Prompt: Emma is on her period.

Summary: Killian Jones knows whenever Emma's time of month is due. He's marked it on his calendar so he can buy her chocolates, flowers and tissues whenever that time comes along. Now, he doesn't need to look at his calendar anymore. He just knows. So when Killian turns up at their house with a box of chocolates, Emma has to question why he's on time but her period isn't.

Author's notes: I thought I'd do this one with a little twist. Hope you enjoy!

Duckling

Emma sits in the sheriff's station with David. They've been sat there for a few hours now, not doing much, just talking and laughing, waiting for someone to phone in or something to happen.

David's just returned from Granny's, with a sizeable box of doughnuts in his hands. She's not sure whether he wants the doughnuts, or a change of scenery. The station walls are beginning to look really annoying after staring at them all morning.

He passes over the box of doughnuts and she steals one, taking a big bite out of it. The doughnut tastes delicious, all strawberry icing and sprinkles, but she can't quite enjoy it. She frowns as she chews and swallows, the motions almost robotic.

"Nice doughnuts," David comments through his own mouthful.

Emma hums, but she's not really listening. She's staring into space, eyes glassy and unfocused.

David places his doughnut down on a napkin with a sigh. "Emma, what's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Emma asks, coming back to life. She glances over at him, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You've not been yourself all morning. What is it?"

She takes another bite of the doughnut and chews thoughtfully before she answers. "Okay, here's the thing. I'm bored."

Surprise flashes across his face. "Bored?"

"For months I've been waiting for something interesting to happen. Anything. I've been waiting for another Snow Queen or a Wicked Witch but nothing's happened! There's been no threat."

David laughs a little, shaking his head. "And you want a threat?"

"Oh, no. Of course not." Another bite is savoured. "But it's making me uneasy. I half expect something to jump out at us. But nothing has."

"Emma," David says. He's smiling. "You deserve a break. We all do. Especially after what happened in the Underworld."

"Usually our breaks don't last this long."

"Can't help but think you're right about that." This time, his laugh is wary. "But enjoy it while you can."

"Yeah." She picks up another doughnut and takes a bite out of it.

"Whoa, two doughnuts in a row. Are you feeling okay?"

Emma stares at her father and then at the doughnut. "Fine." She places the half-eaten doughnut down on the napkin. "Guess they're just good."

Silence falls between them. Emma stares at the phone, willing it to ring. She can't help but feel restless. Crime is down to an all time low in Storybrooke, and Emma doesn't have another job.

Don't get her wrong, she'd much rather be with Killian, but Emma doesn't want to crowd him. Now they're living together in that huge white house, she knows she shouldn't be spending too much time with him. She doesn't think she could ever get sick of him (considering all they've been through), but even the littlest of things annoys Emma. Even now, she prays she won't go home to find he's left shoes lying about, or hair in the shower plug. Ew.

"Why don't you go home?" David asks.

Emma presses her lips together in a tight line. She's been hoping he wouldn't ask her that. "But what will you do?"

David smiles and it's sheepish. "Actually…" He folds his arms, leaning back on his chair. "I was hoping to go home too. Me and Mary Margaret haven't had a lot of time alone since our baby Neal, and the Underworld so…"

She's quick to interrupt. "Stop talking now. Too much information."

"I was going to say watch a movie."

"Sure," she says as she stands. She grabs her leather jacket which is draped over the back of her chair, and pulls it on. Warmth and that familiar leathery smell envelope her. "Will you lock up?"

David closes the lid of the doughnut box. "Do I have a choice?"

She chucks her own half-eaten doughnut in the bin. "Nope. Catch you later."

With that, she makes her way down the corridor and outside. The air is bitterly cold, and so she runs the zip of her jacket up to her throat. Gloves are pulled from her pocket and she slips them on, wishing she brought her scarf. Or a warmer coat, at least.

The pavement is covered by a thin sheet of ice and so she steps carefully. It's difficult not to fall over in her heeled boots but somehow she manages to reach her house without any incident, not even a little slip.

"Emma Swan, you are a pro," she mumbles to herself as she unlocks the door. She's sure Killian will be home, but they always lock the door just in case, even when they're both in the house. Crazy psycho wicked witches will do that to you.

