Her adorable nerd of a husband gazes back up at her, a slight flush just barely visible through the unshaven scruff of his cheeks as those blue, blue eyes meet hers from beneath his dark lashes.  “For making you get up and fetch the main course alone.  You certainly are not my waitress, and I was coming to help you – truly.  I could have sworn you’d been gone but a moment – I was right behind you! – and then this…this…bloody demon transfixed me once again.” He gestures at the tv vaguely before turning to sheepishly study her face for signs of annoyance.

         Emma can’t help but shake her head, half exasperated and half humored.  It would seem that as remarkable as her True Love is in so many other respects, he is every bit as susceptible to the gravitational pull of the television as any other man.  Reaching out playful fingers to brush aside the longer fringe that has flopped over Killian’s forehead, she then cups his cheek in her hand and pulls him to her easily, pressing a short, teasing kiss to the bridge of his nose.  “No worries,” she soothes with a genuine smile on her face as she meets his gaze.  “I’ve told you time and again that I may look the size of a house and like I shouldn’t be able to move, but being pregnant does not mean I can’t do anything for myself.”           

         His mouth opens, about to argue that he means to wait on her hand and foot, no doubt, but she cuts him off with a shake of her head and a kiss to his mouth this time – which almost derails them completely, her low hum of pleasure in the back of her throat causing them both to dive deeper, pulled together like magnets before she finally leans away, sitting back in her own space once more.  “Besides, I’m the one who couldn’t wait another minute for her Sweet and Sour Chicken,” she adds, breaking the hold of his heated stare to spear one of the breaded poultry bites on her fork, dunk it in the pinkish-orange sauce, and quickly bring the morsel to her mouth.  After swallowing with pure satisfaction, she prompts, “So, what was it you wanted to tell me a minute ago? Something on the tv?” 

         Killian jerks upright at that, eyes wide as he clearly remembers what had gotten him so up-in-arms.  Gesturing to their television’s screen, now advertising some sort of overpriced mop-and-broom-in-one wonder contraption, to which his eyes veer and Emma just barely stifles a giggle as her ridiculous neat freak almost loses his concentration again, this time to the advertisement’s hold.  But then, Killian focuses and looks at her in earnest outrage as he explains, “It was promotion for an upcoming program – one of those preposterous reality competitions.” The disdain dripping from his words would be enough to send Emma chuckling again, this time at how seriously he takes his evening programming, if she didn’t first press her lips together to forestall the outburst and then shove enough chicken in her mouth to keep busy chewing and not reveal how amused she is by the whole thing. 

         Killian isn’t done though; in fact, he looks as if he would march right up to whatever powers-that-be control the network schedule, give them a piece of his mind and wave his hook under their noses for good measure, if he only knew where and how to find them.  He’s just gathering steam as he launches into the rest of his description.  “Apparently some single, mildly attractive bloke is set up in a mansion while several comely young lasses jostle to woo him and win his hand.  That has to be a mistake. Doesn’t it, Swan?  Why, the very premise is ludicrous.  He can’t date all of them at once!  Who would stand for that?!  They called it ‘The Bachelor’, but I must have it wrong.  No true gentleman bachelor would behave in such a manner – nor try it even, if he possessed a lick of sense…” However, his voice trails off at this point, eyes narrowing as he truly registers the expression now covering his wife’s face.  “Wait a minute… Emma, why do you look like that?”

         It’s her turn to blush brightly and unsuccessfully try to avoid his eyes, though it does no good and only tips him off further.  She had once been quite fond of The Bachelor – not that she’d have ever thought to tell anyone about it by choice – but the overly dramatic, outlandish guilty pleasure had kept her company on her couch with a pint of Rocky Road ice cream in that lonely apartment in Boston as she unwound after a long skip chase or stakeout more nights than she could count. “Well, I don’t know how many self-respecting gentlemen they really draw, but you’d be surprised what those ‘lovely young lasses’ as you put it, will stand for – and do – Killian.  It’s more intriguing than you’d think.”  This last is mumbled in a rush as she ducks her head and pretends to have difficulty getting an errant morsel of chicken onto her fork.  She isn’t necessarily ashamed of being a Bachelor devotee at one point, and Killian wouldn’t judge her for it anyway, but she is abruptly struck by how absurd it all must seem to someone who comes from the place and time he does, and with the sense of honor which runs so deeply through his veins.  She flushes all over suddenly, floored by how blind she had been not that long ago, how little she had known back in those days on her own…just how different it is when those feelings the show plays on – when love itself – is True. 

         Killian’s eyes bulge almost comically; she has to reach out to soothingly to pat his thigh, as he’s entirely too distraught for his own good.  “Emma, truly?” he asks, voice quieter but still almost aghast at the very concept.  “He dates all of them?!  The cad!! How can you watch such poor form, Swan?  It’s atrocious!” 

         She grins mischievously at him, shrugging away her embarrassment and giving him a saucy wink.  “Look, it’s easier to just show you, alright?  Tonight’s Monday, so it will be on in…” she checks the clock above the fireplace, “about half an hour.  I’m guessing that’s what the commercial was about.  You can check out the season premiere for yourself, Pirate.”

         Her husband huffs indignantly as if he has no desire to do any such thing, but by the time eight o’clock has rolled around, he has finished his meal, taken both their plates back into the kitchen, brought her a bowl of the restaurant’s specialty pineapple sorbet for dessert, and settled into his place on the couch again, with her feet gathered in his lap.

         As the program starts, Emma points out various routine practices and occurrences on the show, explains how this or that usually works, and Killian seems grudgingly engrossed despite his nobler intentions.  When the appointed Bachelor flubs one of his prospective mates’ names at the cocktail party, Killian scoffs loudly enough to draw her attention. Glancing sideways, she challenges, “Think you could do better, do you? That’s a lot of names to keep straight!” 

