———————

Things were equally solemn in the convent—and the fairies didn’t even know about the curse yet. The Blue Fairy was laid out in a coffin at the altar, or whatever religious centerpiece it was, with other fairies gathered around in mourning. 

Tink charged ahead. “Sorry to interrupt, but we need your help.”

“With what?” one of the fairies asked. 

Neal quickly said, “The Black Fairy's wand is here. We need it.”

The fairy began to step back. “We can never…”

“Yeah, yeah. It's a terrible thing,” Tink interrupted. “But what's coming is worse. Where is it?”

Before the fairy could answer, a pounding noise sounded outside, somewhere above them. All eyes darted up to windows at the roofline, where something dark—and familiar—was flying around. 

“What the hell was that?” David yelped. 

“Pan's shadow,” Killian answered, knowingly. That—that was the danger he’d been worried about, especially once it became apparent that the Shadow was trying to get in. 

“What does it want?” another fairy wondered. 

But Killian knew. “The wand.” It wasn’t a stretch to believe the Shadow had overheard their conversation back in the cemetery—and was here to foil their plans. 

One of the stained glass windows was partly open; the Shadow effortlessly slipped in. David shouted for everyone to run; the fairies all but disappeared, but the four of them stayed in the sanctuary, hiding behind the pews. (He knew nothing of this realm’s religions but some things apparently transcended worlds, including the setup of worship spaces. He’d never been much for organized religion, but if they escaped this unscathed, he’d throw up some prayers to the gods in thanks.)

“So all we have to do is light the candle, right? That's how you trapped it in Neverland?” David panted. 

“Yeah,” Neal confirmed. “This time I say we get rid of it for good.” 

Killian agreed. “I'll draw its ire.”

He began to move when Tink put her hand on his arm. “You sure you want to do this?” The others were looking at him concernedly as well. 

His hand rested on his belly; yes, logically, he shouldn’t be throwing himself into the line of fire like so. But he also knew—based on past experience—that the odds of the Shadow being able to hurt him were minimal compared to the others, and there was no way he could sit idly by and do nothing to help. “If it's the only way to prevent this bloody curse from obliterating us all, then it's a risk I'm willing to take.”

Tink squeezed his arm and smiled. “You’ve come a long way from only risking your life for love or revenge.”

He blushed a bit. “This is still within those categories,” he replied, nodding towards his stomach—but they both knew it wasn’t just the babe. 

The Shadow had been circling overhead, but was darting lower; it was now or never. 

“Hey!” he shouted, slipping out from the benches into the aisle. Not his most original quip, but it worked—the Shadow’s focus was on him, and it dove. 

Killian crouched and easily evaded it; hopefully, he could keep that up. “That the best you got?” he taunted; attacking its pride was a sure fire way to keep it close enough to capture. 

However, it was indeed not its best; on its next swoop, it managed to knock Killian off his feet, sending him sliding across the floor. He at least managed to fall on his side and curl up, protecting the babe from impact. 

Hands were on his shoulders almost immediately. “You alright?” David asked, brow furrowed in assessment, helping him back to the benches. 

“I think so,” he breathed; the wind had been knocked out of him a bit but the baby seemed to me kicking away as consistently as ever. 

In that time, the Shadow had flown back up to the eaves, far out of reach. 

“Too bad I can't fly up there,” Neal joked—but then realized: “Tink.”

It took some encouragement, but they managed to convince her that she could do it—they all had faith in her; she just needed to have it in herself. 

He watched with pride as she was able to activate her vial of pixie dust and float up. It took even less effort for her to light the flame in the coconut, easily trapping the Shadow. He felt no sympathy as the creature, if it could be called that, writhed as it was sucked into the flame. 

He only felt relief at the small hiss of a scream when Tink tossed it in an open brazier back on the ground. 

“Look who's still a fairy,” he teased, sauntering towards her, but his genuine grin probably belied the sarcasm. 

“Look who's still a pirate,” she tossed back. “You all right?”

“Aye; we’re fine.”

“Good. I wish you had a bit more self-preservation, you know? If not just for your kid, then for Emma, too,” she added on a whisper.

Before he could comment either way, the apparently resurrected Blue Fairy interrupted them—not just to welcome Tink back into the folds of fairy-dom, but also to give them the Black Fairy’s wand. “Go—save us all,” she commanded, somewhat melodramatically, but the situation was that dire. Neal took the wand and they wasted no further time. 

Back at the pawn shop, everyone else was waiting; the wand was all they needed. Emma looked tense, understandably; he hoped his nod was an encouraging one (and hoped they’d get time at some point here for more communication than glances and gestures). 

Later, though; now, Gold was performing the spell, and then they had to find Henry. 

After confirmation—so much as they could tell—that it worked, they all headed out into town to track down Henry, led by Granny and her keen sense of smell. But the lad ended up finding them first, sprinting out of the library, curse in hand.

It was hard not to get a little emotional at the reunion with Henry and his mothers (Killian’s own heightened hormones notwithstanding), but that quickly gave way to confusion when, upon being handed the curse scroll from the boy, Regina collapsed on the pavement accompanied by a flash of purple light.

She recovered, but when asked what happened, only cryptically said that she “saw what needed to be done.” He didn’t like the sound of that.

“Mom, are you going to be okay?” Henry asked, worried.

Regina placed her hand under Henry's chin. “The important thing is you will be.” That didn’t fully assuage Killian’s concern, though it was definitely important. His hand drifted to his waist, protecting his babe (and drawing comfort from them, too—this whole thing wasn’t done yet).

“No, he won’t actually.” They all turned at the unwelcome voice—Pan, somehow free, and suddenly holding the scroll in his hand.

“He has the—!” Killian started to say, but was frozen in place before he could finish his warning; even the babe within him had stopped moving, which was even more unnerving. 

“Curse?” Pan finished, smirking. “That I do.”

He started to monologue, debating which of his captives he would murder first; honestly, it was a bit cliche, but Killian knew well what the demon child was capable of.

Pan had just rounded on Belle and Neal when Gold appeared behind him; took him long enough (though it wasn’t a stretch to think Pan had incapacitated him, given that Pan himself should have still been imprisoned). 

Pan teased his son. "You're here to protect your loved ones, eh?”

“I'm not gonna let you touch either one of them.” If Killian weren’t frozen, he would have arched an eyebrow, impressed; it only took the Crocodile two centuries to learn how to stand up for his family, but better late than never.

Should have expected it would be in dramatic fashion, too. After some repartee, Gold’s shadow appeared—carrying the dagger. Which he used to kill both Pan…and himself.

Regardless of their broken history, this was not the end he expected for the Dark One. Perhaps in a normal situation, he wouldn’t feel the rush of emotion he did now; but as it was, he felt tears well in his eyes and a surge of oddly-placed pride. 

That also meant they were free from Pan’s spell, with the demon’s demise; that brought the strongest sense of relief of all. All the decades of serving that arse were permanently done, thank the gods.

But seeing Belle collapse on the ground in tears brought any elation back to the ground; he slowly moved behind her and placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on her shoulder, even though they also had a rocky past. To his surprise, she reached up and squeezed his hand, but he stepped aside when Neal came forward to pull her into an embrace. Over his would-be stepmother’s shoulder, Neal found Killian’s gaze; they didn’t even exchange a nod, but a look of understanding and sympathy was obvious.

Others gathered around the two of them to offer their condolences, including Emma, but Regina was drawn to the fallen scroll once more. And then all eyes were on her.

“My father did what he had to do. He saved us,” Neal said, voice thick. “Regina, don't let him die for nothing.” His plea seemed to fall on deaf ears, though. “Regina?”

“What?” she asked, looking up from the scroll and blinking.

“We're here for a reason, love. Pan,” Killian reminded her.

“He’s dead,” she said quickly.

“His curse remains,” he countered. “Can you stop it, or shall we all start preparing our souls? 'Cause mine is gonna take some time,” he added, hoping a moment of levity might help.

On cue, one of the dwarves came up screaming about the curse’s imminent arrival.

“We can still stop it, right?” David asked, ever hopeful; Regina confirmed it, but still seemed reluctant.

“W-what's the price?” Emma was clearly distraught; he wanted to hold her, assure her it would be fine, but now was not the time. “Gold said there is a price. What is our price?”

Regina turned to face the group. “It's not our price. It's mine. I have to say goodbye to the thing I love most.”

They all knew who that meant: Henry.

The lad in question moved closer to his mothers, confusion and worry on his face. 

“I can never see him again,” Regina went on. “I have no choice.” It made sense, but gods was it cruel. Killian barely even knew the little life within him yet already couldn’t imagine being parted from them like so; but with a hold you’ve held, raised, loved? He couldn’t imagine. 

“I have to undo what I started,” she added sadly. 

“The curse that brought us to Storybrooke?” Snow realized, on a gasp. 

“That created Storybrooke,” Regina emphasized. “It doesn't belong here, and neither do any of us.”

Just when he was starting to find a reason to stay; he cast a brief glance at Emma, but then focused on the pavement. He had a bad feeling in his gut where this was going. 

“Breaking the curse destroys the town,” David said, breathlessly—and throwing half a dirty look at Killian; he deserved it though, given his hand in the town’s first near-destruction. 

But what Regina said next was worse. 

“It will wipe it out of existence as though it were never here. And everyone will go back to where they are from. Prevented from ever returning.”

That part—that would make this awfully difficult. But…when she said “from,” did she mean…?

“We'll go back to the Enchanted Forest?” Emma seemed to be putting the pieces together at the same time. 

“All of us,” Regina nodded, “Except Henry. He will stay here because... he was born here.”

“Alone?” Emma’s voice cracked.

No—that…couldn’t be; it was too awful. Impending parenthood was absolutely making Killian a sap, but he knew a thing or two about being abandoned, and few things were more awful; Henry didn’t deserve that, especially after what he’d just been through—especially when both his parents knew what it was like too. 

He could see remnants of the little lost girl Emma had once been starting to show on her face, and longed to clear them away somehow—assure her it’d be alright. He was too far away though, so he settled with reaching out to squeeze Neal’s shoulder, knowing he was likely having similar flashbacks. 

“No,” Regina countered, thankfully. “You will take him. Because you're the Savior. And you were created to break the curse. And once again, you can escape it.”

Emma’s eyes weren’t the only ones starting to brim with tears, but hers were the ones he was focused on. “I-I don't want to. We'll both go back with everyone.”

“That's not an option,” Regina said, equally emotional. “I can't be with him. If I don't pay the price, none of this will work.”

Ominously, thunder sounded in the distance, indicating the curse’s proximity. They were running out of time. He loathed to say it, but Regina was right: Emma had to go.

Heartbreakingly, her mother agreed.

“I just found you,” Emma protested, every inch the lost girl.

“And now it's time for you to leave us again,” Snow told her, obviously working hard to hold it together. “For your best chance. For his.”

She continued to fight it—to hypothesize a way to win—but he could feel it in the wind: they had to act fast, and this was the only way to not leave Henry by himself. But if they didn’t move quickly, they’d all get wrapped up in whatever sick plan Pan enacted before his death.

Emma looked across the crowd and found his eyes. No doubt she saw sadness in them. But he swallowed and gave her what he hoped was a confident, encouraging nod. Selfishly, he wished she could go with all of them, but she’d never be able to live with herself if she had to leave Henry behind—nor would he expect her to.

She pursed her lips and gave a tiny nod in response. “Okay,” she finally said, albeit reluctantly.

Killian directed the group to the farthest town line—the spot that gave them the most time before the curse overtook them. All too soon, everyone was gathered around Emma’s yellow vehicle in a series of tearful goodbyes that were wreaking havoc on his heightened emotions. 

Henry clung to Regina while Emma bade farewell to her parents and Neal, then turned to face him.

“That's quite a vessel you captain there, Swan,” he teased, trying to lighten the moment a bit for both their sakes. She smiled—something he vowed to sear into his memory. But then he couldn’t hold back anymore—he had to be sincere. “There's not a day that won't go by that I won't think of you,” he added, perhaps a bit dramatically but it was the honest truth.

“Good,” Emma said—then, to his shock, she quickly gripped his lapels and placed an insistent kiss on his lips. 

He didn’t hesitate to reciprocate, knowing it would likely be the last. 

It was all too brief, but she stayed in his space one more moment. “Take care of yourself, okay? And good luck.”

“You too,” he replied, voice suddenly thick with emotion—but who could blame him?

He stepped aside and pulled himself together as they made the final preparations to leave; he could see the sky darkening as the curse approached. He heard something about them losing their memories—or getting new ones from Regina—something like that, which was probably a blessing but sounded cruel in the moment. They wouldn't remember them—all the things that had happened in the last months, especially Emma finding her family. But it was probably for the best.

Snow was giving Emma one last embrace goodbye and placing a kiss on her forehead when he turned back around. He placed his hand, as he did so often, on his belly, praying to the gods that they would never be faced with such a prospect.

Then Emma and Henry were in her car and it was roaring to life, just as Regina enacted the counter curse.

As the storm clouds rolled over him, he watched Emma drive over the town line—into safety. 

What lay ahead for both of them was unknown, but they at least had their children; what else did they need?