"Killian?" She calls as she steps inside. The warmth hits her like a blessing.

"In here, love!" Killian calls from the kitchen.

Emma removes her jacket and hangs it up on a peg. She slides her gloves off as she enters the kitchen. The orange lights feel even more homely after staring at the miserable, grey sky.

Killian is stood at the counter, sprinkling cinnamon on a mug of what looks like hot chocolate. He wears black jeans, and his black waistcoat over a midnight blue shirt. Emma can't help but smile. She's always loved that outfit, even if she's never told him. Blue suits him.

He turns and holds the mug out to her. Her own hands wrap around the steaming chocolate and she brings it up to her nose, breathing in the scent of it. It smells delicious, and exactly what she needs on a bitter, winter's day.

"How did you know I was coming?" she asks as she stands and inhales.

He leans against the counter with an easy grin. "Your father kindly sent me one of those text things letting me know. You'll be proud of me, love: I think I managed to send one back."

"Ha," she says with a smile. "I'll have to see it to believe it."

"Your faith outstands me," he says, but there is a twinkle in those blue eyes. "Come on into the living room. You'll find it's warmer."

"I noticed you put the heating on," she comments as she follows him out the door, hands still wrapped around the mug. God, she sounds so domestic. She's not sure whether she likes that or not.

"That I did. It only took me a good few hours to work out how to do it."

They both take a seat on the sofa. Emma leans back onto it, loving how she sinks into the cushions. She's never felt more at home in her life, she realises as she glances over at Killian. "What else did you do today?"

He throws his arm around the back of the sofa. "Nothing much, actually," he says with a frown. A hand comes up to scratch the scruff of his chin.

"Oh."

And then his face falls into a smile. "But you know what, Swan? I'm glad. I remember a time when I'd be awake at the crack of dawn, sailing away on my ship, trying to find home."

"Now you don't need to look for home?" She doesn't know why she phrases it as a question. Perhaps it's her own insecurities coming through. Even though Killian has - countless times - explained that he'd rather be with her than sailing his ship, she's not so sure. Sailing is a part of him. It will always be a part of him.

"Aye." That twinkle has returned.

"So you did absolutely nothing, then? Not a thing?" She blows on her chocolate.

"Alas, you've caught me. I tell a lie. I visited the shops."

Emma has to choke back a laugh. "You went shopping? How did you carry everything? You only have one hand."

"You'd be surprised by how many shopping bags a hook holds. It's rather a lot."

"Hm." She's still smiling as she takes a sip of her hot chocolate. It's perfect; just the right balance of water, milk and cream. The cinnamon is spot on too. She really must give Killian more credit.

"I think you'll find the cupboards to your utmost liking. They're fully stocked."

She shakes her head at how proud he seems. "Thanks, Killian."

"Oh, and I-" He lowers his voice a little. "And I think you'll find the bathroom cupboards fully stocked as well, if you understand."

Emma frowns. "What?" Bathroom cupboards? What for?

"You know. With your… you know."

She places her hot chocolate on the coffee table. "Sorry?"

He softly smooths the crease between her eyebrows with his thumb. "Relax, love. I am merely referring to your time of month." A gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Oh! Oh…" Emma bites her lip, tucking her hair behind her ear. A short pause later: "What's the date?"

"The seventeenth."

"Huh."

Killian frowns at her troubled expression. "Your heart seems uneasy."

"No, it's fine." She tries to give him a smile. "Thank you for that."

Killian doesn't return her smile. His face has that serious expression reserved for conversations of Rumplestiltskin or his past. "Emma, are you okay?"

The thing is, Emma isn't exactly sure. It's unlike her to be late; she only has been a few times in her life. Her usual time is around the fifteenth and sixteenth, sometimes even before that. But it's never the seventeenth. Not really. Still, one day late is nothing to worry about.

She smiles at him again, and this time it's genuine. "I'm fine. Come on, let's go out to dinner. Granny's. I'll pay; my treat."

He seems to relax a little at that. "Excellent, Swan."

Yes, one day isn't anything to worry about. She needn't worry him with her concerns. In fact, she needn't worry about it herself.

Right?