         Killian however doesn’t miss a beat, sliding his gaze across to capture hers with twinkling charm, “Any decent suitor has ways of holding onto those names which matter,” he counters smoothly, waggling his brows at her in flirtatious come-on.

         Emma does snort then, but at least partly to cover the way he makes her breath catch and her heart start beating faster.  

         Her husband is smart enough not to gloat at this, though he easily notices and reads her as well as ever, merely nodding with a secretive smile and gathering her close to his side as she leans over on him while they continue to watch.  When it reaches the stage where the chosen man is going on his first intimate date with one of the women and the pair onscreen are sharing a romantic candlelit dinner, Emma tilts her head to look up at her handsome husband, studying his beloved, scruffy profile and sliding her hand over his solid chest to slip under the typical, partially-unbuttoned collar and rest her palm tenderly against the warm, inviting skin right over his heart.  “So, a little more romantic than you figured, Captain?” she questions curiously.

         Killian chuckles lightly, giving a tiny bob of his head in acknowledgment, but when he turns to look back into her eyes, Emma sees clearly that he has not yet played his last card.  Reaching the bared stump of his left forearm, brace and hook long since removed this evening for comfort’s sake, to rest beneath her chin and gently turning her face to just the angle he is after, Killian bends to kiss her slowly, languorously, stealing her breath and every thought of reality dating, exotic locales, or winning their little debate from Emma’s mind.  When he does pull back, just enough for them to each draw a bit of air, their lips still only centimeters from each other, the low rasp of words he intones in that voice she can’t ignore sends shivers all the way down her spine. “Aye, my love, I do see the appeal.” He runs that devious tongue over his lower lip before going back to hers for another taste and nearly making her melt into the couch cushions beneath them. 

         At their next pause, he gathers her closer still, nuzzling his nose with hers, their foreheads resting against each other before he looks into her eyes seriously, his question now truly concerned, “But even so, people do not seriously think that a deep relationship can be formed in this way, do they?  Surely you would not have gone on a show like that?  Competed that way as if love were a wrestling match or choreographed script?”

         Emma tilts her head to the side as she considers his question, shrugging noncommittally when she answers, “Well, no, probably not.  I mean, I definitely didn’t think they were finding real love. But as a lark…who knows?  I mean, they got to travel, be pampered, live it up. It might have been fun.”

         “Fun, hmm?” Killian murmurs at her temple, his hand now gently resting on her swollen stomach, the warmth truly comforting, even as she knows he is about to challenge her again.  “Well, be that as it may, lass, luckily you are now married to an illustrious pirate captain fully aware of how to woo a lady and able to take you any place in this realm, or any other, on the fastest, most marvelous ship in existence.”

         Emma smiles up into his gorgeous face before resting her head on his shoulder and relaxing into his touch for the long haul.  “You’re forgetting the real difference that I finally understand,” Emma whispers to him lightly.  “Back then, I didn’t believe love existed anyway.  It didn’t matter if what they were selling on tv was a scam, because I didn’t think what we have was possible.  Just like you said in Neverland – not until I met you.”

         Killian’s pleased agreement rumbles in his chest, and Emma feels the vibrations pleasantly throughout her own body where she rests in his arms.  The fancy jewelry, ball gowns, televised proposals, and celebrity serenades they see before them on camera, none of that holds a candle to this man with whom she now shares her life and her home.

 ~~ ***~~ 

         And so, when Killian comes in from the station at dinnertime two nights later, and surprises her in the kitchen by kneeling before her and holding out a single yellow buttercup to match the bloom inked on her wrist, and asks if she will accept his token, Emma can hardly be surprised.  Nodding and grinning with perfect glee – and thinking how much prettier this simple flower is, reflecting her more than any red rose ever could – her smile feels as though it might split her face completely in half. Emma finds herself giggling as he stands and somehow manages to sweep her off her feet and spin her around, impressive baby belly and all.  “Well Love, since you have accepted this formerly hopeless bachelor’s proposal, you are entitled to an all-expense paid trip to the destination of your choice I’ve arranged.  We leave Saturday; anywhere you want to go, one more magical getaway before the little one arrives. It’s all taken care of.”

         Swept up in the romance and surprise of her husband’s plan, Emma Swan - now Jones - can only marvel at how her reality is so much better anything she could have imagined.

           Entering the living room once more, a plate in each hand and curiosity – she’s sure – painted across her face, Emma is not at all surprised by the way Killian seems to snap to attention from the rapt focus he had been training on the television.  In seconds, he is on his feet and at her side, taking one plate from her and gently ushering her ahead of him back to the couch before which their drinks, utensils, napkins, and the demolished remnants of their appetizers are strewn across the coffee table.

           “My apologies, Love,” he murmurs, rubbing his nose along the bend of her neck and shoulder for just a moment, his warm breath ghosting over her skin bared by the boat neck sweater she is wearing and nearly making her drop her plate before she can put it down on their makeshift table and resettle in her seat.  She bites her own lip in her surprised jolt of excitement and almost turns to grab him around the shoulders and pull him back in for a proper taste of those full, irresistible lips – the food can wait after all – only for him to sit back from her on the couch, looking embarrassedly shamefaced.

           “What, Killian?” she asks, senses reeling and completely baffled, her hand settles on his bicep, grounding herself as well as letting him know he has her attention.  “What are you apologizing for?”

           Her adorable nerd of a husband gazes back up at her, a slight flush just barely visible through the unshaven scruff of his cheeks as those blue, blue eyes meet hers from beneath his dark lashes.  “For making you get up and fetch the main course alone.  You certainly are not my waitress, and I was coming to help you – truly.  I could have sworn you’d been gone but a moment – I was right behind you! – and then this…this…bloody demon transfixed me once again.” He gestures at the tv vaguely before turning to sheepishly study her face for signs of annoyance.