—--------------------------------------

One year later

Killian knew he was in the right spot—portals were generally accurate—but as he stood outside the door, he was nervous. A lot had changed in his world in the past year; he had to assume the same could be said here. 

But he was on a mission. So he swallowed his nerves and knocked. 

He could hear voices inside—they were definitely there; but there was no answer, so he knocked again, urgently. 

Finally, he heard footsteps approach. The door swung open, and there she was: Emma, in all her glory, blonde hair hanging loose around her face. She looked good. 

He was so relieved; he grinned and stepped forward. “Swan. At last—”

But she stopped him from moving any farther forward with a hand on his chest. Her brow furrowed and she cut him off. “Woah, do I know you?”

Oh, right—in his eagerness, he’d nearly forgotten about the spell that replaced their memories. Good to know it had held. 

“Look, I need your help,” he charged on, though. “Something's happened. Something terrible. Your family is in trouble.”

“My family's right here,” she countered. “Who are you?”

“An old friend,” was the best he could come up with; he was starting to feel desperate. “Look, I know you can't remember me, but... I can make you.”

Much like their parting, but with the roles reversed, he did step into her space—and found her lips, thinking fervently of all the feelings he’d been holding onto for her over the past year. 

He really should have expected the subsequent knee in his groin, though; thank goodness he wasn’t still feeling (too) tender down there. 

“The hell are you doing?” she demanded, shoving him back to the opposite wall. 

He groaned and tried to catch his breath. “A long-shot,” he admitted. “I had to try. I was… hoping you felt as I did.” Which sounded ridiculous as soon as he said it; how could she feel anything when she clearly didn’t remember him?

“What you'll feel is the handcuffs when I call the cops.” Well, that was in-character. 

But he didn’t come here to fail. “Look, I know this seems crazy, but you have to listen to me. You have to remem—”

But the door slammed in his face. 

Bloody hell; that hadn’t gone to plan. But he was a captain for a reason; he’d just have to rely on his backup. 

He'd do whatever it took—he’d promised. So many people were relying on him, but more so on Emma. It wasn’t his intention to drag her back into that part of her life, but he’d seen her with her parents before they left—she deserved to be reunited with them. 

And he wouldn’t be reunited with his own child until he did. 

—————————————

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Then he shuffled off to the lavatory and began to draw a bath, though he knew it wouldn’t make him feel any better for being an utter arse to the woman he loved. But, hopefully, it would keep her at bay until he got through this.

He hissed as the babe then sharply connected with his ribs, seeming to chastise him just as much as he was already doing to himself. “I know,” he muttered. “I’m a bloody bastard.”

Two more days. He could do it—right?

—---------------------------------------------

A sudden jolt of pain woke Killian the next morning. He was ready to strike out at Zelena again, but when his eyes flew open, no one was there. And yet, the ache persisted.

His entire midsection, globe that it was, felt like the muscles were clenched—but he didn’t know how to relax them. He took a few deep breaths, which eventually worked, but his stomach still felt sore (or, at least, more sore than it already felt with its fairly rapid expansion). What the bloody hell was that?

The pregnancy book was sitting on the bedside table; he immediately reached for it to skim through. (He hoped Belle wouldn’t mind how dog-eared and beat up it was becoming.) He was at, what, 35 weeks now?

Ah, right—practice contractions. Lest he forget, birth still lay ahead of him. He massaged his rounded belly, saying a silent prayer that the babe within didn’t grow much more; he wasn’t sure entirely how the little one was to emerge, given that he didn’t have the traditional parts for it, but perhaps it would be easier on him if they remained on the small size.

The day continued on much like the previous had, although the practice contractions kept catching him by surprise; he yelped more than a few times at them.

After one, he did hear footsteps rush to, and then pause outside his door. He knew the sound of Emma’s gait by this point, and waited to see if she did anything, but the floorboards creaked as she inevitably walked away. 

Rather than frustrated, he was simply mad at himself for how he handled that interaction with her last night—but it had at least worked, so that was one less thing for him to worry about over the next day or so.

The next novel from Belle was much more enjoyable, even if he dozed off in the middle of reading. It felt like he was constantly on the edge of sleep, but the pregnancy manual had implied as much when he was as far into the third trimester as he was.

He was once more on the cusp of a nap when a persistent rapping sounding at the door—much different, and more forceful, than Emma’s usual (surprisingly polite) taps. Hopefully, whoever it was didn’t hear the groan as he shifted to standing; his belly was starting to drift southward as the little one moved closer to resting on his pelvis, and he could tell by the way they were wriggling that they were starting to run out of room.

Which meant it was getting harder to keep his bump from view of the door; he had to prop his left forearm on the edge of the frame to support himself this time. “Dave,” he greeted, surprised, when he cracked it open. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

David, however, seemed less than thrilled to see him. He crossed his arms and leveled a rather fatherly stare at him. “To figuring out what the hell is up with you.”

“I’ve just been feeling under the weather,” he said, thankful that Emma hadn’t inherited her lie-detecting abilities from her father, even it was somewhat true.

“And that’s reason to be a jerk to Emma? Especially when, for the last few weeks, you couldn’t seem to stay away from her?”

“No, it’s not,” he conceded. “I…intend to apologize once I’m feeling better; hopefully in a few days.”

David’s expression didn’t change. “You know, her last couple of magic lessons haven’t gone well.”

That made his heart sink in a different way, and he swore the babe was kicking nervously. “No?”

“No. She hasn’t been able to do much of anything with it. I think we all know what that means.”

Killian swallowed; any chance of defeating the witch—of keeping this child, and the Charming’s, safe—depended on her magic, as much as he hated to put it all on Emma’s shoulders alone. 

“Is…is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, knowing full well he’d be useless for a bit more.

“You can pull your head out of your ass!” David hissed.

“Beg your pardon?”

The prince huffed and stared at the floor. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, and she’d probably kill me for it, but the reason she’s been having trouble is you.” He looked back up. “You’re good for her, much as I hate to admit it, and whatever the hell this is you’re doing? She’s worried. So…figure it out.”

Before Killian could come up with any sort of reply—not that he had one ready—another practice contraction hit, and he curled in on himself a bit as he winced.

“Shit—are you okay?” David asked, trying to look around the door.

“‘M fine,” Killian waved off. “Or I will be. Just a—stomach thing.” (A rather large stomach thing that was also pressing on his bladder—again.) “Besides—it’s not like she plans on staying anyways,” he finally threw back. 

“Maybe she needs a reason to,” David countered. “Take care of yourself.”

He turned around and left, but Killian remained slightly stunned. Eventually, he did have to shut the door and head to the toilet, but David’s words lingered in his head. “ You’re good for her .”

Bloody hell, he really had been too rash in his agreement with Zelena. He should have known his tendency towards self-flagellation would mess things up one of these days. But there was nothing to be done at this point than to see it through, and just pray he could apologize to Emma fast enough to help get them out of this disaster.

The baby kicked against his side, and his hand flew to the spot without thought. The more time he spent with this little passenger, the more he also was determined to save them. He wasn’t sure he was prepared to be a father, given the low success rate of his past attempts at it, but he’d be damned if he let any harm befall his—and whoever else’s—child. “I don’t know what lays ahead, little one, but I’m going to do my best to keep you safe, too,” he murmured to the bump—and just hoped he hadn’t told yet another lie.

Quite obviously, his mood fell from whatever relative high it had reached that morning to the lowest of lows once more, especially with the continuation of the practice contractions.

He was laying listlessly on the mattress that evening, tracing the babe’s movements with his hand, when he heard a gentle knock. But he wasn’t fit for company and the lights were off, so hopefully they assumed he was asleep. 

Outside the door, he easily recognized the sound of Emma sighing. “I know you’re in there, even if you can’t hear me right now,” she said. “Probably passed out, if you’re still really feeling bad. But I…I feel like it’s not just that,” she continued. “I don’t know what I did to make you pull away. Okay, I know some of it, but—something else happened. I just wish I knew. Because I miss you,” she confessed to his closed door. “And I want to be with you again. Or hang out or whatever.” She sighed again and he thought he heard her forehead clunk against the wood. “Well now I really know you’re sleeping, because that would have gotten your attention if you were awake. Probably for the best.” She paused again, then added “good night,” and he heard her move across the hall to her own room. 

He suddenly sniffed; bloody hell, these emotional shifts were getting tiring. But he hated— hated —that he was the cause for her emotional distress, and worse, that it might have bigger implications for everyone else, including his child. (Perfect time for a practice contraction to start, eh?)

He’d well and truly fucked this up. 

So he gave into his heightened emotions, curled in on himself (which was no small feat—nor very quiet on Granny’s mattress), and cried himself to sleep.

———————————

Rising from the bed the next morning was the most arduous it had been yet—not just because of his babe’s consistent growth, or the practice contraction that had once again woken him, but his belly had also finally “dropped”, as the book said; the little one was well and truly resting on his pelvis, getting ready to make their escape—which could happen at any moment, most likely. 

His nerves were constantly on edge, consequently. The baby seemed to echo it—or was just anxious to get out; he wasn’t sure. But honestly, if it meant keeping them safe until the witch was defeated, he’d rather they stay there—safe—even if he was horrendously uncomfortable. 

Until another practice contraction hit and the babe shifted atop his lower pelvis. Never mind; he wanted them out. 

But for the first time, he realized just how alone he’d be for it. David hadn’t left Snow’s side when they were in the hospital, and he knew it was common for women to have any number of supporters during the process. But if he was still to be keeping it a secret…

However, that was when he heard Emma’s door open across the hall. What if he just…let the door open? Just a crack? It wouldn’t be his fault if she ended up barging in, would it?

He waddled to the door and unlatched the bolt, then reached for the knob—only for it to disappear as soon as his hand neared. 

“Ah-ah-ah,” Zelena’s voice called out. He whipped his head and lifted his hook, ready to strike, but she wasn’t in the room. “That’s cheating,” she went on, and finally he saw her: staring out from the standing mirror next to his dresser. “Surely you can sit on this for just a few more hours; you’ve definitely kept other secrets longer.”

“What if something goes wrong?” he countered. “What if the child needs medical attention, eh? You really expect me to do the rest of this unsupervised?”

“Psh, you’ll be fine—I made sure of it when I cast the spell,” she waved off. “Just try not to get too loud, alright?”

“You know there’s a werewolf downstairs, right? They’ll probably hear.” The odds that he got through the day without Granny yelling at him for all the creaking he was causing were already slim.

“Oh, you’re right.” She waved her hand, and the walls briefly glowed green. “Silencing spell. Yell all you want, then; no one will hear it. See you in a few hours, Captain.” And then she disappeared from sight, leaving his own sorry reflection staring back at him, looking tired and morose. 

He sighed and shifted his weight from side to side, observing his reflection as he did. Perhaps his belly wasn’t quite as big as it felt, but it did protrude quite a ways in front of him, fully rounding out his stomach and resting heavy on his hips. While bracing his lower back with his left wrist, he lifted his shirt to properly view his belly. There were quite a few stretchmarks along its lower curve, and his belly button even stuck out. The little one moved then, and he could see the whole thing eerily shift as they did. 

Perhaps Zelena’s interruption had been good for another reason: did he really want to subject Emma to this view? Even he barely wanted to look at it, even if it held some novelty. But the babe wriggled again and he pulled his shirt back down; he could feel it plenty—he didn’t need to see the alien-like sight in better detail.

There was only one thing left to do at this point. He went to the odd canister by the door (he believed Henry had called it an “umbrella stand”) and retrieved his sword from its scabbard. He flexed his fingers around the grip and rested his brace on the apex of his bump. “Well, little love, wish us luck; I’m going to do my damnedest to keep you safe.” He liked to imagine the subsequent kick was an affirmative response. 

(Not for the first time, he also wished he had a way of contacting Smee; the man would have easily been able to slip the child away safely. But he had no idea what digits to use on his room’s telephone. Alas.)

As the day wore on, the practice contractions got more consistent—and stronger. He wasn’t entirely sure what would mark the start of labor, so he continued to alternate resting and pacing as they went on. 

More than once, he caught himself on one surface or another as they increased in intensity; this must be it then. He tried to skim over this section in the book, but couldn’t focus long enough for it to be of any use. 

So he breathed, and paced, and rested, and breathed, and paced, and rested, with sips of water and restroom breaks scattered in as needed. 

By mid-afternoon (he thought, at least, based on the light outside), he was sweating hard, gripping the back of a chair for support. It felt like the child was nearly ready to come out, but there was one thing that hadn’t happened yet. 

It came on his next restroom trip, thankfully: his water broke. He didn’t even bother putting his pants back on, and his shirt had long since been hiked up above his belly (there wasn’t much sense in keeping it on but he needed something for whenever the witch showed up).

“Alright, little one; let’s do this,” he murmured, shuffling back to the main room (and his sword). But he hadn’t gotten very far before the next—and strongest yet—contraction stopped him in his tracks, drawing a shout and forcing him to curl in on himself, catching himself on the back of the chair for support. 

Which of course was when the door to his room flew open. 

Emma stood, staring at him, mouth agape. “Oh…oh my god,” she eventually stammered. 

“Swan, I…” he started—but how the hell could he explain it?

Shockingly, he didn’t have to. “They were right; you’re pregnant. Holy shit.”