…

The eighteenth comes and goes and Emma remains in the same situation she was previously. The nineteenth passes by and when the twentieth does too, she starts to feel a little anxious.

And so she does the only thing she can think of; she ignores it. She pushes her worries aside and tries to focus on other things. It's hard, especially since they don't have any threats lurking around. She's praying for a Snow Queen Take Two so she can at least have something to distract her.

But life just isn't going to give her that luxury.

And so she sits, staring at the walls, wondering what the hell she is going to do. She can't be… But what if she is? No, she can't. Her and Killian, they haven't... Well, they have but…

Her and Killian have been intimate a lot, especially since returning from the Underworld. But they always use… No. Apart from one time, a few weeks ago. But it was fine. Emma had taken the morning after pill, so it should be fine.

But it doesn't always work like that, says a small voice in her head. They're not always accurate. Not any contraceptive method is a hundred percent accurate.

Emma swallows and wraps her arms around herself. What if she is? She dreads to think what Killian will say. He has never mentioned to her about having children, nor did he have any with Milah, and so she's come to assume that he doesn't want any.

And that's fine with her. She doesn't want any either. She's happy with Henry. There's a lot of regret with Henry, but it's okay. She loves him, more than her own life, and he's enough for her. She doesn't want another baby. In fact, the possibility fills her with such dread, her head starts to swim and suddenly she can't breathe.

She takes in gulps of air, trying to calm herself.

She needs to take a test. She knows she does, but she can't bring herself to do it. Taking a test will make it real and Emma wants to deny it as much as possible. She does not want another kid.

An escaping tear causes her to press the heels of her hands to her eyes. Don't cry, she thinks. Please don't cry. It's fine.

"Emma?" Calls a voice from downstairs. Killian's voice.

She sits up straight, removing her hands from her eyes, heart pounding in her chest. "Yeah?"

"Just checking you were here, love," he shouts. "I'll put tea on."

Tea? Tea? Oh, he means dinner.

She takes in some more air and manages to slow her breathing. To her utter relief, her eyes are dry, if a little sad. She rises from the bed, and adjusts her clothing. When she goes to greet Killian, she's exactly herself. No need to worry him.

…

"Emma?" Pound, pound, pound on the bathroom door. "Emma, what's up? Are you okay?"

She sits with her head in her hands in the Sheriff station bathroom. The floor is cold and unforgiving underneath her, but that's the least of her worries.

She hasn't been sick for a while, not properly sick. Years, even. Not since she was learning how to cook and giving herself food poisoning every other week. And she's eaten nothing to make her sick. Killian cooked dinner the night before, and everything was done to perfection. If it's to do with his cooking, surely he'd be ill too? He seemed fine when she left him this morning.

Her stomach is still heaving, and her breathing is coming out in sharp gasps, but she thinks the worst of it is over.

"Emma?"

She tries to calm her herself, but this time, it doesn't work. She's just gasping for more air, her head leaning against the wall. She tries to stand, but her legs are shaky, and so she collapses back onto the floor. She presses a weak hand to her hot forehead.

"Emma, answer me dammit." David's voice is a shout now, but she ignores it, hoping he'll go away. She knows he won't.

Pound, pound, pound. "I'm coming in."

Emma makes no attempt to move as the door flies open. She looks up at her father through dark shadowed eyes as he stands over her. Upon seeing the state she's in, he crouches down to her level and places a hand on her arm.

"Emma?" he asks, taken aback. He's never seen her like this before. "You look awful, what's wrong?"

She simply gives him a feeble smile. "I think I need my mom."

…

"How many days are you late?" Mary Margaret asks as she places a cup of hot chocolate in front of Emma, and sits down at the kitchen table. She watches her with moon-like eyes, but they're not judgemental or troubled. They offer nothing but comfort.

Emma wraps her hands around the hot chocolate. "About a week."

"And you think you…"

"What else could it be?" She asks, staring down into the mug. Cream is beginning to melt, creating a white puddle on the top of her drink.

Mary Margaret folds her hands in front of her as she thinks for a moment. "Apart from sickness, have you had any other symptoms?"

"I had a second doughnut the other day. David commented on it."

She raises her eyebrows. "I'm sure that doesn't mean anything." She takes a generous sip of her own hot chocolate. "Any headaches? Tenderness? Mood swings?"