           Emma can’t help but shake her head, half exasperated and half humored.  It would seem that as remarkable as her True Love is in so many other respects, he is every bit as susceptible to the gravitational pull of the television as any other man.  Reaching out playful fingers to brush aside the longer fringe that has flopped over Killian’s forehead, she then cups his cheek in her hand and pulls him to her easily, pressing a short, teasing kiss to the bridge of his nose. “No worries,” she soothes with a genuine smile on her face as she meets his gaze.  “I’ve told you time and again that I may look the size of a house and like I shouldn’t be able to move, but being pregnant does not mean I can’t do anything for myself.”

           His mouth opens, about to argue that he means to wait on her hand and foot, no doubt, but she cuts him off with a shake of her head and a kiss to his mouth this time – which almost derails them completely, her low hum of pleasure in the back of her throat causing them both to dive deeper, pulled together like magnets before she finally leans away, sitting back in her own space once more. “Besides, I’m the one who couldn’t wait another minute for her Sweet and Sour Chicken,” she adds, breaking the hold of his heated stare to spear one of the breaded poultry bites on her fork, dunk it in the pinkish-orange sauce, and quickly bring the morsel to her mouth. After swallowing with pure satisfaction, she prompts, “So, what was it you wanted to tell me a minute ago? Something on the tv?”

           Killian jerks upright at that, eyes wide as he clearly remembers what had gotten him so up-in-arms mere moments ago.  Gesturing to their television’s screen, now advertising some sort of overpriced mop-and-broom-in-one wonder contraption, to which his eyes veer and Emma just barely stifles a giggle as her ridiculous neat freak almost loses his concentration once more to the advertisement’s hold.  But then, Killian focuses and looks at her in earnest outrage as he explains, “It was promotion for an upcoming program – one of those preposterous reality competitions.” The disdain dripping from his words would be enough to send Emma chuckling again, this time at how seriously he takes his evening programming, if she didn’t first press her lips together to forestall the outburst and then shove enough chicken in her mouth to keep busy chewing and not reveal how amused she is by the whole thing.

           Killian isn’t done though; in fact, he looks as if he would march right up to whatever powers-that-be control the network schedule, give them a piece of his mind and wave his hook under their noses for good measure, if he only knew where and how to find them.  He’s just gathering steam as he launches into the rest of his description. “Apparently some single, mildly attractive bloke is set up in a mansion while several comely young lasses jostle to woo him and win his hand.  That has to be a mistake. Doesn’t it, Swan?  Why, the very premise is ludicrous.  He can’t date all of them at once!  Who would stand for that?!  They called it ‘The Bachelor’, but I must have it wrong.  No true gentleman bachelor would behave in such a manner – nor try it even, if he possessed a lick of sense…” However, his voice trails off at this point, eyes narrowing as he truly registers the expression now covering his wife’s face.  “Wait a minute… Emma, why do you look like that?”

           It’s her turn to blush brightly and unsuccessfully try to avoid his eyes, though it does no good and only tips him off further.  She had once been quite fond of The Bachelor – not that she’d have ever thought to tell anyone about it by choice – but the overly dramatic, outlandish guilty pleasure had kept her company on her couch with a pint of Rocky Road ice cream in that lonely apartment in Boston as she unwound after a long skip chase or stakeout more nights than she could rightly count. “Well, I don’t know how many self-respecting gentlemen they really draw, but you’d be surprised what those ‘lovely young lasses’ as you put it, will stand for – and do – Killan.  It’s more intriguing than you’d think.”  This last is mumbled in a rush as she ducks her head and pretends to have difficulty getting an errant morsel of chicken onto her fork.  She isn’t necessarily ashamed of being a Bachelor devotee at one point, and Killian wouldn’t judge her for it anyway, but she is abruptly struck by how absurd it all must seem to someone who comes from the place and time he does, and with the sense of honor which runs so deeply through his veins.  She flushes all over suddenly, floored by how blind she had been not that long ago, how little she had known back in those days on her own…just how different it is when those feelings the show plays on – when love itself – is True.

           Killian’s eyes bulge almost comically; she has to reach out to soothingly to pat his thigh, as he’s entirely too distraught for his own good. “Emma, truly?” he asks, voice quieter but still almost aghast at the very concept.  “He dates all of them?!  The cad!! How can you watch such poor form, Swan?  It’s atrocious!”

           She grins mischievously at him, shrugging away her embarrassment and giving him a saucy wink.  “Look, it’s easier to just show you, alright?  Tonight’s Monday, so it will be on in…” she checks the clock above the fireplace, “about half an hour.  I’m guessing that’s what the commercial was about.  You can check out the season premiere for yourself, Pirate.”

           Her husband huffs indignantly as if he has no desire to do any such thing, but by the time eight o’clock has rolled around, he has finished his meal, taken both their plates back into the kitchen, brought her a bowl of the restaurant’s specialty pineapple sorbet for dessert, and settled into his place on the couch again, with her feet gathered in his lap.

           As the program starts, Emma points out various routine practices and occurrences on the show, explains how this or that usually works, and Killian seems grudgingly engrossed despite his nobler intentions.  When the appointed Bachelor flubs one of his prospective mates’ names at the cocktail party, Killian scoffs loudly enough to draw her attention. Glancing sideways, she challenges, “Think you could do better, do you? That’s a lot of names to keep straight!”

           Killian however doesn’t miss a beat, sliding his gaze across to capture hers with twinkling charm, “Any decent suitor has ways of holding onto those names which matter,” he counters smoothly, waggling his brows at her in flirtatious come-on.

           Emma does snort then, but at least partly to cover the way he makes her breath catch and her heart start beating faster.  

           Her husband is smart enough not to gloat at this, though he easily notices and reads her as well as ever, merely nodding with a secretive smile and gathering her close to his side as she leans over on him while they continue to watch. When it reaches the stage where the chosen man is going on his first intimate date with one of the women and the pair onscreen are sharing a romantic candlelit dinner, Emma tilts her head to look up at her handsome husband, studying his beloved, scruffy profile and sliding her hand over his solid chest to slip under the typical, partially-unbuttoned collar and rest her palm tenderly against the warm, inviting skin right over his heart.  “So, a little more romantic than you figured, Captain?” she questions curiously.