“They?” he asked, panting. 

“Belle,” Emma explained, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “And David. Just now—Belle mentioned the book you borrowed and my dad told us what happened when he saw you yesterday and—”

He didn’t mean to cut her off, but he yelled out as another contraction commenced. “You shouldn’t be here, love,” he said once his breath came back. “The witch—”

“Who gives a shit about her?” she said angrily, rushing to his side. “I can’t believe you didn’t say anything!”

“I cou—ahhh!” Any attempt at explanation was cut off by the sudden increased intensity of his labor. “Love, just—go,” he tried to argue, but there was no strength behind it. 

Not that she would have listened. “Like hell I will. I am not leaving you to do this on your own. Just tell me everything after, okay?” He nodded. “Okay. Let’s have a baby.”

(He desperately hoped it was hers, cruel as that might be.)

She reached for his hand and guided him to sitting on the chair. “How long have you been going?”

“I don’t know,” he had to answer. “It’s all happened so fast.”

“Really? God, mine felt like it took forever.”

“No—all of it,” he clarified in between breaths.

“Wait—all?” she asked, placing her free hand on his belly.

“Aye,” he confirmed. “Just the last 10 days.”

“Shit,” she said, but it could have also been a reaction to the way he suddenly gripped her hand fiercely as yet another contraction came; they were incredibly close together now. “Um, Killian, I—I have to look—” She didn’t finish her sentence, but pointed downward.

He nodded again, though it was undoubtedly a terrifying sight. She took her own deep breath and knelt in front of where he was perched on the edge of the chair; her eyes went wide when she got a look. (This was so far from what he’d hoped her first encounter with his private parts would look like.)

“Oh wow, you’ve gotta push,” she said, in a slightly panicked tone. “I can see the head.”

“I can certainly feel it,” he answered, trying for some levity. But then the next contraction came and he found himself bearing down unwittingly.

“Just like that,” she coached. “I’m right here.”

“You really don’t have to be.” He was trying to give her an out.

“Hey.” Now she was the one squeezing his hand, intensity in her green eyes. “I want to be.” 

He managed to crack half a smile before his body forced him to push again—and again, and again. Emma gave enthusiastic encouragements the whole time but he was just in so, so much pain. 

“The head is out; you’re almost there!” she exclaimed, unfortunately having to take her hand back. “Just a few more—you can do it.”

He could, and he did—but he wasn’t quiet about it. But finally, the babe was out—and he was spent.

“It’s a girl,” Emma said softly, and the little one began to cry—but he didn’t dare look, and instead focused on catching his breath.

He could see enough to notice Emma pulling the little one to her chest and moving closer to him. 

“Oh, Killian,” she cooed. “She’s perfect.”

He was sure she was, but he couldn’t look. He couldn’t see the babe, because if he did, he knew he wouldn’t be able to let her go. And he quickly needed to build up the energy for a fight; his sword was sitting on the table next to him.

“Don’t you want to see her?” Emma asked softly. He just shook his head, feeling a tear crawl down his cheek.

“I can’t,” he murmured.

“Killian, what’s wrong? Do…do you not want to keep her?” There was no doubt that was giving her some unpleasant flashbacks of her own, even if it couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Oh, no—I think he does, and that’s wherein the problem lies.” Zelena had arrived—and was gloating, but unphased by the way he was now staring daggers at her (but still decidedly not looking at his daughter—bloody hell, he had a daughter).

“Go to hell, witch,” he spat, reaching for his blade.

“Someday, yes, but not now. Now, I think I’ll be taking what's mine.”

“She’s yours?” Emma exclaimed, holding the baby tighter to her and casting a questioning glance between Zelena and Killian. (Gods, they hadn’t even had time to cut the umbilical cord yet.)

“Well, not ‘mine’ mine. Biologically speaking. She’s yours, really,” she said, gesturing at both of them.

Did she just say…? “Mine?” Emma asked, surprised.

“Yes, indeed. And what beautiful babies you make,” the witch said, coming closer. “If I can’t have a child of confirmed true love, then one of potential true love will just have to do.”

Summoning energy from somewhere unknown, Killian grabbed his sword and stood, leveling the blade at Zelena’s neck. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on her,” he growled.

“That wasn’t part of the deal, Captain,” she hissed. “Unless you’d care to explain to the in-laws why I still kidnapped their baby?”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Emma interrupted, and faster than either of them were aware—in a flash of white light—Zelena was on the floor—and her broach was in Emma’s hand (the one that wasn’t still holding tight to his—no, their —baby).

“No—no, no, no!” the witch cried, seemingly attempting to summon the pendant back—do anything—with her magic. “Oh, you’ll pay for that,” she roared, pulling the Dark One’s dagger out—but Killian struck out at her arm before she could summon the Crocodile, making her drop it, and then kicked it away.

The witch let out a shriek—but it was cut off by a cloud of grey-ish magic. “Fat chance of doing anything to us from the cells below the hospital,” Emma quipped, then turned to Killian. “Are you okay? What the hell is going on?”

“A long story,” he sighed as he relaxed, adrenaline fading just as fast as it had come, his sword clattering to the floor. “One I will gladly tell you shortly; just—can I—?” He hoped the way he was reaching towards the babe finished the question for him.

“Of course,” she said warmly, putting the little girl in his arms. And he finally got to look at her, and, oh—she really was beautiful. She’d calmed down a little bit, at least since Zelena had been dispatched, and was looking around the room with large eyes; he hoped she’d inherit Emma’s color there, seeing as she had clearly acquired Killian’s own pointed ears. 

His body was beginning to tell him there were some things that hadn’t yet been dealt with; he held the little lass as Emma helped him through that. “You wanna tell me just what all this was now?” she asked, firmly but gently, once things were cleaned up. 

“I was a bloody idiot,” he summarized, but told her everything else that had happened since the night at the docks. “Swan, I cannot apologize enough for being such a fool. But…I also don’t fully regret it.”

“I get it,” she said, running a finger over their now-sleeping daughter’s head. “And I’m sorry for making you feel like you had nothing else. But…I guess I can’t complain about the product either.”

For a long moment, they just stood there—the three of them, in awe over their new little blessing. Aside from the incredible ache he felt, it was near perfect—and he was finally able to breathe for another reason (and not just because the precious little toes in his cradle were no longer digging into his lungs).

“Congratulations, love,” he said.

“For what? You just did all the hard work.”

“You defeated the witch. You saved this one, your new sibling, all of us,” he explained. “That’s something to be equally proud of, if not moreso.”

She blushed. “Yeah, but in the moment, all I could think of was saving her—and you.”

“Me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you. Did you not hear what Zelena said?”

He had, but he didn’t dare acknowledge it. So he just nodded.

“My magic has never been stronger than it was just now—especially not earlier this week.”

“Aye, your father said as much.”

“You know why?”

He was starting to get the picture, but wanted her to say it.

She chose not to use words, but actions, and leaned toward his face.

“Hold on—the curse,” he said, regrettably pulling slightly away.

“It should have gone away with her magic,” Emma said, “and I don’t care anyways.” Then she insistently pressed her lips against his and, bloody hell, he couldn’t remember a sweeter, more meaningful kiss.

Though he would have preferred it not be cut off by a sudden interruption from the doorway. David stood at the now-open threshold, coughing (and clearly averting his gaze). “Granny said she heard some weird stuff and made me come check it out. I think I saw too much, though.”

Emma laughed; Killian tried, but it hurt his core. “Come on; I never thought I’d say this, but we need to get you back into some pants and get you two to the hospital.”

He passed the baby to her while he shuffled around to get dressed, and she caught up with her father, who thankfully drove them both to Storybrooke General.

Dr. Whale was shocked by the turn of events and insisted on keeping both Killian and his daughter overnight for observation; Emma stayed by their side the whole time. (And used her magic to accelerate his healing a bit…well, a lot, thankfully, though he wasn’t sure his midsection would ever be as firm as it once was.)

There was still a lot to deal with—emotionally, obviously, and they had to decide just what to do with Zelena; not to mention Snow giving birth still lay ahead. 

But as he walked out of the hospital the next morning—with Emma in one arm and tiny little Alice Margaret Jones, wearing her little sailboat onesie, in the other—he knew it would all work out; maybe, just maybe, this could be their happy ending.

----------------------------------------

—----------------------------------------------

When he woke the next morning, his hand was instinctively resting atop the bare curve of his belly. (That didn’t bode well for his plans of detachment.)

He also found it difficult to sit up in his normal manner; after much rolling around and repositioning, he finally managed to get upright—only to see that his stomach had popped out a fair bit overnight. It most definitely resembled a bump now; after using the lavatory, he traced the curve of it in the mirror, equal parts astounded and horrified. He was also surprised at how firm it was—it wasn’t just softness; there was definitely something there. (Something that was repeatedly kicking at his liver, it felt like.)

His tunic was plenty roomy, but the vest would no longer clasp over his gravid form, no matter how much he let out the laces. He huffed as he cast it aside; he knew it was inevitable, but it was depressing all the same. At least his pants still fit, but barely—and likely not for much longer.  

If no one looked closely, and he didn’t tuck in his shirt, it wasn’t all that noticeable. But there would be no hiding it from those even reasonably close to him. Now he understood why the upper-class women referred to this time as “confinement”—because in order to keep this hidden, he’d have to stay in his room.

Not for the first time, he wished he had his ship; it would have been far easier to hide out there, away from prying eyes. Or if only there were another inn in town, but it would likely draw more attention if he were to relocate.

While he still had a semblance of normalcy to his appearance, he decided he should seek out provisions to get him through the next several days. By his math, he’d only just crossed the halfway mark in the time frame Zelena gave him, but was more than halfway through the pregnancy—so it was likely slowing down in speed, meaning he’d be spending the bulk of it during the most uncomfortable parts. Not only would he need food, he’d need other supplies as well. 

He’d jotted down a list and slipped it into the pocket of his greatcoat, next to the fair amount of gold he’d stashed before leaving the Jolly Roger. His jacket hung loose enough that it hid his belly, but only just.

Cautiously, he poked his head out in the hall before heading out; even if he was reasonably covered up, the more inconspicuous he could be, the better. The coast was clear, so he slipped out and locked up—but then he heard a similar sound from behind him.

“Oh, hey—I was just about to come over,” Emma said from across the way. “I’ve got a magic lesson this afternoon, but do you want to get lunch before it?”

He was still facing the door. Given the state of things, Emma was the last person he’d wanted to run into. Traitorously, the baby chose then to give him a sharp thump in the stomach, as if telling him to get a move on.

So he did his best to suck in a breath—to minimize his bump’s profile—before turning around. He plastered on his best flirtatious look and avoided the urge to place his hand on his belt. “Is that your way of asking me out on a date?” he teased, hoping the obvious come-on would prevent her from suspecting anything was awry.

As predicted, she rolled her eyes. “If I was asking you on a date, it wouldn’t be to Granny’s,” she countered.

“Duly noted,” he quipped back (and saved for future reference). “But unfortunately, I have to decline the invitation; I’m afraid I have some errands to run that I’ve been putting off too long.”

“Oh.” Her face fell, and he tried to make sure his heart didn’t follow it. “Well, I could go with you, if you wanted.”

He did—so much. But then how would he explain the copious amounts of food he was about to buy? “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t know how long it will take—and I know that Her Majesty can’t be kept waiting.”

Emma huffed, but he saw acceptance across her face. “Yeah, you’re right. But I’m absolutely not seeing her on an empty stomach.”

“Nor should you,” he agreed, smiling—though hopefully it didn’t look too pained, because his attempts at holding in his belly were beginning to strain. As such, he started to turn away to leave, but she wasn’t done.

“Hey, where’s your vest? Is that one of your errands?”

Dammit; should have known she’d notice. But her gaze seemed to be focused on his chest and not any lower; normally, he’d comment on her leering but he was just relieved. “Aye; damaged it with my hook last night, and the laces need repair.” (That part was true—some of them had gotten a bit stretched.)

“Darn; I thought maybe you were actually going to join the modern world and get some new clothes,” she teased.

“Not yet,” he countered, but it wasn’t a bad idea—not a total wardrobe change, but perhaps something a bit…roomier, or more forgiving. “I should get to it, though.”

Emma blinked and looked back up at him, having seemingly been lost in a daydream. (Perhaps buying modern clothes did need to be added to his docket at some point; just not today.) “Yeah, and I need to get moving. Have fun.”

“Thanks, and good luck,” he farewelled; Emma headed the opposite way down the hall with a casual wave.

He waited until she was out of sight and then relaxed with a sigh; he could feel his belly press against the laces of his trousers as soon as he did, and indulged in a brief massage of his lower abdominal muscles. At least the ruse had worked—but he was definitely seeking out pants with an elastic waist.

The supermarket was aptly named; it was indeed massive and overwhelming. But it had everything—fresh vegetables and meat, bulk rations, even perishables and fresh-baked goods. It was astounding. He was easily able to gather enough provisions (healthy ones at that) for the next several days. He also grabbed some items at random that simply sounded appealing—mostly sweets, but he’d learned that cravings were a customary part of the process and this little one certainly had a sweet tooth.