"Yes, but I always get them during my period."

Silence falls upon them again, as they drink their hot chocolate. Emma's eyes move to the window. Rain trickles down the glass, creating little patterns on the surface. She can just make out the sky; a consistent grey. It casts dark shadows in Mary Margaret's usually warm apartment.

"I think…" she begins in that soft, comforting voice of hers. "Wait a week and then take a test."

Emma's stomach flips, and not in the good way. She does not want to take a test. But what is she hoping for, really? That she can just brush it off? That was never going to be the case.

"Can't I take one today? Or tomorrow?"

"You could," Mary Margaret frowns. "But it doesn't always show up so soon. If you take one now and it shows as negative, you'll just have to buy one next week. Double the money."

Emma nods, convinced. Her mother has a good point. She needn't do one now.

"What… what do I tell Killian?"

Mary Margaret's response is instant. "You tell him the truth."

Something tightens in her chest, as if she has a heavy object there. She feels the weight of it. "How can I?" she says. Panic returns. "What if he doesn't want this? What if -"

"Emma," she interrupts, placing a comforting hand on her daughter's arm. "Killian loves you."

"I know," she swallows. "But what if he doesn't want… this."

The shaking of her head is followed by a smile. "I'm sure that's not the case at all."

"But what-"

"Do you want this?" Once again, there isn't any judgement in her voice. Only concern and a gentleness that's always present with her mother. Her eyes mirror that same softness, and Emma chooses to answer honestly.

"I don't know."

She watches her for a moment, studying her daughter's face; those lines on her forehead, and the way her eyes have that shining, worried look. And then she says: "Go talk to him, Emma. He'll want to know. He deserves to."

Emma nods and finishes her hot chocolate. Mutely, she stands. There's a numbness spreading throughout her; from her heart to the rest of her body, right to the very tips of her fingers. Can she do this? Can she tell Killian?

Mary Margaret stands with her and pulls her into a tight hug. "It's going to be fine, Emma," she murmurs into her hair. "Having a baby is a wonderful thing. Remember, he loves you."

Emma nods, and mutters a goodbye. She leaves her mother and makes her way down the apartment stairs, pulling her gloves from her pocket. As she slips them on, she can't help but feel like she isn't the one wearing them. Like she's separate from her body. Like it's a stranger to her.

She's just putting the key in her door, when she hears a voice behind her: "Swan!"

She turns so fast, her hair whips her shoulder. Killian is running up to her, carrying a shopping bag on his hook. It swings back and forth as he runs. Emma is amazed he hasn't fallen over on the ice yet.

"Emma," he breathes out when he reaches her.

She manages to force a smile. "More shopping, huh?"

He holds up the bag, a triumphant grin lighting his face. "This isn't any old shopping, Swan."

"Oh, right." She folds her arms, raising an eyebrow at him. He looks so happy, that for a moment her worries are forgotten.

"This is Emma orientated shopping."

"Emma orientated shopping, huh?"

"Aye." He holds out the bag, still smiling. "Go on inside. I'll show you what I've got."

Emma does as he tells her, and holds the door open for him. Once they're both in the warmth of the kitchen, he places the bag on the table and gestures for Emma to peer inside. She gives him a frown before opening the bag, material smooth under her fingertips.

Inside, she finds the most chocolate she's ever seen in her life. Boxes and bars and packets of the gloriously rich sweet. He's picked all her favourites. Mouth open, she turns the bag upside down and tips everything out onto the table. When she glances over at him, a question on her lips, he speaks.

"You've not been yourself these last few days." he explains, with a soft smile. "I take it it's to do with your… monthly occurrence. I thought perhaps some chocolate would lift your spirits."

"This is more than some."

"Swan, are you okay? You're awfully pale."

Emma tries to smile, she really does, but she knows it must come across as unwilling. She places a cold hand to her neck, and her skin feels hot. Really hot. Her stomach is heaving again, and she wills herself not to throw up. Not while he's here.

"I'm fine," she tells him. "I just remembered something I forgot to do at the Sheriff's station." She makes to move past him, but he catches her wrist with his hook.