           Killian chuckles lightly, giving a tiny bob of his head in acknowledgment, but when he turns to look back into her eyes, Emma sees clearly that he has not yet played his last card.  Reaching the bared stump of his left forearm, brace and hook long since removed this evening for comfort’s sake, to rest beneath her chin and gently turning her face to just the angle he is after, Killian bends to kiss her slowly, languorously, stealing her breath and every thought of reality dating, exotic locales, or winning their little debate from Emma’s mind.  When he does pull back, just enough for them to each draw a bit of air, their lips still only centimeters from each other, the low rasp of words he intones in that voice she can’t ignore sends shivers all the way down her spine. “Aye, my love, I do see the appeal.” He runs that devious tongue over his lower lip before going back to hers for another taste and nearly making her melt into the couch cushions beneath them.  

           At their next pause, he gathers her closer still, nuzzling his nose with hers, their foreheads resting against each other before he looks into her eyes seriously, his question now truly concerned, “But even so, people do not seriously think that a deep relationship can be formed in this way, do they? Surely you would not have gone on a show like that?  Competed that way as if love were a wrestling match or choreographed script?”

           Emma tilts her head to the side as she considers his question, shrugging noncommittally when she answers, “Well, no, probably not.  I mean, I definitely didn’t think they were finding real love. But as a lark…who knows?  I mean, they got to travel, be pampered, live it up. It might have been fun.”

           “Fun, hmm?” Killian murmurs at her temple, his hand now gently resting on her swollen stomach, the warmth truly comforting, even as she knows he is about to challenge her again.  “Well, be that as it may, lass, luckily you are now married to an illustrious pirate captain fully aware of how to woo a lady and able to take you any place in this realm, or any other, on the fastest, most marvelous ship in existence.”

           Emma smiles up into his gorgeous face before resting her head on his shoulder and relaxing into his touch for the long haul.  “You’re forgetting the real difference that I finally understand,” Emma whispers to him lightly.  “Back then, I didn’t believe love existed anyway.  It didn’t matter if what they were selling on tv was a scam, because I didn’t think what we have was possible.  Just like you said in Neverland – not until I met you.”

           Killian’s pleased agreement rumbles in his chest, and Emma feels the vibrations pleasantly throughout her own body where she rests in his arms.  The fancy jewelry, ball gowns, televised proposals, and celebrity serenades they see before them on camera, none of that holds a candle to this man with whom she now shares her life and her home.

~~ ***~~

           And so, when Killian comes home from the station at dinnertime two nights later, and surprises her in the kitchen by kneeling before her and holding out a single yellow buttercup to match the bloom inked on her wrist, and asks if she will accept his token, Emma can hardly be surprised.  Nodding and grinning with perfect glee – and thinking how much prettier this simple flower that reflects her more than any red rose ever could – her smile feels as though it might split her face completely in half. Emma finds herself giggling as he stands and somehow manages to sweep her off her feet and spin her around, impressive baby belly and all.  “Well Love, since you have accepted this formerly hopeless bachelor’s proposal, you are entitled to the all-expense paid trip to the destination of your choice I’ve arranged.  We leave Saturday; anywhere you want to go, one more magical getaway before the little one arrives. It’s all taken care of.”

           Swept up in the romance and surprise of her husband’s plan, Emma Swan-Jones can only marvel at how her reality is so much better anything she could have imagined.

               He moves away with a gentle squeeze of affection to her hand, vowing in a purr against her skin to return shortly, then sauntering over the enchanted wooden deck, calling out to Henry jovially and asking if his first mate needs help bringing her round.  Emma turns partially to watch the two men in her life – her True Loves – whom she adores more than anything and anyone else in all the world. It makes her heart trip almost giddily to see the proud paternal smile Killian gives Henry when his stepson grins proud and pleased while showing that he has them turned about and right on course back to the castle harbor.

               There had been a few bumps in the road – Killian throwing away Pop Tarts to push mackerel for breakfast, and angry accusations on Henry’s part of trying to take his dad’s place when Killian had put a foot down the first time Henry missed curfew on a date with Violet, came to mind with still-vivid clarity – but watching the two of them together now, a person would never know they hadn’t always been family.  Their rapport is easy, genuine liking and respect for each other clear in their conversation and their jests.  That the man she finally gave her broken heart over to for mending loved her son so fully and completely – as if Henry were his own – as well, was more than Emma had dared hope for once upon a time.

               Since their wedding and the Final Battle against the Black Fairy, not to mention yet one more life-threatening and nearly final separation, there had been a fair number of the denizens of Storybrooke who vehemently desired to return to their home realm if there were any way at all to make it possible.  It seemed safer than staying in a place clearly targeted for mayhem and catastrophe; plus, it was where most of them really belonged.  Her parents had led the charge in fact, once they were certain that Emma, Killian, and Henry would go as well, and that Emma was genuinely alright with the decision.  Henry had been thrilled beyond belief and anxiously impatient to set out for a world where he could be a true knight of his grandparents’ kingdom and have all the adventures and heroics that role would entail.  With Regina working to help instead of thwart them, and a bit of advice and labor from Anton and the dwarves, it was the matter of merely a couple months’ growth time to have enough beans for those who wished to return to the Enchanted Forest, restore Snow White’s benevolent reign as it should always have been, and to rebuild the land they would make their permanent home.

               Emma tilts her head, savoring the warm, blissful feeling in her chest as she watches Killian lean in to speak just a few brief words of suggestion or encouragement to Henry before clapping him on the shoulder and nodding affirmation to whatever she can see Henry saying in response. Henry’s laughter rings out on the sea air brightly, one hand leaving the ship’s wheel to swat at Killian playfully before her pirate swings away and comes back to her, the oranges and golds of the sky behind him lighting his figure as if he is surrounded by a hazy halo.