(Thankfully, he also found the section with flexible clothing with ease. He purchased a couple pairs of what were labeled “sweatpants” and a few long-sleeved tops in varying sizes and colors; he just hoped he’d selected ones big enough.)

Odds were he overpaid for the lot of goods, given that the lad working the checkout didn’t know the gold conversion rate offhand, but he didn’t rightly care if it also bought the boy’s discretion. Thankfully, he also had his enchanted tote bag with him—the one with the hidden expansion charm he’d picked up…gods, he couldn’t even remember where anymore, it’d been so long—so he wasn’t spotted carrying half a dozen overladen sacks into Granny’s.

He spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking his newfound treasures, grateful to finally have a use for the seemingly magical ice box in his room. He stashed the nonperishables on his small table, and his new clothing in a dresser drawer. 

One last thing remained, and admittedly, he hadn’t paid for it: a tiny outfit intended for a baby, covered with illustrations of sailboats. He’d slipped it into a pocket before paying for everything else, not wanting to draw the raised eyebrows such a purchase would attract, even if he could have passed it off as being for the Charming’s infant. 

He held it up with just his thumb and forefinger; the label on it suggested it was sized for a newborn, but it still seemed impossibly small. At least, until he laid it atop the steadily increasing curve of his belly; then he wondered if it would even be large enough (though the books told him the babe was only yet the size of an aubergine, which he had stared at in the produce section for an extended period of time).

Bloody hell, what was he doing? He couldn’t get attached; if he failed to help Emma and the others defeat Zelena, it would spell doom for this child. And given that he was increasingly running out of ideas, it seemed imminent. He’d already suffered two terrible heartbreaks in his life; he wasn’t sure he could survive another (which would undoubtedly be harsher).

He yanked open an empty drawer and threw the onesie inside, then shoved it shut. Best not to continue that train of thought; only if they actually managed to defeat the witch.

Sighing, he plopped down in the dining chair and tore (literally) into a package of something called Oreos. They were delicious, but did nothing to assuage his fears or guilt. For the umpteenth time, his hand instinctively drifted to his stomach, as if his touch alone could protect the babe.

Hopefully that, and his trust in the heroes, would be enough.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

Killian awoke the next day to something touching him. In his sleep-addled mind, he lashed out towards whatever it was, fully intending to let it (or them) get acquainted with the sharp end of his hook.

However, he’d taken his prosthesis off last night, lest he do anything to injure his ever-expanding midsection, so all he did was hit it away with his brace. An annoyed yelp followed his impact. 

“Bloody hell, I was just checking on the baby,” Zelena scolded. He blinked a few times, urging the sleep away from his eyes, to see the witch standing over him, scowling. 

“What the hell do you want?” he demanded as he tried (and failed) to sit up, eventually settling for propping himself on his elbows.

“I’m simply making sure that my investment is paying off. I’ve kept up my part of the deal—those sickly-sweet Charmings are just fine. But I’ve got to make sure everything is going well here, too; pregnancy is tricky business, you know.” She turned her gaze to his exposed belly; despite the shirt he’d worn to bed, it had ridden up overnight. “Oh, is that a stretch mark I see?” she declared, leaning back towards him.

He yanked the hem of his shirt down, both to cut off her view and at the wound to his vanity.

“You’re no fun,” she pouted. “I thought most expectant parents were basking in the glow of creating life, or whatever?”

“When it’s something they’ve wanted, aye; not when it’s been forced on them,” he spat. He hadn’t truly understood the concept of glowing until his time spent with Snow lately; however, he felt more washed out than anything incandescent.

But speaking of glowing—as she stood upright and folded her arms, light from the window glinted off the jewel at her neck. He remembered what the Charmings had been told about it being the source of her power, and without any further thought (moving faster than he thought he could), he lunged for the pendant, hoping that it might be just that simple to defeat her.

No sooner had his fingers brushed the surface of the gem than he was thrown back forcefully against the headboard; he groaned in pain. Bollocks.

“Ah-ah-ah,” she chastised. “Did you really think it’d be that easy? Especially when you’ve been touched not once, but twice by my own magic?”

“Had to try,” he panted out as he tried to catch his breath. His hand flew to his stomach as its inhabitant also protested the blow.

“You really ought to be more careful; a fall like that isn’t good for the little one,” she warned.

“Why do I give a shit what happens to your demon offspring?” he countered.

She scoffed. “Oh, it’s not mine. The spell would never work with my own blood. But,” she started, coming closer and leaning over him again. “It is yours.”

“What?” he gasped. He’d certainly wondered, but hadn’t expected that it was actually his child. How could she expect him to hand over his own flesh and blood? What he did to Bae all those years ago still haunted him; this would be even worse.

“Indeed. All the more reason for you to be careful, hm?” The way she caressed his bump again felt more like a threat than any sort of endearment. “If this child doesn’t survive, our deal is off. And maybe you should read the part of that book over there on just what that will do to you.”

(He swallowed, because he already had, of course; he couldn’t imagine anything more traumatic than carrying a child that didn’t survive—especially now knowing this one was truly his.)

“Then who’s the mum?” he asked, trying to distract himself. He needed to know that, too, especially if it wasn’t Zelena. “Is there one?” (Biologically, he knew there should be…but, biologically, she would be the one with child.)

“There is. Magic can’t circumvent that,” she confirmed as she set herself to rights. “But as for who…I’ll tell you when it’s all said and done.”

“You’re a bastard,” he growled.

“Something me and that baby will have in common,” she laughed.

She abruptly moved away and turned around, so he closed his eyes and took another deep breath to recover, at least physically, while she was distracted. He hadn’t realized how much the babe was pressing on his lungs until now.

“Oh, isn’t this sweet?” Zelena cooed. He opened his eyes to see her holding up the onesie. “Not my color scheme, but it certainly suits your aesthetic. Too bad they won’t get to wear it.”

Angrily, he stood from his bed to rush at her—he didn’t know why, exactly, just that he was suddenly filled with rage—but it was for nought, as she merely threw the garment at him before disappearing in her signature green smoke.

He caught it against his chest and sighed. He’d failed, hadn’t he? There was no way he could do anything to keep this child from Zelena’s clutches now, unless Emma managed to defeat her in the next few days. He sniffled, suddenly overcome by emotion—because wasn’t this so typical for him? To lose the things he loved?

(Because, much as he had tried not to, he did love the babe—even before he knew it was his; that was just his nature. But as with all things he loved, it was going to be taken from him—and their mum likely had no clue. Shit.)

His gaze was still on the outfit, vision blurring with tears, when a knock rapped at his door. He froze, hoping whoever it was would go away, but it sounded again. “Hook? Are you there?”

Of course it was Emma. Despite everything, he couldn’t say no to her. “Coming,” he called out, and quickly tossed the onesie aside, wiped his eyes, and strode to the door.

But then he glanced down; there was no hiding his belly, especially while wearing just the shirt and sweatpants he’d changed into (which, while exceedingly comfortable, did nothing to disguise the curve of his waistline). So he awkwardly angled himself, and opened the door just enough to peek his upper body around.

“Morning, Swan,” he greeted, though it was nowhere near as smooth as he usually was. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Her brow furrowed as she looked him over, then tried to look past him into his room. “I thought I heard something weird; is everything okay?”

“Right as rain,” he lied. “I did have a run-in with my bed frame, though,” he said, hoping she would believe him if he at least partially told the truth.

“What, stub your toe?” she teased.

“Aye, something like that,” he agreed.

She briefly narrowed her gaze, but seemed to accept his answer. “Well, do you want to get breakfast? Henry was asking if you wanted to spar again, too; I think he’s gunning to be your first mate.”

He had to smile at that, but it didn’t hold. “Ah, I’m dealing with a fair bit of fatigue at the moment; can I take a rain bill?”

Emma tilted her head. “You mean a rain check?”

“That, yes.”

“I suppose, but that’s only going to mean he’ll want more later.”

“I endeavor to make it up to him in full.”

She grinned, but hers too didn’t last. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I just haven’t been sleeping well,” he told her—which was true, given that the babe was treating his internal organs as playthings.

“Alright, well, rest up; you’ve been missed around here.” There was a steadiness in her gaze that suggested she was speaking personally rather than generally.

“I’ll try,” he said, though his voice was almost a whisper.

“See you,” she farewelled; he repeated it and shut the door, perhaps a bit too forcefully.

The next few days were going to be interminable, weren’t they?

The lone blessing was that Belle had lent him a few books from the library, so he had the means of entertainment, and obviously had bought more than enough food. (Those Pop-Tart pastries that Emma seemed to favor were indeed delicious.)

He felt like an arse when he had to feign sleep during Emma’s next attempt to drag him from his room, around dinner time. The woman was bloody stubborn. But, as he was being reminded by the insistent little foot digging into his ribs, there was truly nothing to be done until they were out. He’d extend his apologies then—once they’d defeated the witch.

-----------------------------------

He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “That’s impossible,” he breathed, though his hand immediately flew to his stomach once she let go. “I’m—I’m a man.”

“Anything’s possible with magic,” she sing-songed.

His insides certainly felt different; that could be anything, though. “But won’t that take a while?” he asked, trying to call her bluff. “You’ve always struck me as the impatient type.”

“I am. Which is why this is going to go just a bit faster than usual. You only have to keep that under wraps for about 10 days.”

Shit—he’d already forgotten about that part, he’d been so distracted by the absolute insanity of what she’d apparently done. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to keep something like that hidden?” His mind immediately went to Snow and the very obvious protrusion of her stomach.

“You’re resourceful; you’ll figure it out.”

“Where did it even come from?” he nearly shouted, incredulous.

“The same place they all do,” she shrugged, but there was a glint of something else in her eye. “See you soon!” she farewelled, then disappeared in a cloud of green smoke, leaving him alone to figure out just what he’d gotten himself into—and what to do next.

——————————-

Part of Killian was convinced Zelena had been lying, playing some kind of cruel trick on him. Magic aside, it just didn’t seem possible. He fell into a deep slumber that night in his rented room, and the following morning, just chalked it up to an incredibly vivid dream, or perhaps the result of too much rum.

But at some point that day, he noticed a bit of nausea settle over him. He wanted to attribute it to something slightly off in Granny’s seafood special, especially when he found himself making a mad dash for the toilet around midday (making sure to take his meals at off times—hours he knew he wouldn’t see Emma there, mainly to avoid both her ire and his shame). But he’d been through his fair share of food poisoning—and this wasn’t it.

For starters, food poisoning usually ended. This, however, kept going. All that night and into the next morning. He left his room long enough to try to get something simple from Granny’s—just some bread or oatmeal—but even that wouldn’t stay down. Oddly, the only thing that sounded even vaguely palatable was sardines, of all things; he thought longingly back to the store of them on the Jolly Roger, but they were obviously inaccessible at the moment.

(He did manage to keep his stomach calm enough to run out to the convenience store and purchase some, as well as some ginger tea—and took a long, hard look at the devices that apparently verified pregnancy. However, he moved on from them; time would surely tell.)

The nausea continued to follow him through the afternoon, but the ginger tea helped a bit. Still, though, he was surprised by the urgent knock at his door that evening—the end of the second day of the 10 that Zelena had foretold—as he flushed the latest bit of bile down the toilet.

“Hook? What’s wrong?”

He blinked and stared at the door before he answered; it was Emma—and she sounded concerned. That was a far cry from their last interaction.

Slowly, he opened the door; she looked like she’d been about to knock again, and indeed, there was a worried furrow to her brow. “‘M fine, love,” he told her, though his voice tiredly betrayed him.

“Please; I’ve heard you puking all day. These walls are thin. What’s up?”

“Just drank a bit too much,” he lied, staring at the floor. (Even the thought of rum made his stomach churn.)

“You know I know that’s not true.” He had no counter to that. “Well, whatever you have going on, just—take care of yourself, okay?”

“I always do,” he threw back.

“I know.” It looked like there were a multitude of things on the tip of her tongue, but she hesitated too long to say them. “Get some rest, okay? Have a good night.”

“You too, Swan.”

She headed back into her room across the hall, but he closed his door before she went away. He didn’t know how to interpret her care versus her statements to the contrary the other day.

Besides, his stomach turned again, so he had to make another mad dash off. 

Not much later, another knock came to his door; Ruby had brought him some soup. “Heard you might need it,” she said; he had to wonder whether that was her own preternaturally strong hearing or some other voice whispering in her ear, but he was just grateful for the gesture.

Amazingly, it finally stayed down, and though the nausea lingered, he at least didn’t find himself losing anything else in the toilet. 

His sleep that night was the deepest it had been since he had arrived back in Storybrooke.

————————————-

He felt surprisingly well rested the next morning—almost normal, though there seemed to be a weight that had settled in his stomach deep within, not unlike the guilty feeling he was used to carrying around for all these centuries. Perhaps the previous days had merely been an anomaly? A stomach illness?

David stopped by during the morning and invited him out on some rounds. He had no reason to refuse, regardless of whatever Zelena may or may not have done to him, so he joined in—especially because he could see it for the olive branch it was, even if it was never specifically stated as one. 

David did seem a bit lighter than he had in days past; he said Snow and the baby were still doing well, and the fact that no one had seen the witch had them somewhat worried, but also finally felt like they could breathe for a bit.