"Swan - Emma." He pulls her gently towards him. "Regardless of what you may think, I am actually quite perceptive. Now tell me. What's wrong?"

She looks up into those blue eyes and pleads with her own. "Later."

He sighs, closing his eyes momentarily. When he opens them again, he drops her arm and gives her a smile, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "Go. Do what you have to."

She gives him one last pleading look before running out the door, slamming it behind her. Strings of guilt tug at a heavy heart. She knows she's worrying him, but she's not ready to tell him yet. Way to go, Emma, she thinks to herself. You can battle monsters and magic but run a mile when it comes to a baby.

She makes her way down the street, but doesn't take the turning to the Sheriff's station. Instead, she turns right, where the corner shop is.

A beat later and she's walking inside. As subtly as she can, she looks around to make sure no-one she knows is here. She shudders to think what would happen if she ran into someone like Grumpy. The whole town would know within minutes.

When the coast is clear, she snatches a pregnancy test. She pays for it quickly, and shoves it in her pocket.

...

The moment she steps through the door of her house, she's running upstairs and into the bathroom. Killian is downstairs, and he's probably heard her, so she tries to be as quick as possible. After closing the door behind her, she falls onto the tiled floor, brushing pale strands of hair from her face. She snatches the test from her pocket and fumbles with the flap on the side, willing it to open.

At that moment, another wave of nausea hits her. The position of the toilet is a blessing, and the test slips from her nimble fingers onto the floor.

It's then that Killian chooses to knock on the bathroom door.

She curses everything; herself for buying a test when her mother told her to wait, her mother for convincing her to take a test in the first place, the sickness choosing now to make its grand return, and Killian Jones for being so damn concerned all the time. Why can't he just leave her be?

"Emma?" he asks. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she calls back.

Something in her voice must be alarming, because he calls, "Let me in." When she doesn't answer, he speaks again. "I'm coming in." His voice is demanding, more like the pirate she fell for.

Please God, no, she thinks. She quickly brushes away tears and reaches for the test, but before she can, the door opens and he's stood over her. She hates herself for not locking the stupid door.

For a moment, his face is confused. Confusion turns to worry when he catches sight of her face. "Emma, what the hell is-" Then he freezes. His face pales. She follows his gaze right to where she knows it will be. To the test.

"Bloody hell," he hisses out.

For a moment, he stands there and she sits, both in silence. She can almost hear him processing what's before him, putting two and two together. His hand clenches into a fist and then unclenches again. If it weren't for that movement, he'd look like a statue.

Then he seems to come to his senses. Almost hesitantly, he kneels down to her level, and looks her straight in the eyes, brushing hair from her face. She doesn't say anything, simply looking back. And then he scoops his arms under her body and picks her up, as carefully as he can. His boots sound heavy against the floor as he makes his way out the bathroom.

He takes her into their bedroom, and lays her gingerly on the bed. When he sits down, she can feel the mattress dip, but she doesn't look at him. She can't.

"Swan," he says gently. She ignores him, turning her attention to the window. The grey clouds are beginning to fade. Blue and sunshine breaks through them. She watches as a thin strip of sunlight travels across the floor.

"Emma, look at me."

Slowly, she turns to him. It takes all the courage she can muster. This is what she's been afraid of. She doesn't want to see his expression. What if he doesn't want this?

His eyes hold nothing but love and comfort. They're watching her face, flickering over her features. And then he meets her eyes. When he speaks, it's soft. "You know, it's bad form not to tell a man you're expecting his child."

She sits up on the bed, slowly. Her head feels heavy on her shoulders. There's a lump in her throat that only increases with every passing second. "I'm… sorry."

"I hope you know I would've worked it out sooner or later. As I said earlier, I'm actually quite perceptive."

"I haven't taken a test yet," she says.

He merely raises an eyebrow at her. "And yet, you still should have told me. It's my job to share your burdens, so they do not weigh quite as heavy on your shoulders."

"I was afraid of what you'd think."

He shakes his head. "What could I possibly think?"

Her eyes are large. Full of sadness. "You might not want a baby." He opens his mouth to speak but she rushes on: "We've only just moved in together. And after everything that's happened… The Underworld, everything. I don't… I couldn't… What if you… And you never had kids with Milah or-"

"Emma." He interrupts. "If you haven't taken a test, how can you be sure?"