               Feeling her mouth begin to water with desire for her gorgeous husband, his attractiveness only accentuated by the sunset’s glow, Emma turns back to the ship’s side, leaning for support gently as she rubs her hand over her stretched and unwieldy belly.  The rumbling unease she feels just now is another side effect, like the sudden bouts of overwhelming need for her husband and all he can do with that sinfully delicious body, that she wants to blame on the wealth of hormones coursing through her as she comes to the end of her pregnancy.  Still, her brow furrows against her will as she gazes out at the reddish ball of the fiery sun seeming to settle right on the water at the horizon line before them, unable to ignore the sharp, painful pinch of sudden discomfort in her abdomen, even as she tries to hide it.  Blowing out a puff of air in the hope of breathing deeply to steady herself, Emma leaves her hand on her stomach, rubbing her palm back and forth along its curve, forcing herself to focus elsewhere and stay calm.

               Though Killian would never have said a word, thinking she had no desire to give up the comforts and conveniences of the modern world she had always known, Emma knew her husband had wanted to see his own realm again.  Her brave, resourceful pirate adapted himself so determinedly and well to any surroundings – even the strange and mystifying 21st century with all its gadgets and technology – that she could almost forget what an adjustment her world must have been for him… how much he had willingly given up to remain by her side. Yet as they had settled in her parents’ castle, taking their own wing of apartments but still close to their large, extended family and friends, Killian’s glee at showing her the ropes in his homeland had been evident, his sheer joy at for once not being off-kilter and out of the loop with customs, routines, and endless modern technologies.  He never made her feel stupid or ridiculous, even when he might tease her, but was always right at her side, eager to show, to teach, and to introduce her to this simpler time and place natural to him, whether it was how to cinch her dresses with sewn-in corsets or make coffee in a world without Granny’s, Starbucks or Keurig machines – and for her to see the life she would always have had if things had gone as they should – anxious to help her feel at home and come to love the place as much as he clearly did.

               Thoughts of their current place and time bring her focus circling back to the trepidation her beloved pirate had suffered and dealt with when they first learned they were expecting.  Not that Emma hadn’t harbored her own issues, but once she managed to tell Killian and he had been awestruck and thanking her with kisses rained all over her face before falling to his knees to press his lips to her still-flat stomach repeatedly as well, her biggest worry had been allayed.  This would not be like last time – alone, sick with guilt and regret, knowing that in the end the precious life she carried couldn’t stay with her, and that she would have to give it up.  Killian, after the initial shocked euphoria, had grown fearful over the many things which could still go wrong, the mere chance that he could lose her, the baby, or both of them.  For the last month or so, it had nearly paralyzed him and stolen all of his happiness and anticipation for the event. Several long scouting expeditions with David, which she and her mother felt were more “bro bonding” exercises and an excuse for some in-depth reassuring talks, had finally brought Killian’s confidence in their strength and preparation and his anxious joy to meet the child borne of their love back to the forefront.

               Now, however, as she can’t help bending forward a bit, curling herself around the source of pain and biting back a low moan. Emma has a fleeting moment of panic that perhaps Killian’s fears are not so far off base.  And then, just as though he has read her mind, the way she often believes he can, Killian is there at her side, hand and hook at her waist bracingly to still her wild thoughts.

               “What is it, Love?” he asks apprehensively. “Are you alright?”

               Emma can only shake her head in the negative, doing all she can now not to scream in pain and alarm her teenage son along with her husband.  She clutches at Killian’s hand on her waist with shaking fingers, wrapping his hook in her grip as well and leaning into his support it all it’s worth.  By the time she raises her head for her teary, unfocused green eyes to meet his concerned blue, she feels the unmistakable gush of liquid breaking free and streaming to the planks of the Jolly at their feet.  She can’t deny, even to herself, what is going on, a few weeks ahead of schedule though it may be.

               Killian’s mouth opens in shock, clearly floundering momentarily for words as he looks from her face to their feet and back again before asking rather needlessly, “Emma lass, are you…?”

               She bobs her head rapidly in affirmation, feeling her knees give a bit and leaning into the frame of his body yet more heavily. She tries to force a smile to her lips, even as she feels silent tears breaking free to trek down her cheeks.  “I think –” she breaks off on a gasp, then forces herself to continue speaking breathily with a self-deprecating chuckle at the end, “you may have been a bit late with the warning about going out on the water, Captain. Pretty sure there won’t be any time for worrying about that.”

               Breaking into a pleased grin at the imminent arrival of their long-awaited offspring, Killian’s eyes light up with happy expectation, even though they stay fixed caringly on hers.  “My apologies,” he murmurs lowly against her neck, offering a bit of a mocking bow clearly meant to help her keep the lighthearted mindset as long as she can. “In future, Milady, I shall endeavor to be more prepared.”

               Calling to Henry over his shoulder without even glancing back to the helm, he asks evenly, with impressive show of calm, “How long before we dock, Lad?”

               When Henry’s response is half an hour to forty-five minutes, Emma grits her teeth, knowing this will probably still be going on, but that she will not be up to trekking from the ship to the castle by then. Thinking about the nursery all outfitted, sterilized and prepared for their baby’s delivery, and both Doc and Victor on standby to oversee the proceedings, and yet still out of reach of all of it, is maddening and only serves to cause her tears to fall with greater regularity.

               “Right then,” Killian states, his voice clipped with the tension that always comes when he is forced to see her upset or in pain. He moves swiftly before she can protest to wrap his hook arm around her shoulders and his other arm beneath her knees, sweeping her off her feet into his arms, and already moving toward the hatch that leads below to the Captain’s quarters.  “Steady on your course, Mate,” he calls to Henry.  “Your mum needs to lie down, and I am taking her to do so.”