If that was the case, then Killian had few regrets in his deal with the witch—though he hadn’t yet figured out a way to thwart her plans, especially without seeking help.

If he still needed to, at least. He wasn’t wholly convinced that she’d actually done anything to him. The only real difference he noticed in anything that day was the return of his appetite, in dramatic fashion; he was never one for gluttony, and propriety (as well as manners lessons back in the naval academy) demanded he never overindulge and eat politely, but he devoured his breakfast and lunch in record time. He was getting over a stomach bug, though—right?

Were it not for that, and the persistent dense feeling in his gut, he’d still think Zelena was messing with his head. A man giving birth? Preposterous.

However, after bathing that night, he caught something in his reflection that likely confirmed he was with child: it wasn’t significantly noticeable, but when viewed in profile, there was a curve to his belly that hadn’t been there earlier, just behind his navel. And while he could partly attribute it to the copious french fries with his dinner, the very tiny wiggles he felt inside were definitely not from digestion.

“Fuck,” he cursed. He gently traced it, knowing that this was only the beginning of what was to come. But—it would still be worth it if it meant Emma’s family was left alone.

———————————

The next morning, after another rather large breakfast, he headed to the library; Belle was still doing research on ways to thwart Zelena’s plans, so he decided to offer his aid. They’d come to a tenuous peace in the time since Neal had passed away—and, really, it was his only plan so far towards defeating the witch without revealing the reason for her sudden pause in assault.

(He may have had to loosen the laces of his vest a bit in order to avoid revealing it in other ways; his stomach was somewhat larger in the morning, but one would still have to look very closely to notice the difference.)

Belle did seem a bit surprised at his offer of help when he arrived—she said she assumed he’d be out doing reconnaissance with the Charmings—but seemed glad to have another set of eyes on the ancient tomes she’d been poring through.

After a couple hours of fruitless searching—having no particular theory on how to stop the spell, they were casting a wider net when it came to neutralizing magic—he got up to stretch his legs (and ease the bit of ache that had settled in his hips). He wandered the stacks a bit, the naval officer in him still in awe of all the knowledge they held. Perhaps someday, he’d have the time to more thoroughly peruse their contents, but he did have a somewhat ulterior motive for heading to the library today.

“The pregnancy books?” He jumped when Belle found him skimming a volume entitled What to Expect When You’re Expecting; shit.

“I’ve been…curious, is all,” he replied, quickly and bashfully. “We never had this kind of information in our realm, and with Snow…”

“I get it,” Belle replied, thankfully. “It’s overwhelming how much more they know here, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” he sighed, glad she believed his quick cover.

She just smiled when he brought it back to the table. He didn’t read it too in-depth—gods only knew he was about to devour it later, probably far too late into the night—but he did skim it and—oh no.

It just got worse and worse. He finally got to the chapter on labor, and all it entailed; all he could say was “bloody hell.” Oh, he was in for it.

Belle was reshelving books and glanced over his shoulder—and laughed. “Yeah, that was my reaction the first time I looked through it,” she told him. “What? I was curious too,” she added when he raised an eyebrow at her in question. “Good thing you won’t ever be pregnant, eh?”

He swallowed, and paused for probably too long a moment before muttering out a “Yeah, thank goodness.” Then quickly reached for another magic book and shoved the medical manual aside.

(He didn’t see Belle’s furrowed brow at the delay in his answer—or the sidelong glances at how quickly he ate his lunch.)

Sometime that afternoon, Henry popped in, inviting him to join in a sparring session with him and David out behind Granny’s. Again, he was touched, and hoped the lad didn’t notice the sudden wetness of his eyes. Were it not for that book, he’d wonder where that had come from, but apparently heightened emotions were a thing he had to look forward to.

It felt nice to get a workout, and the verbal battle between him and David as they taught Henry differing styles of fighting was just as entertaining. They were sharing a laugh when they were suddenly asked, “What’s so funny?”

He stiffened and turned, to see Emma standing off to the side, smiling at them—though it didn’t fully reach her eyes. 

“David’s idea of properly blocking a parry,” he replied. “It works fine if you’re fighting someone who plays by the rules.”

“Which I’m guessing you don’t?”

“What fun is that?” he flirted back.

Her subsequent smile (and blush) was genuine. The sudden southward rush of his blood, though, was caused by something far different—and he just hoped no one noticed it.

They put away the practice weapons and headed into the diner, but Emma grabbed his arm and held him back. “Hey, I just wanted to say—I’m sorry for what I said the other day.”

He tilted his head, confused. “Beg your pardon?”

“About not trusting you,” she clarified. “I was upset at what had just happened. You haven’t really given us any reason to doubt you; I was just jarred by everything that had happened with the witch there, and you were an easy target. But you didn’t deserve that.”

“I…” he started, but found himself speechless—and attempting to hold back tears once more. “Thank you, love,” he finally said, sounding a bit more emotional than he’d like. “I’m…I’m glad to hear that, and I hope you never have reason to doubt my intentions again.”

“I know I won’t,” she said confidently, and there was a confidence to that statement that had him in awe. 

Which made it all the worse that he was holding in—quite literally—an actual, fairly large secret. 

(Well, only about the size of a grapefruit yet, according to the book, but—semantics.)

They invited him to dine with him—not taking his weak excuse at being tired—and conversation over their meal seemed to focus on future plans, even though Snow’s imminent birth still loomed. The oddest part, though, was they seemed to automatically include him in these plans. Gods above, he appreciated it, but hopefully they wouldn’t think it too odd when he had to inevitably bow out in a couple days, if not sooner. 

He decided to get some practice in that by making an early exit from dinner. “You okay?” Emma asked, seemingly worried. 

“What, is that tap Henry gave you on the shoulder acting up?” David joked. 

“Indeed,” he played along, rubbing his left bicep in feigned emphasis. “Best rest it up.” (In truth, he was sore, but not there—more around his midsection—and he needed to get back to the book to find out why).

“See you tomorrow,” Emma said with a soft smile; he could only nod back. 

Guilt was yet again plaguing him when he returned to his room. That didn’t stop his sigh of relief, though, when he undid his vest; he felt around his stomach, and it was definitely bigger than it was this morning, though still fairly small (and therefore easy to hide).

Perhaps he had indeed been too rash when he made this deal with Zelena. As much as Emma and her family had written him off in the moment, he too had underestimated their capacity for forgiveness. But no—anything that kept them out of danger was worth it, even if he still wasn’t wholly confident in what lay ahead of him, or how to ensure the witch didn’t succeed.

As if sensing his worries, the small life within gave a strong kick, one he could almost feel from the outside. It was a solid reminder that there was no going back on this.

He just hoped he could get through it with little issue.

—————————————————–

Neal at least chuckled at that, and offered his glass in cheers. Killian obliged, but didn’t add on what he was really thinking: even if he wasn’t actively going to seek Emma out, he had no plans on going anywhere or leaving her presence. His priorities might lay elsewhere, but he was in this for the long haul; given the previous demise of Emma and Bae’s relationship, he wasn’t optimistic about a reunion.

But that was for the future. At present, he looked up to check the time on the clock—and cursed. “Damn; I’ve got to get to an appointment.”

“What, like a doctor appointment?” 

“Yeah; is that odd?” He’d gone to Doc’s office earlier to enquire if he had any availability to see Killian and was told to come back later—not long from now.

“You just don’t strike me as the type to seek out professionals.”

“No, not usually, but it’s not for me—it’s for this one,” he said, nodding at his belly. “Can’t be too careful when Neverland is involved.”

Neal winced. “Yeah, good plan. Hope it goes well, then,” he said, surprisingly sincere. 

“Thanks,” Killian replied as he hopped off the stool and threw some gold on the counter. “Until later.”

He’d hardly gotten outside Granny’s front gate and down the sidewalk when a familiar voice was calling for him. 

“Hook!” Emma shouted, then jogged to keep up when he paused. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere exciting,” he answered. “Just the obstetrician.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh, okay, then; just wanted to make sure you weren’t skipping town or anything.”

“What, afraid I’d leave without saying goodbye?” He felt slightly guilty for flirting after the conversation he’d just had with Bae, but he couldn’t help it if Emma was the one seeking him out. “Don’t worry—I would never.”

“You better not,” she said, and held his gaze. She wasn’t saying it verbally, but he understood the subtext clearly: she wanted him to stay—here, near her. And that meant more than he could express.

Her eyes darted to his lips, despite there being several feet between them; gods how he wanted to follow that train of thought, but perhaps making out in front of the diner where her ex (and the rest of her family) still sat wasn’t the greatest idea, especially since he still had somewhere to be.  

“Right, well, I don’t want to be late,” he finally said to break the silence and took a step in the direction of the doctor’s office, if only to break the tension between them. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she said quickly, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Uh, wait—do you want some company? At your appointment?”

He blinked; now he was truly surprised. “Why would you want to go to that?” he blurted out. 

“I mean, most people usually have someone with them at those—their partner, y’know, or a friend.”

Unable to resist the setup, he asked, “And which do you consider yourself, Swan?”

The subsequent eye roll was expected, but her sincerity wasn’t. “Look, I had to go through all of that with Henry on my own, and I always wished I had someone there with me. So, if you want someone, I’ll gladly go with you.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but he simply didn’t have one. But the way he was suddenly holding back tears probably said enough. “I, uh,” he stammered. “I’d like that, if—if you’re sure.”

She gave him a small smile, then walked forward. “Well, come on; we don’t wanna be late.”

He watched her walk past him, still in awe, but finally came back to his senses when she yelled at him to hurry up. 

The entire concept of the “waiting room” at the doctor’s office was foreign to him, and frankly seemed unnecessary; it just gave him more time to worry about what the doctor might find. It was all he could do not to bounce his leg nervously as he sat in an uncomfortable chair next to Emma, who seemed to be reading a periodical.

But when he glanced over at her, her eyes were anything but focused on the pages. “Not a fan of the physician, eh?” he said, trying to refocus his nervous energy elsewhere.

She blinked and looked up at him, then chuckled half-heartedly. “No, it’s not that—although, yes,” she conceded. “I’m just worried about Henry.”

That, he understood. “He’s been through something traumatic; it likely takes some time to settle after that.”

She huffed a bit. “That’s what everyone keeps saying, but it’s not that. There’s something else…off, I guess.” Then she shrugged. “Or maybe I’m just imagining it.”

“Or maybe you’re not,” he countered. “Your instincts tend to be fairly solid, Swan; don’t ignore them if you think something is truly wrong.”

“Thanks,” she answered, giving him a small smile in return. “I just don’t know what it could be.”

“Perhaps—” he started, trying to help her brainstorm, but then his name was called out to go back to the exam room. Alas; they’d have to continue that train of thought later.

Having someone with him in the exam room was a completely different experience than his last couple of visits, and definitely for the better. If Doc was surprised by the change, he didn’t comment on it, and even though Emma politely averted her gaze during certain parts of the checkup, she was able to help answer some questions—like just how long they’d been in Neverland. 

“Just shy of three weeks,” she was answered confidently. “And you were at 16 when we left, right?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, astonished she remembered. “But I think Pan may have accelerated it a bit, at one point.”

“You didn’t tell me that!” she hissed, but still sat next to him during the sonogram; she’d already seen his belly at the lagoon, so he didn’t mind that exposure, but he wondered if she might get weirded out seeing the image of his insides. 

But then Doc said “huh” while he was scanning, and Killians heart stuttered. 

“What?”

“I can’t—find—“ Doc said while continuing to move the probe around. 

Killians breath hitched as he stared at the screen, waiting for something to appear. The babe couldn’t be gone—he could feel them still—no, please, no—

Then he jumped a mile when something touched his hand; he turned his head to see Emma slipping her hand around his and giving an encouraging smile. He couldn’t return it, but he took hold of hers and squeezed. 

“There they are!” His eyes darted back to the screen and he sighed; there it was—his babe. “They were hiding on us!” Doc said, chuckling, “but everything is looking good.”

What Pan said he’d done was accurate—he was around 18 weeks now—but they were there and they were healthy and that was all that mattered. 

He felt somewhat drained as he and Emma left the office, but ultimately relieved. “Thank you for coming, Emma; I’m...I can’t say how much it means that you were there,” he told her outside the office. 

“Like I said—no one should have to do that alone,” she said. “And honestly, it’s the least I can do. I’m glad I was there, too.”

“Would, uh,” he started, not sure how to ask the question he wanted to ask. “Do you want to…” How on earth did one ask the object of their affections to join them at the rest of their appointments to track the growth of the child they were having as a product of his relationship with said love interest’s would-be-mother-in-law?

“I will gladly go to the rest of them, if you want me there,” she said, smiling. 

Thank gods she figured it out. “Yeah, I would. Please.”

She just laughed at him and started to lead the way back into town. They were silent, but it was a comfortable quiet—although he did keep stealing glances her way, something she was apparently doing as well because they broke into a fit of juvenile giggles when they caught the other’s eye. 

The turnoff came to head to the marina, and sleep was calling his name again. “I’m afraid this is where we part,” he said. “Seriously—thank you.”

She waved it off. “It was my pleasure. But now that I’ve seen that kid, I’m gonna be making sure you’re taking care of them.”