"I'm not," Emma tells him. "But sickness, a missed period..." She debates whether she should tell him about how she had a second doughnut with David, but decides against it. Just thinking the words sounds stupid.

"Aye. Sounds like it." There's a pause. "Why don't you get some sleep?"

"I'm not ill," she says, suddenly angry. Why hasn't he addressed her worries? Why has he left her with these concerns out in the open? It isn't like him. Usually, he is so honest with her. Perhaps, she is right, and he doesn't want a baby.

"Aye," he repeats. There's a distant look in his eye. "I'm going to spend some time on my ship."

He stands, the sound of springs echoing across the room as the mattress moves back into place.

She opens her mouth to tell him to stay, to tell them they need to talk about it, but she stops herself. If she needed her space, he would give it to her. And so she simply says, "Okay."

Off he goes, out the door. She sits there for a moment, in silence. Her arms fold around her stomach. If Killian's not sure what he wants (he who always knows what he wants) then how can she be? If she doesn't have his support, what is she to do? He's acting exactly how she imagines him to, and it scares her. Terrifies her.

But Emma has never been one to sit and feel sorry for herself. And so she stands, calms herself and makes her way into the bathroom to take a test.

…

It's hours before Killian returns. The sky is dark, and Emma can make out the moon, full and bright. She imagines him sailing on the open water, underneath Luna's rich glow, and she wishes she is there with him.

When she hears the front door open, she moves to the hallway. He enters, shaking rain from his leather coat. He spots her, and his face has an expression she can't quite make out. Shame?

"Emma, I…" he begins, but shakes his head, as if he doesn't know how to continue. Yes, it is shame. "I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter," she says. It doesn't. Not anymore.

"No. It does." He takes slow steps towards her until he is right in front of her. His eyes search hers. "I acted appallingly. But if you'll let me, I'd like to explain."

"Killian, it really doesn't matter." Her eyes spot a water droplet on his leather jacket. "Come on, you must be cold."

She turns towards the sofa, but he catches her with his hook and turns her back. "Let me speak. Just let me speak."

She opens her mouth to protest because it really doesn't matter anymore, but he holds his hand up to silence her. The rings sparkle in the light, but not as much as his eyes, which are intense. More intense than she's ever seen them.

"When I was merely a boy, my father abandoned my brother and I. As you know."

"I do, but I don't see-"

"As a lad, I always wondered why. What I had done to warrant such… cruelty." He swallows, and scratches the back of his neck. She knows he must be thinking about what he did to his father. "A child should never be made to feel like that. And you are aware of what I… did to my father. In revenge. As a villain." His eyes drop away from hers.

A soft sigh escapes her lips. "Killian, you're not that man anymore." She places a hand on his arm.

"Perhaps not. But when I dipped back into that darkness again, when I became a Dark One-" He winces a little at that. "I allowed darkness to overtake me, almost at once. I didn't fight. I couldn't." His eyes meet hers again, and there's a hardness in them. "I don't deserve you. I never have. All the pain I've caused, all the lives I've destroyed…"

"Killian-"

He takes one hand with his. "No, I don't deserve you. But Emma, I want to be the man you do deserve." He pauses, and his chest rises and falls in a sigh. "I want to be the man our child deserves."

Her stomach drops. Her hands feel limp and cold in his, even against his hook. "Killian, I-"

He continues, ignoring her protests. "The reason Milah and I never had a child was because of Baelfire. She felt guilty for leaving him, and she felt it was unfair of her. She wanted to go back for him, and we planned to, but alas, we never did." His hand moves up to stroke her cheek. "But the truth is, I want a child. I have always wanted a child."

Her eyes fill with tears, and she wills them not to fall. "Killian, please."

Suddenly, his hand moves away from her face and dips into the pocket of his leather jacket. She watches as he pulls out something small and brown. It takes her a moment to realise what it is, but when she does, the tears do indeed fall.

A bear. A tiny, stuffed bear wearing a pirate hat. Little holes have been cut in the hat for its ears to stick out.