               Emma gapes at him now, nonplussed until she has to bury her face in his chest to muffle another cry aloud at the most vicious contraction yet.  She wants to fight him, demand he put down her awkward bulk before he falls and hurts them both, but keeping a lid on her anxiety and breathing as she has been taught are taking nearly all of her focus and strength.  Henry is no dunce; he has probably already figured out what’s happening and worrying, she frets, eyes slipping closed for a minute as she simply tries to think straight.  

               Before she knows it, Killian is easing her down on the bunk they have shared every night they’ve ever spent together on his ship, gently brushing back wisps of hair gone sweaty with exertion from her forehead, before pulling back to give her an encouraging smile.  “Don’t worry, Swan.  Henry will be fine.  As will you and our impatient babe.  I will fill him in and be back before you know it.  Just hold on, aye?”

               Emma nods, blinking back more tears at his understanding exactly what she needs – his knowing just what to do, just what to say, what will make a frightening situation alright again for her in only a few words.  It is hard to believe that even a month ago, he was the one beside himself with worry, when now that he sees her in need he seems so steady and calm.  Killian turns and disappears back up the ladder; a moment later, she can hear his quick steps crossing the deck overhead.  There are a few minutes of silence following, and she senses then that he must be telling Henry what’s really going on; that she is already in labor to bring his younger brother or sister into the world.  What surprises her is that she soon feels the ship’s movement stall, coming to a standstill other than the gentlest continued rocking of the waves around them.

               It isn’t long after that she hears two sets of footfalls pound across the boards above her, then the hatch opening to allow both her True Loves down to her; Killian dropping into the small room as agile as a cat while Henry clambers after him, eyes wide as he takes in her panting, aching form on the bed where Killian left her.

               They take up positions, one on either side of her, and Killian kneels to her left, brushing his hook, the cool curve soothing, over her flushed cheek while offering her his good hand and raising the back of her palm to his lips when she takes it and laces their fingers together. “Don’t worry, Love.  Everything will be fine.  We’ve dropped anchor so that the both of us are free to aid you, and all will be right – Whale or no.”

               Emma looks up into those mesmerizing blue eyes, feeling as though she should want to rail at him for getting her into this situation, want to squeeze the hand in hers until she breaks all his knuckles and he hurts as much as she does right now, and demand how he knows it will all work out.  Yet that open gaze of wonder, admiration, and love he has fixed on her makes the only real emotion she can register one of gratitude that Killian is right there at her side with no intention of leaving her.

               Henry rests his hand on her opposite shoulder then, as if just needing to touch and lend his mom what encouragement he can. His hand is strong, slightly calloused, and larger than she remembers it being; her boy is nearly a man, and it suddenly seems as though it has happened right before her eyes.  She leans her head over to rest against his when Henry bows his forehead to meet hers, whispering a soft ‘thank you’ to her beautiful, amazing, and incredible son.  He could begrudge her all of this, what with the mistakes she made and the way his own life had begun; he could have wanted no part of this new family dynamic and a younger sibling that she plans to raise from the very start.  Instead, with true grace and empathy, Henry has welcomed this coming child as a second chance for all of them, just as he has always managed to understand that his mom had only wished him to have his best chance in life with every fiber of her battered young heart, and that was the only reason she had let him go those many years past.

               “You’ve done this before, Mom,” Henry reminds her now, managing to evoke at least a bit of a jesting tone in his delivery. “Plus, you’re pretty much the strongest person I know.  You’ve got this…well, we’ve got this.”

               “Aye, that we do, Darling,” Killian agrees, slipping his arm behind her to tilt her forward, putting several pillows behind her to help prop her up somewhat, as if he somehow knows that she’d realized the time to push is close at hand.

               Quickly, Henry heads to the galley for clean towels and hot water when Killian asks for them.  While her son is gone, her husband helps her shed the outfit she had been wearing for their sailing venture and don instead a simple, lightweight shift, before placing a sheet over her bottom half and bent knees, as he has seen several times by now, both on television in her world and at the various other births they have borne witness to at this point.  By the time Henry returns with the requested items, they have her settled once more and Killian is at her feet, coaxing her to breathe as Whale has had them practice and reminding her when to push as the time is fast approaching.  “I am no Dr. Frankenstein, but I will do the best I can, Love.  It would seem our littlest pirate is no longer willing to wait.”

               Emma huffs a short, nervous laugh between gasps for air and groans as she feels the pressure and stretching within her abdomen only heighten.  “Honestly, Killian, I wouldn’t mind an actual doctor’s expertise, but I think I’d rather have you down there than him, if the truth be told.”

               Henry chooses that moment to break up the exchange before things grow any more awkward, and he comes back to her head, letting her lean against him and supporting her shoulders.  Soon, it all blurs into her two loves’ voices giving instructions and speaking encouragement, measured breaths, blinding pain, and pushing, until she feels she has no more strength left, not a single ounce of energy still within her body to give.  Her surroundings and the passing minutes blend together hazily in increasing agony.

               “Come on, Mom!” Henry urges at her ear, pleasing earnestly as he continues, “One more push!  You’re almost there!”

               Tossing her head back and forth weakly, Emma senses her words more than actually hearing them as she tells him ‘no’, she can’t, it’s too much, there’s nothing left.

               Suddenly, Killian’s voice snaps through the fog, breaking like lightning, a lifeline tossed into murky seas and towing her back to shore.  “Emma! You must!” he demands, his voice, raw and urgent, but implacable, allowing no other choice.  “I can see the crown of the head.  Push, Lass! Now!  Once more!  You can do this!!”

               Calling on every reserve she can muster, clenching muscles she never even realized she had, Emma bears down once more, pushing, straining, until all at once the cord she has felt constricting her breaks, a force expels, and she falls back, drained, to the wailing cry of an infant.

               Giddily, her hurt and exhaustion flip on their head into a dazed sort of euphoria.  Her eyes roll to Henry, who is grinning down at the end of the bunk where Killian is cradling a squalling, red, and flailing newborn as he attempts to clear its airways and wipe clean the delicate, rosy skin.  