“With my life.”

“That’s what worries me,” she teased, albeit with a serious edge. “Especially after Dark Hollow. Take care of yourself, too.”

“You have my word.” (She could have whatever of his words she wanted, if he was being honest.)

“Well, I’d like to make sure you are. Like, tomorrow, around lunch time, at Granny’s.”

“Why, Swan, are you asking me on a date?”

“No. I’m making sure you get decent food. Especially now that I know you’ve been craving grilled cheese.”

She had him there. “Alright, I will see you then. And maybe we can continue the earlier conversation, about Henry?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “See you then,” she farewelled with a grin. 

He started to walk away, but a crazy idea came over him. “Wait, Emma,” he called out, then jogged over to her as he fished out the envelope Doc had given him from his jacket. “Do, ah, do you want one?” he offered, holding it out to her. 

Now was her turn to be speechless; she blinked and stared at it in awe for a second. “An ultrasound picture? You’re asking if I want one?”

“Aye.”

She stared in shock for another moment, until a smile that was usually reserved for Henry took over. “Sure.”

He let her pick which of the few she wanted; she chose one with the baby’s fist extended. “Looks like they want to party,” she giggled. 

“Well, they’re all pirate,” he agreed, grinning. 

They parted for real then, with a promise to meet the next day. Apologies to Neal, but he couldn’t deny Emma anything. 

(He didn’t see it, but when Emma got in her Bug, she smiled at the sonogram, even giving it a little fist bump. “You’re gonna have a great daddy, kiddo,” she told it, “and I hope I’m a part of your life, too.”)

—-------------------------------------------

The next day, right around the time Emma had requested his presence, he slipped in the back door at Granny’s to meet her in the diner. But before he got that far, he ran into someone else—almost literally. “Oof—sorry; my apologies, Lady Bell,” he said, steadying her with his hand and hook. 

The fairy didn’t seem too bothered, though. “I’m alright; are you?”

“I’m fine, love,” he assured her. “Just need to pay more attention to what’s in front of me, apparently.”

“Daydreaming, huh?” she assessed, crossing her arms and smirking. “About the little one…or about Emma?”

How was she always able to read him so well? Was that a fairy thing? “Bit of both, I suppose,” he acknowledged, and told her about the appointment yesterday—both Emma’s presence at it, and the reassuring news he received. 

“That’s fantastic!” Tink gushed. “So do you think you’ll stay on the ship, or try to find some place to stay in town?”

The vision of Emma’s family’s flat swam into his mind; the Jolly Roger had long been his home, but he had to admit it wasn’t always the safest (or warmest) place. Perhaps he did need to find a more permanent mooring? (Maybe even in proximity to Emma’s home?) “I suppose I should start looking—”

He was interrupted by a most blood-curdling scream coming from outside. Bloody hell—they’d hardly been back a day; were crises this common here? “Then again, maybe not,” he quipped, and they quickly ran outside to see what was happening. 

Emma and her father were getting out of the prince’s truck (who, he had heard, was successfully cured of the dreamshade; Gold had held to his word, incredibly) as he and Tink emerged from the diner. 

“The hell was that?” she exclaimed as she walked over; he didn’t miss her glance between them, a curious look on her face, but hopefully she noticed the subtle shake of his head. 

“I have the same question,” he did add, though. 

The screaming occurred again, only louder.

“There,” David shouted, pointing in the direction of the sound, and took off running; the rest of them immediately followed (even though Killian had a feeling that exertion on an empty stomach was not going to be great for his nausea).

The sight that followed certainly didn’t help: near the steps of the convent, the mother superior was making a mad dash to get away from Pan’s Shadow. She nearly got inside, but the Shadow got there first—and wasted no time in tearing away her own shadow. 

Immediately, the nun collapsed on the sidewalk. David knelt down, looking for a pulse, but— “She's gone,” he said, aghast. (Killian began searching for the nearest bush to retch into; Doc said the nausea should be ending soon, but apparently not yet.)

“Why would the Shadow kill her?” Tink wondered aloud for all of them. 

“No idea, love,” he answered. “But I do know the Shadow only takes orders from one person.” That fact was also causing the twist in his gut. 

Emma found his eyes; her own were wide in shock. “Pan,” she said, confidently and horrified. 

While he was busy losing what little remained of his breakfast in the shrubbery, the rest of their little band arrived, no doubt also noticing the ruckus. Regina was understandably confused as to how the shadow could have broken free; Henry looked downright terrified. Neal was at least being pragmatic.

“Look, let's go back to the ship and get the candle. If it strikes again, we need to be able to capture it,” he said authoritatively, then turned to Killian. “Where’d you stash it?”

“I’ll show you,” he said, and threw an apologetic look at Emma as he left; he didn’t dare mention their abandoned date in front of Neal.

Tink tagged along as well. “Didn’t we just do all this?” she complained.

“From what I’ve gathered, Storybrooke is just…like this,” he supplied.

“Sounds exhausting. Are you sure about staying, then?”

“Do you know of anywhere better?” he quipped back.

“You’re staying?” Neal asked as they approached the marina.

“Aye; is that so surprising?”

If he wasn’t mistaken, Neal was pouting. “I just figured it’d be back to the high seas.”

“With an infant on the way?” Tink interjected. “Are you daft?”

“I mean, houseboats are a thing,” he said quietly, but it was clear he wasn’t enthused by that news. Ah well—that was his issue to deal with, not Killian’s. Just because he wasn’t going to actively pursue Emma didn’t mean he was going to stop talking to her altogether. (And it really wasn’t his fault if that fact alone was threatening to Neal.)

It was both a comfort and a worry that the previously dark sail was back to its normal crisp white. All the more reason to track the shadow down again. 

“I know where the coconut is below deck; cover for me?” Tink asked. They obviously obliged. 

Both paced the deck, keeping an awkwardly safe distance between them. Killian took a moment to stop at the dockside railing, scanning both the sky and the skyline. 

As much as she’d been teasing, Tink’s comment was lingering. Did he truly want to settle down and raise a child in a place that seemed to attract danger?

Or did he want to fight to make it a safe place not just for his babe, but for everyone else here?

“When’d you do this?” Neal’s voice pulled him from his meditation; he stood on the quarterdeck, running his fingers along the wood behind the helm. 

Killian moved closer, ascending the steps. Neal was tracing the well-worn indentation behind the wheel—particularly, the lines he’d angrily dashed through the port and starboard symbols he drew for Bae all those years ago. 

“Right after the Lost Boys took you,” he said solemnly. 

“Trying to erase what you did?” There was an edge of venom in his voice. 

“Trying to erase my own hope,” he confessed. “Nothing excuses what I did—you suffered the most from my brash action—but I had been sincere in my desire to keep you here. I was angry at myself for destroying it; thus…” He waved his hook over the carvings. 

“I know,” Neal said, tracing the P. “I probably would have calmed down eventually, you know; I was an irrational teenager,” he chuckled. “But you were the adult.”

“Aye; right on all counts.”

“At least you get a second chance now. Don’t mess it up.”

“I don’t intend to.”

A look of understanding passed between them, despite the tension just a bit ago, and they nodded at each other. 

A moment later, Tink emerged with the coconut, just as Neal’s talking device went off. (Perhaps Killian needed to get his hands on one of those? They seemed to be rather useful.)

“Okay; we’ll be right there,” Neal said, then pocketed the object. “Everyone’s meeting at Regina’s vault. We good to go?”

“I certainly am,” Tink said, raising the coconut. 

“Aye; let’s get this over with once and for all,” Killian agreed, and they set back off across town. (He’d read that continued activity was good for the baby; with the number of times he’d traversed the town, they were sure to be in good health.)

His blood nearly froze in his veins, though—despite the exertion—once they reached the cemetery. He expected to see the usual band of heroes, and the Crocodile, but—what the bloody hell was Pan doing there?

And, even worse—why was Neal running towards him?

Killian’s hand instinctively drifted to his sword, convinced they were running headlong into a trap.

“Is it really you?” he heard Neal say from afar.

“Dad,” Pan said—though, it evidently was not the demon child. Killian looked towards Emma, hoping she could read the look of confusion that was surely on his face. Her mouth was a thin line but she nodded; they were good enough at nonverbal communication at this point that he could tell: somehow, Pan and Henry had switched bodies. 

(He could wait until later to congratulate her on knowing something was off; but first, they had to get through this.)

David asked if they’d found the Shadow; they showed him the empty coconut in response. The fact that it was still on the loose—paired with the realization that Regina’s vault was magically locked, with both her and Pan-as-Henry inside—was more than his uneasy stomach could take, and he had to step aside to retch again, though little came up.

As he was hunched over behind a random headstone, he felt a caress on his back; Emma gave him a consolatory rub, before seeking her own solitude further away (though her parents were quick to follow).

Everyone’s nerves were palpable as they waited for the Dark One to gain entrance to the vault—then even more on edge once he got through and headed in, with Emma and her parents in tow. He tried to give her an encouraging nod when she looked back over her shoulder at him before descending, but doubted it was convincing.

He paced; Tink perched on a stone; and Neal looked after Henry-as-Pan while they waited for news.

Finally, the others returned, Regina in tow, with the worst news possible:

Pan had escaped—and he’d taken the Dark Curse with him.

Fear like he hadn’t known yet immediately ran through Killian’s body, and his hand rushed to cover the spot where he could feel his babe’s equally nervous wiggles. For the first time, he was genuinely frightened they might fail. Gods above, what was happening?

—------------------------------------

“I know,” she said, though she didn’t sound confident. “I’m just not the most optimistic person by nature.”

“Then it’s a good thing your parents have enough of that to spare, eh?” he joked. “As does Baelfire.”

She’d been smirking, but it fell at the mention of her former lover. “He might have too much,” she complained.

“I take it you two didn’t end on good terms?”

She shifted uncomfortably; now it was his turn to squeeze her hand in encouragement. He certainly didn’t expect her to reveal anything she didn’t want to, but he had been curious about the demise of their relationship. “Remember how I said I was pregnant in jail?” He nodded. “He let me take the fall for a theft; I got caught, he got away.”

A pit formed in his stomach. “He did what?” he growled.

She waved him off. “It’s in the past; nothing to be done for it now. And, y’know, there’s a part of me that still loves him—and probably always will. But I can’t forget the pain, either.”

He longed desperately to punch Bae—or worse—for doing that to Emma, but given his own indiscretions against the lad, he didn’t have much of a moral high ground. (It would mean more if Emma were to do it, anyway.) “It’s understandable that you’d have complicated feelings towards him, then,” he offered instead. “And you are the only one who gets to decide what to do about them.”

“Thanks,” she said sincerely, a small smile coming back to her face. 

They simply sat for a moment, still holding hands, as the weight of their conversation settled around them. He figured he should probably add to that, though. “Also, I need to apologize for my behavior earlier, back in the Hollow. I can’t fully blame it on my hormones, but I definitely gave into some baser instincts that nearly cost us the mission—and our lives. I’m so sorry.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but then seemed to lack the words to say in response. He didn’t need one, really; it was more important that he say it than she accept.

But then she leaned in towards him and pressed her lips to his—firmly, but briefly.

She pulled away quickly and stood, dropping his hand as she did. “Go back to sleep; we need our rest for tomorrow,” she said—nay, commanded—then headed back to her own bedroll.

He stared as she walked away, then slowly laid back down. How could she do that and then expect him to simply fall back asleep and not be left with a tempest of emotions to deal with?

(Likely, she presumed he was pregnant and fatigued—which was an accurate assumption, and he did drift back off much sooner than he thought—but bloody hell; he wasn’t sure what was going to be harder to survive: their impending confrontation with Pan, or the emotional whiplash she was inducing.)

—----------------------------------------

In truth, Killian had no idea how much time passed during the events that followed. That was one of the odd things about Neverland—the vagueness of the passage of time; it could have been a couple days or only a couple hours. (It certainly felt like the former.)

That morning, they packed up camp and followed Tink’s lead to Pan’s hideout. After stepping aside to (urgently) relieve himself (one of the many side effects of pregnancy he was discovering), he came back to see Snow and David being far more affectionate than they had been over the last…however long. Something must have changed while he was on his little adventure yesterday.

On their hike, he found himself in stride with David as the fairy set the path. “So, you and the missus seem to be back on good terms,” he observed. 

“Yeah,” David said, smiling a bit, but not fully. “We’re, uh, we’re gonna stay.”

“Stay?”

“Here, in Neverland. Since I can’t leave.”

“Seriously?” He was aghast that anyone would willingly live here, but David just nodded. “Well, it’s…romantic, I guess. I wish you the best of luck.”

Any response David was about to give was interrupted by an unwelcome rustle in the jungle ahead; they were both quick with their blades, as were Tinkerbelle and Neal. But it was just Regina and Rumpelstiltskin, joining back up with them, apparently. Much as he loathed to admit it, it was good timing, too; they had come with a better tool to aid in their fight against Pan. 

“Pandora's box,” Regina said, explaining the odd cube Rumple held. “It could trap Pan for eternity simply by opening the lid.” He rather liked the sound of that. 

Neal, however, did not—or rather, didn’t like any idea that came from his father (of that, they were generally in agreement). 