He presses it into her hands. "For the little one." She takes it, if weakly. "I'm going to be here for you, Swan. Don't cry, love. I'm here now. I should have said that the moment you told me," he continues. "Perhaps I was afraid, but I'm not anymore. This future, I… I want it. With you."

She strokes the bear's soft ears. "Killian."

"After everything we've been through, we deserve a little happiness. Aye, we may have bumpy seas ahead of us, but the sun will be shining and I-"

"Killian. I'm not pregnant."

He falls silent. She dare not look at him and so she keeps her eyes on the bear. A few tears fall onto the fur, but she ignores it. She can't look at him. She can't. Her voice is harsh. Cutting. "I'm sorry."

His voice is quiet. "No, Swan. Don't apologise."

They both stand there, Emma refusing to look at him, and Killian frozen to the spot. And then: "You're… sure?"

"My period was just late," she says, a little bitterly. "I found out when I went to take the damn test."

"And the sickness?"

"Stomach bug."

A pause.

She doesn't hear him move, but she feels his arms wrap around her, encircling her in leather and warmth. She buries her head in his shoulder. The scent of sea salt clings to his skin, but she doesn't mind.

"The thing is," she says into his neck. "I didn't want another kid. I have Henry. I didn't want one."

He strokes her hair. "Then there isn't a problem."

"I didn't want one until I thought I had one."

His arms tighten around her in response, but he doesn't speak. He simply holds her close. She doesn't know how long they stand there like that, but by the time they part, the rainwater on his jacket has dried.

…

A few weeks pass, and Emma is back to her usual self. Killian hasn't breached the subject, even though she wishes he will. Perhaps he doesn't want to hurt her. Or push her.

At first she mourns the baby. The little bundle who hadn't even existed, but then Snow Queen Take Two appears and she's back to business. The villain is pathetic. But maybe that's because after meeting Hades, every villain is a little pathetic.

She figures out their plan within a few days and takes them out within a week. She's certainly back on form.

When Snow Queen Take Two comes and goes, she thinks the restless feeling she mentioned to David those weeks ago will go. But it doesn't. Only when she stumbles across that stupid bear again, does she realise why.

She's not yearning for danger. Not at all.

The feeling hasn't been there since the Underworld. It's been there since Killian started mentioning about their future together. The white picket fence. The big house. Enough room for a third person.

Henry is enough, yes, to a certain extent. But she's missed it all; his first steps, those early years she should have been spent soothing fevers and drying tears. She wonders what he was like as a baby - whether he cried a lot, and how fussy he was with his food. She's never asked Regina, nor does she want to. Whenever Emma thinks about baby Henry, all she can feel is guilt, even though she believes she made the right decision giving him up.

And so when Killian comes in from his ship, she's sat at the kitchen table, waiting for him. She holds the bear in her hands and once again, finds herself stroking those ears. Those tiny, soft ears.

She hears his boots against the wooden floor before she sees him. "Swan?" And then he spots her, sat at the table. His eyes immediately fall to the bear in her hands. "Emma…?" He raises his eyebrows.

"How would you feel about a baby Swan?"

He laughs, and it's glorious; booming and happy, reaching his eyes. "You mean a duckling, love?"

She releases a breath she doesn't realise she's been holding. "A baby swan is not called a duckling."

"Technicalities." He shrugs out of his leather jacket and drapes it over one of the chairs. He's still smiling.

"Killian?"

"Mm?"

"Now."

His head snaps over to meet her gaze. "Now?" His eyes are wide, a thin rim of blue around black pupils.

"Right now."

He takes slow steps towards her until he's standing over her. She looks up at him, heart fluttering in her chest. He brushes a strand of hair from her face. "And you really want this?"

She nods, eyes never leaving his. He considers this for a moment, watching her face. She wonders if he's making sure she's being serious. His fingertips trail down her neck, and she closes her eyes at his touch.

Slowly, he removes his hook. Butterflies flood her stomach. He only ever removes his hook when...

And then, without warning, he scoops her from the chair and carries her up the stairs. He kicks their bedroom door open with his foot. When Emma mumbles something about the paintwork, he silences her with a kiss and drops her down on the bed. She hardly has time to catch her breath before he's over her, pressing warm kisses to her neck.

Operation Duckling is on.