               “You did it, Mom!  We made it!” Henry beams back at her, shifting and leaving her side for a moment to help Killian maneuver and settle the child, wrapping it in a spare sheet from a cupboard and settling her in the crook of his stepfather’s blunted arm.

               In just a few more moments, Killian is bringing the swaddled bundle of precious little girl to his wife and laying the crying child in her arms, where the little one promptly stills to mere sniffles, seemingly soothed by her mother’s very touch.  “We’ve a daughter, Swan,” her pirate announces, already entranced and clearly wrapped around the wee infant’s tiny fingers.  His voice is hushed with blissful reverence as he looks on, watching their daughter’s rosebud mouth purse and her eyes blink curiously up at them all, then staring at Emma in wonder, as if hardly daring to believe this has all just happened.

               For a moment in the ship’s cabin, the world slows and allows a frozen tableau of perfect delight.  The gurgling little girl already sporting a head full of her papa’s dark hair, her two enamored, drained, and enthralled parents, plus one proud big brother, all elated at the result of the last few hour’s hurried proceedings.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~8888888888888888~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Still, a genuinely sheepish look did cross Killian’s face as he stepped closer to her and brought hand and hook to rest on her waist, caressing softly.  “Apologies, Lass, truly,” he offered in that gently lilting voice she really couldn’t resist.  “I suppose I simply failed to see its importance to you.”

In that moment, understanding flooded over Emma, catching what was really going on in a flash of insight that would probably have been immediately clear were their situations reversed, Killian being so good at reading her it sometimes seemed he was in her head.  Her handsome sailor wasn’t sure he wanted any fuss about his birthday, didn’t think anyone beyond Emma and Henry should care too much, didn’t want to put anyone out or cause any trouble; it made sense now why he had been subtly slowing her down and distracting her every step of the way as she had tried to put together a party, invite guests, make a cake, and find the perfect present.  Now she saw why it had only been a slip with Henry that allowed them to know his birthday had passed at all.

Looking up into his beloved face, Emma sighed, bringing her fingers to trail along his scruffy cheek.  “I shouldn’t be messing with all of this anyway, should I?” she whispered, searching his gaze hopefully, and seeing the way it cleared with relieved happiness at her words.  “I’m sorry, Killian, this got out of hand and it should be about what you want anyway, not me.”

His eyes were so gentle and adoring, and his low, rich voice warmed her as he started to protest, “Oh Lass, I didn’t mean to imply that – “

She shook her head, grinning crookedly and taking his hand to pull him after her.  “It’s alright,” she reassured, flipping off lights and making sure everything in the house was off as she lead him to the front door.  “Come on, Pirate. Change of plans.”

CS^^^^^^^^^CS^^^^^^^^^^^CS

           They ended up at the beach, princess and pirate, laughingly huddled together on a large piece of driftwood not far from the water line, a little colder than expected as the brisk New England weather had turned decidedly toward autumn, but laughing all the same, and both digging forks into a cake procured from Granny’s.

           “We might have known that the formidable Widow Lucas would have some grasp of what a pirate such as meself would most enjoy as a birthday dessert,” Killian smirked joyfully, though his usually distinct speaking style was somewhat hampered by a mouthful of the rich, flavorful cake he was so happily enjoying he couldn’t seem to wait even a moment to shove another fork full of it in.  

           “Well, I should have known a rum cake was the way to go,” Emma agreed wryly, “if I’d known such a thing existed.”

           Both of them chewed and savored the sweetly spicy cake, and Emma couldn’t help fondly remembering Granny’s response when she had called the older woman a few hours back.  After she’d explained her kitchen mishap and that she needed a cake for Killian, Granny had sounded so mischievously pleased with herself when she told Emma ‘I’ve got just the thing.  Give me two hours and you can come pick it up,” that only Killian himself could have rivaled her tone of voice.

           “Never fear, Darling,” Killian interrupted her reminiscence then as he nudged her shoulder and shot her a wink that made her pulse flutter.  “I am certain I would have loved the cake you made me equally well.  It is my fault after all that it was ruined, not a reflection on your skills.”

           The way his lips formed the word “skills” and the inflection he placed on it made Emma shift anxiously on her perch beside him, almost unable to sit still without grabbing onto the edges of his new black vest and hauling him into her to taste the rum and sugar on his tongue.  Trying to be satisfied just gazing at his profile for a second, the spell was broken a bit by more innocent affection when he saw that the sugar granules which had been dusted on top of the cake were now scattered in his beard and scruff.

           Reaching out to brush it away for him, she grinned crookedly and murmured, “Aren’t you the sweet talker?” without any real bite to her words.

           “Aye, Love, that I am,” he replied saucily, running his ridiculous, sinful tongue over his lower lip and then biting said lip as if he knew precisely what it did to her.  “At the moment, I can say that quite literally.”

           Both of them fell companionably silent for a moment, finishing up their delectable treat from the Diner’s wily proprietor and then curling into each other’s arms as the waves crashed against the rocky coastline before them.

           Humming contentedly, Emma eventually pulled away from her pirate just enough to look up into his eyes with a teasing smile and add, “You know Henry has a present for you too when he gets back from Regina’s this evening.”

           Killian tilted his head in genuinely confused surprise as he returned her happy gaze.  “Truly?  He needn’t have worried about that.”

           Emma shook her head at him, having known he would feel Henry didn’t need to get him anything, but equally entertained by how determined Henry had been to find this man they both loved a perfect gift, and how set he had been on a reluctant Regina being the one to take him shopping. “You won’t be able to keep it a secret from him, Mom,” Henry had argued.

           Emma worried again briefly if her newly teenaged son had too much an idea of Killian’s methods for making her talk, but all she said in response, scratching her fingernails through Killian’s hair behind his ears was, “There was no stopping him.”  She paused then whispered with added emphasis, “He loves you, Killian…we both do.”