But Neal’s explanation of a prophecy stating that Henry might be the Dark One’s undoing turned everyone’s head—and then, all of them against Rumpelstiltskin. 

Given the man’s reputation, no one quite believed him when he said he wasn’t going to do anything to hurt Henry—not until he offered Pandora’s box to Neal, in exchange promising he wouldn’t use magic. 

Killian wasn’t sure if it was due to that revelation or the general weight of what they were about to take on, but tension settled over the group as they continued on; even his babe’s movements were a bit more stuttered, it seemed. But at least now, he felt comfortable enough to rest his hand on his belly around the others; he wasn’t sure if the sense of comfort he was trying to pass to his child was felt by the little one, but it at least was by him.

A bit later, Emma came up alongside him with a canteen. But after he’d had a few sips, she asked, “Hey, can we talk?”

“I've found when a woman says that, I'm rarely in for pleasant conversation,” he teased, but obviously he wouldn’t deny a reason to chat with her.

“There has to be a way for David to leave the island—right?”

His heart fell; the one time she was trying to find a bright side, and he had none to offer. “I wish there was, love, but there isn't.”

She (adorably) chewed her bottom lip. “That water—it’s connected to the island, right? What if we take some of it with us? That way he can stay alive in Storybrooke.”

Gods, he hated to be the bearer of bad news. “In theory, yes, but for how long? Once the water runs out, the dreamshade will take his life.”

“Unless there was another cure.” The Crocodile had apparently been eavesdropping, but everyone stopped when he spoke. “Oh, you’re suddenly interested in what I have to say? Thought I wasn't to be trusted,” he sneered. 

“You're not, but I'll take my chances,” Emma snapped; Killian wasn’t so sure. 

But apparently the Dark One had been working on an antidote to the poison ever since Killian’s attempt to murder him with it hadn’t worked out (alas—though he supposed, for Henry’s sake, it was a good thing it hadn’t). 

“What's your price?” Emma asked, perhaps a bit too earnestly—but he knew she could handle a deal with the Dark One. 

“Well, this is quite the favor. I'd expect one of equal weight in return,” Gold answered, far too happy. 

“No,” Neal countered. “When we get back to Storybrooke, you're gonna save David because it's the right thing to do. No deals, no favors, understand?”

Killian turned away and brushed a tear from his eye; he was so proud of the lad (even if they were effectively the same age, he’d always think of him as that boy on his ship) (although he was still angry at him for what Emma had told him; gods, these emotional swings were annoying).

And, amazingly, Gold agreed. Emma, excitedly, ran to tell her father. (Killian had a few more tears to secretly brush away; damned hormones.)

He was able to pull it together by the time they got to the perimeter of Pan’s camp (although he nearly boiled over again when the Dark One “borrowed” his sword—without permission; at least David had an extra).

Despite all their mental preparedness, they hadn’t anticipated finding a nearly empty camp, save for—of all things—a girl.

Wendy was her name, apparently; he’d heard it in passing in his centuries here before, though was unaware she had shared history with Bae. But their brief happy reunion was cut short when she revealed the reality of the situation: that Pan was dying, and he needed Henry’s heart to survive—but they had already left for Skull Rock.

A new plan was quickly hashed out that, unfortunately, had the group splitting up—the idea made him nervous, even though tactically, he knew it was necessary. As such, he and Tink made their way back to his ship to prep it for departure; if all went well, as soon as Emma had retrieved her son, they’d be able to immediately disembark and get the hell out of this cursed realm.

“Good luck, Swan,” he told her, being so bold as to reach for her hand before everyone went their separate ways. “Like I said—I’ve yet to see you fail.”

She gave him half of a smile and squeezed his hand back. “Thanks; you too. See you soon?”

“I look forward to it.”

He and Tink then headed toward where they’d docked the ship, but if he wasn’t mistaken, she was being weird—constantly sending him sideways glances with a smirk on her lips.

“What?” he finally asked her. “Something is on your mind; spit it out, fairy.”

“Someone’s got a crush on Em-ma,” she sing-songed in reply.

He scoffed. “You’ve really been here too long; I think the immaturity of the Lost Boys has rubbed off on you.”

“Oh, come on; it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I didn’t say that I was—or that I was trying to hide it. She’s quite aware.”

“Wait!” she said urgently, then jumped in front of him and grabbed his chin. She turned his face side to side, then grinned. “Oh, there it is!”

“What?” he asked, pulling his head back and out of her grasp. 

“Emma’s kiss,” she answered, winking.

“You can see that?” he hissed, then nervously scratched behind an ear. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to fairies,” she tossed back, then started their trek again. “Does she know about the little one?”

“Aye; everyone does,” he confirmed. “Not like I’ll be able to hide it a whole lot longer.” He cupped his still-small bump, but knew it was only a matter of time before it was obvious. (And also made a mental note to visit the doctor as soon as they docked in Storybrooke.)

“No, probably not,” she laughed. She looked over her shoulder to say something else, but then a blast of energy emanated from across the island, knocking them both down.

While not as dramatic as his fall in Dark Hollow, he still took a minute to check on his babe before rising to his feet and helping Tink up. “The bloody hell was that?”

Any humor she’d had in her expression had disappeared. “No idea, but I think it came from Skull Rock.”

Oh no; that couldn’t mean anything good.

And without any further discussion, they both started to run back in the direction they’d come—back to the others. Something told him that the plans had just changed drastically.

He just prayed it wouldn’t hinder them leaving.

—---------------------------------

Killian’s stomach was not presently strong enough for the sight that greeted him upon their return to Pan’s camp: not only was the Dark One nowhere to be seen, but Henry lay on a pallet, pale and lifeless.

He had to excuse himself to retch; gods forbid anything like that ever happened to his child.

Regina quickly told everyone what had happened—the other groups had arrived at roughly the same time: how Henry had been tricked to giving Pan his heart (who had subsequently ran off with it—as well as Pandora’s box, but not before trapping Rumpelstiltskin inside it), and if they weren’t able to get it back within the next hour, the boy would die—and Pan would win.

The Lost Boys had returned, but most were holding loyal to Pan and refusing to reveal where he’d gone. At least, they were until Emma began to talk to them—and offered the one thing so many of them wanted: a home. 

(Killian’s tears returned.)

And finally, one boy told them what they needed to know: Pan had gone to his thinking tree in the Pixie Woods. He knew exactly where that was. 

Quickly, they hashed together a new plan from the old one: while the ladies took on Pan, everyone else would head back to the ship to make a hasty exit. 

There was no time for a sentimental farewell this time, but hopefully the knowing nod he gave Emma would suffice. And then they were off. 

Neal turned to him. “Let's gather up the Lost Boys and get 'em aboard the Jolly Roger, then get it ready to fly.”

He bit back the initial annoyance that anyone was giving commands for his ship, but that was beside the point right now. Fly? “Let's hope you have a Pegasus sail. Otherwise, we're at the mercy of the trade winds.”

Neal held up the coconut. “Pan's Shadow. It'll get us home, as long as your ship holds together.”

He couldn’t hold back any indignation at the insult towards his ship, though. “As long as your plan holds together, she will,” he snapped back.

He felt a bit guilty for the attitude, even if he had an excuse at the ready for being short with…well, anyone, but thankfully Neal just smirked and shoved the coconut back in his bag, then shouldered it before doing the same to Henry’s prone form.

Tink and the Charmings led the way to the ship, while he and Neal brought up the rear, making sure none of the Lost Boys got, er, more lost. 

Also—they were definitely the slowest of the group. Killian was slogging after his restless night, while Neal obviously had a heavy load. 

“Are you alright with him, mate?” Killian asked Neal. “Do you need any help?”

“Nah, I got him,” came the strained answer. “Besides, you shouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting, should you?”

“Ah, probably not,” he agreed, vaguely recalling something about that in a book. Then he chuckled. “In a way, we’re both carrying our children at the moment, eh?”

Neal laughed. “Honestly, think I prefer this way. Might not be as small but I dunno if I could handle birth.”

“I’ve been trying not to think about it,” he admitted in reply. “But I suppose it can’t be that much worse than losing a hand—right?”

“I guess you’ll find out,” Neal answered. Then he added, “This is still really weird for me, you know; not how I ever thought I’d get a sibling.”

“Aye, I imagine so. But the fact you’re at least acknowledging it is appreciated, rather than running off screaming.”

“It is what it is; but we can figure out the family dynamics when we’re home, okay?”

“Okay,” he laughed in agreement. 

But then he mused on what Neal said: “home.” Obviously, their next destination was Storybrooke; that was home port for most of this little band. But…could it be his?

He thought about it as they reached the ship and readied it for travel. There was no sense trying to go back to the Enchanted Forest; there was nothing left for him there anymore. And Neverland was the only other realm he’d spent much time in; like hell would he attempt to raise a child here. 

So Storybrooke seemed as good a place as any. (And its proximity to Emma was certainly a plus.)

He was perhaps getting lost in daydreams of a potential life in that small town adjacent to its blonde sheriff when she arrived, stomping up to the deck with Regina and Snow in tow—but most importantly, Henry’s heart. 

With not a minute to spare, Regina restored the boy’s heart. There was a tense moment waiting to see what would happen, but then Henry gasped and opened his eyes, a collective sigh of relief sounding from the adults in response. 

The lad was mildly confused by what had happened but just happy to be okay, and obviously tired. “Well then—only the best for our guest of honor. Captain's quarters,” Killian offered, and Regina ushered him below deck. 

As everyone got settled, Neal freed Rumpelstiltskin from Pandora’s box. While he wasn’t thrilled to see his foe again, it did mean that David could be cured—and that did bring a happy tear to his eye. 

He wanted to go to Emma and share a bit of that joy, but Neal moved into her space. So instead, he mounted the quarter deck and took a moment alone—well, he and the babe. “We’re almost through this, little one,” he whispered, cupping his belly. “Then smooth sailing until you arrive.”

Once Regina had returned to the deck, she and Emma went about manipulating Pan’s shadow into a more usable form—particularly, trapping it in the jib sail. It made him sick, on top of the usual wave of nausea he was dealing with, but what other option was there?

“You think it'll fly?” Emma wondered, staring at the eerily dark sail. 

“It has no choice,” Regina confirmed. 

“Then let's get the hell out of Neverland.”

That was his cue. “As you wish, m'lady,” and gave the command to weigh anchor. 

Finally—they were leaving this accursed realm. And as he felt his baby kicking within, he smiled, looking forward to the future for the first time in so long. 

————————————-

Neal—Bae—he still wasn’t sure the best way to refer to him—was poking around his former home, looking for….what, he didn’t know. 

“Something tells me we won't find Pan's Shadow in here, mate,” he teased. 

Neal ignored the (attempted) joke. “Yeah, we're looking for something else. It's a coconut that's carved in two,” he said, gesturing the shape with his hands. “One part holds a candle, the other part goes on top—“

“Yeah, your star map,” Emma interjected. “We hid it. I'll go grab it.”

For the first time in well over a century, he was alone with Bae. 

“So, uh, how…how’ve you been?” Bae asked him. 

Killian opened his mouth to reply, but words seemed suddenly insufficient. Instead, he strode forward and wrapped the other man in an embrace. 

“Bae, I’m so sorry,” he said softly, his emotions suddenly thick. “I should never have handed you over like that, and I’ve regretted it every day.”

Unsurprisingly, Neal hadn’t moved at all since Killian hugged him. “Um, okay…uh, thanks?” he finally said, uncertain. 

“Sorry,” Killian blurted out as he stepped away, wiping away the tears that had sprung to his eyes. “I just had to say it, before we get too much farther.”

Bae rubbed the back of his head nervously. “I…I appreciate that, but it doesn’t really change what happened.”

“I know,” Killian agreed. “And I know there’s nothing I can do to fix it, but I wanted you to know.”

“Thanks,” Neal said, rather abruptly. Then, surprisingly, he chuckled. “Didn’t think you were the emotional apology type.”

“Uh, not usually,” he answered, laughing a bit himself. “Tends to happen when you’re pregnant, or so I’m told.”

“You’re—really?”

“Aye,” he said simply, and let his hand rest on his still barely noticeable bump. 

“Wow; who knocked you up?” Bae asked, bluntly. 

“Uh, well…” Now this was the part Killian wasn’t sure how to broach. “It was, ah…your mum.”

To his astonishment, Neal laughed. “Really? I don’t remember ‘your mom’ jokes being a thing in the Enchanted Forest. You pick that up in New York?”

Killian just tilted his head, confused. “No; it’s not a joke. This is Milah’s child.”

Now it was Bae’s turn to be speechless. “Seriously? That’s…you’re gonna have my sibling?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, and it felt oddly like a confession. 

“How? That makes no sense.” Killian explained it as best he could, which eventually earned a “Shit,” from Neal. “Well that further complicates the family tree.”

“I’d imagine it resembles a web by this point.”

Neal chuckled nervously. “Congratulations, then,” and offered him his hand. 

“Thanks,” Killian said, taking his hand and smiling, “and I suppose I also owe you thanks for being so understanding about Emma and me.”

Neal still shook his hand, but his gaze narrowed. “Emma and you?”

