoving a few pieces of toast in his mouth as he eye's his watch.
In the living room, Scott's got Allie curled up under his arm on the couch, he's holding the book for her now, reading aloud to her while her eyes droop.
"We about ready to go?" He asks, and she immediately perks up.
"I'm ready daddy! Have you got my snacks?" she asks.
"Like I would ever forget your snacks!" He laughs dramatically.
"You forgot them in January when we played the Peppers," she frowns, and Kip realizes that's all him, the memory and the down turned lips and the refusal to not be factually correct.
Times like these makes him a little sympathetic for his dad having to deal with him at this age, although at least he wasn't competing in organized sports.
"True, my little love, very true." He rolls his eyes at his husband who is trying very hard not to let Allie see him laughing and then they're out the door and making the three hour trip to the competition.
They both cry, in the end. Just like they did on her first day of school, on her first time at the rink, when she learned to walk and when she said her first word—even if it was puck.
She does well, they all do, and when she lands her final double twist she waves at them in the crowd and they're crying all over again.
When she lifts the little silver trophy with her teammates at the awards section, Kip snaps some photos for his dad, and Scott feels that pang in his chest, the one that reminds him of another thing his parents are missing.
Still, he sidelines that as she comes racing over to them when it's all over.
"Did you see me? Did you see? We won!" She screams, hair swishing wildly behind her .
"There she is! You were amazing!" Kip says, swinging her up into his arms.
Scott wraps his arms around both of them, pulling them in close.
"I think that performance deserves ice cream with sprinkles, don't you?" He smiles.
"Can I have two scoops?" Allie pleads, and Scott is powerless to say no to her about anything, least of all this.
Kip eyes him over her head, gaze saying something along the lines of too much sugar too late in the day, but ultimately grins indulgently.
Allie's barely finished her cone before shes talking about the game tomorrow.
And as is always the way with young children, they're onto the next thing.