           It was a touching, but no longer surprising, sight to see the infamous Captain Hook swallow a clear lump in his throat before he could respond, touched enough by her words that he had to gather himself before he spoke.  “And I you,” he breathed out, voice a bit soft in awe, “both of you.”

           Looking down just a moment, he wet his lips, watching their joined hands on his knee as he interlocked their fingers, and Emma waited, sensing he hadn’t finished speaking yet.  “I am honored your boy would go to so much trouble, Lass.  I don’t exaggerate when I say an actual age has passed since anyone cared to celebrate my birth…not since Liam gifted me with a sextant on my birthday just before I was made lieutenant and we set off on our ill-fated mission to Neverland.”

           Emma could not have stopped the tears welling up in her eyes at that moment for any price; just considering again the long stretch of years Killian had lived alone in a burning agony of anger and vengeance, no longer able to see or imagine a way back out to the light.  She reached out to brush her fingertips lightly over the faded scar high on his cheekbone soothingly.  “Well,” she vowed solemnly, her voice trembling a bit with emotion, but her tone conveying just how seriously she meant every word, “you have two people now who can’t wait to celebrate birthdays with you from now on. More than that, actually.  I mean, did you see how pleased with herself Granny looked when your eyes lit up at the sight of her rum cake?  And my dad is really proud of what he and Mom picked out for you too.”

           Killian’s eyes had been suspiciously shiny at the emotions their talk had stirred up, but at this last, they sparkled more mischievously. “Is that so, Swan?” he murmured, that eyebrow of his quirking adorably again.  “The Prince picked out a gift for me, did he?”

           Shaking her head at his antics, Emma chuckled softly and leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose.  “Yes,” she affirmed emphatically, not quite ready to give up her seriousness until Killian understood this point.  “You know very well that you ‘won him over’ a long time ago. You’re part of our family…You have a family again, Killian.”

           His face straightened once more as he gazed down at his love with full sincerity.  “Aye, though I can barely believe it, I thank my lucky stars every day for that fact.”

           This time, it was Emma’s gravity that dissolved into playfulness once the fraught moment had passed.  “Oh, and one more thing,” she teased, making every effort to wiggle her eyebrows seductively as he did, even if she probably failed quite comically.  “I have another gift for you before we meet up with the rest of them.”

           Standing, Emma tried to employ a bit of breathy flirtation in her voice as she pulled him after her.  Rubbing her curves up against his side for just a moment, she added huskily, “Why don’t you grab the rest of your cake and follow me?  It’s on your ship.”  She walked forward a few steps, then looked back over her shoulder and had to bite back a giggle at the way his eyes almost bugged seeing the extra sway she put in her hips.

           “Is that so?” he asked, voice rasping huskily in spite of the feigned calm in his demeanor.  “Will I like this mystery gift?”

           She knew she had him then as she continued to lead him back up the beach to the docks, commanding herself to keep up her languid sashay instead of taking off at a run.  She threw a wink back over her shoulder before she purred, “Oh, I’ve been assured that you love every part of it.”

           Killian’s booted feet closed the distance between them in seconds and he was soon wrapping his free arm around her waist and propelling them forward at greater speed, much to her delight.  As the sounds of their feet echoed on the rough wooden planks of the dock, he breathed in her ear.  “In that case, my lovely little minx, I believe I know exactly what it is…and am already anxious to unwrap it.”

           She could feel the flush spread hotly from her forehead to her toes as his lips brushed against the shell of her ear. Her knees suddenly quivered with so much anticipation that she merely waited unsteadily for his hand up to help her onto his ship.

           He winked at her then, and murmured lowly, “After you, Love.”  Then he swept his hand out to beckon her forward and followed her to the captain’s quarters.

           The snowbird had dispatched with its treat almost before Emma began reading.  She nodded to it, and it answered with a little trill of farewell before fluttering its wings and taking flight again.  Emma’s lowered her eyes to begin reading, the smile growing as she found indeed the best wishes of her friend, the Queen of Arendelle. She had asked Elsa to be her maid-of-honor, but the other young woman had needed to regretfully decline.  Emma understood, though she wished Elsa could be present to stand beside her.  The princess with her ice powers and quiet understanding had been the first person to grasp how Emma felt with the weight of magic on her shoulders, and to help her learn to accept them as a part of who she was.

           Tracing a finger along Elsa’s looping, graceful script, she read along, steadying herself with the words…

           My Dearest Friend,

           I hope you know how much I wish I could be there for you on your special day.  As you know, Anna is due to deliver she and Kristoff’s first child – and heir to our throne.  It has not been an easy pregnancy for her, and she has been strictly confined to bed for the last month.  As you can imagine that does not please my boisterous sister one bit!

           Emma, that you would ask me to stand beside you for one of the most important moments of your life means more to me than I can adequately express.  To think I once imagined myself trapped in a frozen kingdom of isolation, makes it all the more remarkable to have a friend as full of warmth and light as you.  I am truly blessed.  I also want to say that if I were there today, I would remind you that both you and Captain Jones deserve this joyous occasion. The two of you – as I myself have – know what it is to be alone, afraid, misunderstood, and rejected.  You were meant to find each other and leave those days behind.  I firmly believe that.  Trust that this will last, and enjoy the life, love, and family you have found.

           My gift should have arrived already; make sure you are wearing it today!

           Emma paused at that, thinking of the gorgeous present she had received form Elsa almost a week ago, and dabbing away a few tears at her friend’s well wishes.

           Hopefully, we will all be able to visit soon and can congratulate you both in person!

With love,                                                                                                                    Elsa, Anna, Kristoff, Sven, and baby Arendelle

P.S. Killian can thank me for your present later!

           Emma could almost see Elsa winking at the addendum as she rolled the note up once more and stowed it away in her vanity table. The jitters in her stomach had settled when a moment later there was a knock at the door and her father’s voice asked if she was ready.  Her heart swelled in excitement at the thought of seeing her True Love waiting at the end of the aisle.  Their Happily Ever After was about to begin, and she couldn’t wait.