Uh-oh. “Our dalliance.” Bae continued to look on in confusion. Shit. “We, ah, shared a kiss. Apologies, I assumed she told you.”

Neal dropped his hand rather pointedly. “Honestly, it probably slipped her mind. We're kind of focused on getting our son back.”

“Of course,” he agreed quickly, cursing himself for making things awkward again. Obviously, that’s when Emma returned. 

She strode in confidently, but paused when she picked up on the tension in the air. “Everything alright?”

Bae turned to her abruptly. “Couldn't be better,” he said, feigning nonchalance as he took the coconut from her. She asked how exactly the map was going to help on this particular task. “It's not a star map,” he explained. “It's what we're gonna use to trap Pan's Shadow.”

It sounded daft to Killian, but he dared not question it after the unease left by their prior conversation. “So what's our next stop on this mission?” he asked instead. 

“Dark Hollow.”

He shuddered again; the very name of that place put him on edge. His babe seemed to have picked up on his nervousness and began to move in time with his heightened anxiety. 

“Really? Why couldn't it be called something like Sunshine Valley or Rainbow Cove?” Emma complained. “What exactly is it?”

“Just what it sounds like,” Killian said. “The darkest spot on the entire island. Any light that makes its way in is snuffed out by the shadows that call it home. Even I managed to avoid it,” he shuddered. 

“Well, time to break tradition,” Emma said in a commanding tone. He couldn’t argue with that—not if it was their only way home. 

Against his instincts—yet again—he headed off with the other two, hoping they made it out of this in roughly the same shape as they went in. 

On the trek to Dark Hollow, Neal took the lead; Killian was inclined to let him do so. 

The hike was mostly silent—all three of them likely deep in their own thoughts about what lay ahead, both physically and emotionally. Killian, however, was also finding himself distracted by the sight in front of him: Emma’s backside (and he couldn’t fully blame it on his hormones). 

They hadn’t yet had a moment alone since the Echo Cave, nor had Emma made any comments alluding to his confession. He wasn’t so self-centered as to think she owed him an answer—that wasn’t why he revealed that—nor did he want to put her on the spot, especially when they were still in the middle of…a lot. 

But she was the one who had kissed him. On top of their other shared moments. He had to believe there was some level of attraction there. (Unless his senses were truly being thrown off by this pregnancy.)

He nearly ran into Emma while continuing his self-debate, not having noticed the other two had paused. 

He saw why as soon as he glanced up, though: the trail forward was covered in brambles too dense to pass through. 

“We're gonna have to cut our way through,” Bae announced, stating the obvious; Killian’s hand was already on his sword. 

Before he could offer assistance, he had to step back because metal was flying far too close to his face. 

“Here; use this,” Emma said, offering Bae his old cutlass. 

If Killian wasn’t mistaken, he was touched to receive his old weapon. “You find it in the cave?” he asked Emma.  

“No, actually; Hook gave it to me,” she told him plainly. 

Neal looked past Emma to him, smirking. “Since when are you sentimental?”

Since always, Killian thought, but instead said, “I thought Emma would wish to have something to remember you by.”

“Oh, thanks. But she’s got me now,” he replied tersely, then turned to begin hacking at the brush.

Emma whipped around to face him. “What was that about?” she demanded, not in an unattractive way. 

He sighed and told her about where the tensions between them began that day. “I assumed you had told him.”

“Why would you assume that?”

“Because I was hoping it meant something,” he blurted out. He hadn’t meant to let that slip, but it was true. 

“What meant something was that you told us Neal was still alive. Thank you,” she said sincerely—though that wasn’t entirely what he was talking about. “I realize you could've kept Pan's information to yourself.”

“Why would I have done that?” he wondered, somewhat incredulous; did she still think so little of him?

“I don't know,” she shrugged. “Maybe Pan offered you a deal. Why else would he tell you?”

Well…that wasn’t wholly wrong. 

“It was a test,” he explained. “He wanted to see if I'd leave an old friend to die, even if the old friend happens to be vying for the same woman I am.”

“And you chose your friend?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“You are a pirate,” she threw back. 

“Aye, I am—but I thought you knew me well enough by now to know I’m a hell of a lot more than that,” he countered. He didn’t typically have such high self-worth, but he’d gradually noticed that changing since he found out about the babe, if only because he had something to live for the first time in so long. And the fact that he was defending himself in such a manner was even more surprising. But his stomach was still uneasy with nausea and he suddenly found himself craving a very specific pastry that was only available in Agrabah, so his patience was running thin. “You can simplify whatever is going on between us if you like, but we both know it’s just another way for you to put up a barrier.”

“So what if it is? This isn’t some romantic vacation, Hook—my son’s life is still at risk. I can’t get distracted—even if I wanted to.”

“No one is asking you to lose sight of that. But you can’t deny what else is happening here,” he said, gesturing towards both himself and the direction Bae had headed off in. 

“This isn't a contest for my hand, Hook.”

“Isn't it?” he replied, chuckling slightly (but not out of amusement). “You're gonna have to choose, Emma. You realize that, don't you? Because neither one of us is gonna give up.”

“The only thing I have to choose is the best way to get my son back,” she insisted. 

“And you will,” he agreed. 

She seemed taken aback. “You think so?”

“I've yet to see you fail,” he affirmed; perhaps she just needed some of his own newfound confidence. “And when you do succeed, well, that's when the fun begins,” he went on, smirking. “Because when I win your heart, Emma—and I will win it—it will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.”

Emma swallowed, clearly absorbing the depth of that statement. But then she started to sway back towards him, her gaze darting to his lips, and—

—And then Neal returned. “Guys!” he shouted, and Emma immediately stepped away. “I think I found it,” he said as he came back into their small clearing, passing the cutlass back to Emma. 

She found Killian’s gaze one more time, before turning to the newly cleared path and heading in. Neal glanced between his companions, somewhat confused, but Killian only offered a shrug when he asked with his eyes as to what was going on. Then they followed Emma in. 

As they moved into the thicker part of the jungle, his babe’s nervous kicks picked up again; how odd that he could already tell that—or perhaps it was just related to his own rising anxiety. It increased with each step, as what little light they had (despite it permanently being nighttime in Neverland) disappeared.

Neal and Emma had been carrying lanterns, which helped a bit, but when the passageway opened up into a large, dark wood, a stiff breeze put out the flames. 

None of them liked being there. The sooner they got this done, the better.

“So we just wait for Pan's Shadow to show up?” Emma asked, still holding tight to the cutlass.

“Yeah,” Neal confirmed. “And when it does, we'll be prepared,” he added, pulling out the coconut. 

Emma gaped a bit; for all she’d seen, there were clearly some things that stretched her belief. “You wanna tell me how that coconut works?”

Neal pointed out the candle built into the base of the device, and explained how, once lit, the flame would attract and trap the shadow. Killian had to admit—it sounded plausible…mostly. 

“Sounds like a fine plan—except for one thing,” he said. “Our lanterns went out. How the devil are we going to ignite that bloody thing?”

Bae pulled out a small silver device. “Welcome to the 21st century,” he said with a smirk. Killian quickly realized it was some modern, condensed version of a steel and flint—although none of the sparks it produced seemed to be catching. 

Emma asked for an update, but there was none to report. And what followed was something Killian was not quite proud of, nor could he fully blame it on hormones. 

Seeing that Bae was struggling to light the candle, Killian tried to intervene, taking the object away and attempting to use it himself—with equal success. 

Then, like schoolboys, they started an immature game of tug o’ war over the lighter—then watched in slow motion as it flew from their hands, glinting as it rotated in the air, then disappeared into a hollowed-out tree trunk. 

(Words may have been exchanged about trying to impress Emma; they weren’t entirely wrong.)

“Guys, we don't have time for this—look!” Emma shouted at them, equal parts angry and fearful. “Is that Pan's Shadow?”

Overhead, the humanoid shape of a shadow flew into the hollow, completely devoid of light save for the unsettling white orbs of its eyes. 

“Shit—yeah, it is!” Neal confirmed as Emma grabbed the coconut. 

Behind Pan’s shadow were two others; Killian drew his blade out of instinct, even though he knew it would do nothing against a metaphysical foe. 

Bae mentioned something about the others being under the control of Pan’s shadow, not that it was really relevant—or helpful, especially when one of them came up behind Killian, dragging him into the air and slamming him against a tree. 

He cried out in pain as he hit the bark, arms wrapping around his midsection. Somewhere beyond his awareness, he thought he heard Emma shouting “Hook!”

But then the shadow began attempting to remove his own, and everything devolved into a blur of pain and praying to whatever gods were listening that nothing would happen to the babe. 

He’d never felt a sensation like the one of his shadow being ripped from his being. It was hard to describe, but he knew that’s what it was. 

With as hard as the other shadow was yanking on his, he was certain it was about to take his life. But something seemed to be tethering his to him—the babe, if he had to guess. 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but suddenly, the sensation of his shadow being pulled away ceased—and was quickly replaced with that of him meeting the ground. 

Immediately, he curled in on himself, hand again rushing to his stomach. Before he made any further move, he waited for a sign that his little one was alright. How had he been so bloody foolish as to risk their life like that?

“Please,” he whispered to himself, and then—he felt it: those same steady flutters and wriggles he’d been feeling for the past few weeks. And he breathed the deepest sigh of relief. 

A hand appeared in his vision—Bae’s; he took it and let the lad—no, man—help him up. “You okay?” he asked. 

“Aye, I think so; you?”

“I’ll take some bruises and scratches if it means I get to keep my shadow,” Neal said lightly, as if they hadn’t just been through a near-death experience. 

Then they turned their attention back to Emma, who was sitting against a rock with the coconut in her hands—closed tight. She’d done it—she got the shadow and saved both of them. 

Neal wasn’t thrilled with her method of lighting the flame—magic—but Killian frankly didn’t care (and thought it was a bit cruel of Bae to hold his prejudice towards magic against Emma of all people). It was done, they’d succeeded, and now they needed to get the hell out of here.

Emma led the way, charging ahead, anger obvious in the rigid set of her frame and the extended length of her stride. Killian and Neal followed behind her like two children aware they were in trouble. 

Once they were a safe distance away from the Hollow, Bae spoke up. “Hey, Em—I'm sorry. I know I screwed up.”

She stopped and turned on a dime, a fire in her glare that made Killian take a step back. “Yes, you did. You both did. We almost lost our shot at capturing the Shadow because you two were fighting over a lighter,” she lectured.

“It wasn't the lighter we were fighting over, love,” Killian admitted, ashamed.

Emma closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then gave them an even firmer stare. “Okay, let me be very clear about something: If I had to choose someone—I choose Henry. He's the only love I have room for in my life.”

And without another word, she put her back to them and continued on.

She wasn’t wrong. Henry was why they were all here, after all—this was far from a romantic rendezvous. And he was especially in tune with her parental instincts after what had just happened—his hand hadn’t left his belly, afraid if he did, he’d lose track of his babe’s movements. He was chastising himself and feeling guilty enough just because of that; as valid as Emma’s ire was, he didn’t need it to know he’d made an error in judgment back there.

(But he also thought he’d made it abundantly clear by now to Emma that, while he was aware of where her priorities lay, that didn’t mean there wasn’t room for more. Now was not the time to argue, though.)

They finished the rest of the trek back to Tink’s house in relative silence, save for the passing around of canteens (Emma all but forced him to drink more than his fair share, but he supposed some was the babe’s share, too).

Finally, they were on the familiar path to the tree house, and they could hear Emma’s parents talking with the fairy—who, if he was hearing correctly, still wasn’t confident in their ability to get off the island, especially once she heard the shadow was involved. “I'm not lifting a finger until I see proof you've actually got it,” she was saying as they entered the space below her tree.

“Hey,” Neal called out. “Here's all the proof you'll need,” he said, holding up the coconut (which he’d tied shut with some vine on the hike.) “Been a long time, Tink.”

The petite blonde smiled. “Bae, is it really you?”

“Yeah. But most people call me "Neal" now,” he answered, and Killian made a mental note that he’d have to try harder in that regard.

Without any further time wasting, they confirmed Tink’s help in their plan, then made the decision to rest a bit at the camp and then make their move on Pan after that. 

But as they made their way back to the camp, he noticed that Emma and Neal hung back. Part of him was curious to eavesdrop, but he knew that would be rude. Besides, Snow had found him and was playing the role of doting mother that he knew Emma was hesitant to allow; given the odds of her actually being able to achieve her not-so-secret desire anymore, he let her fuss over him (especially when he relayed what happened to he and Neal in the hollow—she practically sat him down on a log and refused to let him do so much as get a mango to eat on his own).

Emma and Neal rejoined the group shortly, but if anything had changed between the two of them in their sidebar, she was characteristically keeping it under wraps. (For his part, Neal was casting long glances her way, but they were not reciprocated; Killian felt a bit bad for him…but not that bad.)

He winced after that, though; his babe had apparently located his liver, and was pounding on it with abandon. (Goodness knew that had been abused enough for one lifetime.) But that was a firm—albeit repeated—reminder that he needed to stay focused enough on finishing the rest of this task and getting the hell out of Neverland to avoid putting the babe in any more danger.

Then, like he said—that’s when the fun would begin.

—----------------------------------