One year later

"This is ridiculous."

"It's nice."

Emma rolled her whole head, flopping back dramatically across the bed until her hair hit the floor and maybe she was the one acting ridiculous. Probably. Maybe they should skip the whole thing all together.

She couldn't quite believe that there even was a thing, was fairly certain the city of New York had better things to do than stage some kind of quasi graduation ceremony for its GED students, but apparently that was the wrong assumption to make because not only was there some kind of graduation ceremony, there was, now, also a post-graduation party and Mary Margaret had been baking for days and Anna kept whispering about decorations and themes and it had somehow become a joint thing for Emma and Henry.

Henry graduated middle school the week before.

Emma was more apt to celebrate that.

She really didn't want to go to this thing – sitting by herself in some kind of polyester monstrosity next to people she didn't actually know because it was a GED class and she wasn't really making best friends in classes that only met three times a week.

"Swan," Killian said, climbing next to her and she made some kind of ridiculous noise in the back of her throat when she curled up against his side. Her hair was still hanging off the side of the bed. "This is a good thing, love."

"This is an annoying thing. At best. It's going to take forever."

"It's going to take an hour, tops. There's not even a speaker."

"Which just goes to show what a load of crap it is. This is a chance for the city to brag about how much it's changing people's lives or some other ridiculous PR-approved schlop and we should go do anything else instead."

He laughed against her, tightening his arm and dragging his fingers over the line of her spine and that wasn't doing anything to make her want to go to a graduation that, Emma was fairly certain, was just a media stunt and, really, Killian should have realized that too.

As the more media-savvy side of the relationship.

Or whatever.

She clearly wasn't cut out to be a high school graduate. And Ruby kept talking about streaming the ceremony and maybe that's what Emma was most concerned about.

Well, no, not the streaming per se – which was going almost too well and they were making money and they were vaguely popular on the internet, which was a very strange phrase to use in real life, but it was true and it was good and working and Emma usually wasn't this pessimistic.

It was some kind of picture-perfect snapshot of domesticity. At least most of the time.

There were moments – frustrations and arguments and muttered words that weren't actually supposed to be said out loud. He hated that she had a tendency to leave her shoes just inside the door and she hated that he could never seem to remember to fold up the blanket at the edge of the bed, but her hair ties still somehow found their way into the pockets of his jeans and his leather jacket and she smiled every time she opened up the goddamn closet.

The moments never really lasted long.

He'd kiss her or she'd kiss him or one of them would find the most ridiculous recipe they could in some weird corner of the internet and the moments usually shifted after that.

And then there'd, usually, be more kissing.

And it hadn't always been easy. There were those moments too.

The site struggled the first few months – even with op-eds and stories and Regina's connections and Gold hadn't gotten nearly everything he should have. He'd let Neal take the fall, more or less handing over those twenty-five years without an ounce of regret. Even Hans the sleazy lawyer got a worse sentence than Gold.

Robert Gold, face of New York City and the goddamn biggest bastard on Earth, got ten years, in a medium-security prison upstate, and a high possibility for parole.

They hadn't gotten drunk that night – despite Ruby's best efforts to, as she put it, screw the asshole, by outdrinking everyone in the Tri-State area – just went home and Killian muttered something about Emma being warm and he fell asleep with his head on her shoulder.

She was just, like, absurdly happy.

Like a solid ninety-nine percent of the time she was awake and cognizant.

And she knew Mary Margaret made those cookies she was obsessed with for this party thing and Will mentioned that Henry and Roland were making a sign and all of them were going to be there and Ariel kept trying to guess how many times David would cry during the graduation ceremony.

It wasn't really a graduation ceremony.

It was a PR stunt. For the city. And David was probably going to cry, at least, three times and then do that thing where he puffed out his chest and rolled his shoulders back and Ruth was coming too.

"You've thought about this a lot, huh?" Killian asked, the words mumbled just a bit when he spoke mostly into her hair.

Emma hummed, trying to change the subject to anything that wasn't actually talking about this, but he was some kind of mind reader and she was some kind of perpetually open book and it didn't really matter what kind of noise she made, Killian knew what she meant.

"Ruth's flying in," Emma muttered. "M's texted me and David went out to LaGuardia and he totally used a squad car because he wasn't going to pay for an Uber to Queens and they're…"

"They want to, Swan."

She sighed dramatically, burrowing even further into his neck and she was fairly certain she felt his lips brush over the top of her hair. Her not-quite graduation robes were draped over the end of the bed, half an inch from getting kicked off and that felt like a sign.

Emma wasn't sure she was looking for a sign, but it seemed to be there anyway and she hadn't actually said anything yet.

God, she was going to kill Ruby. She was all in her head.

And maybe Scarlet hadn't only mumbled about Henry and Roland's arts and crafts attempts. Maybe Scarlet was getting impatient.

"Emma, love, I can hear you thinking," Killian said, tightening his arm again and she grumbled into his chest. He laughed softly and there was absolutely a kiss that time and a particular type of smile that made her pulse speed up and her heart try to work its way out her chest.

"That's stupid," Emma mumbled.

"Ah, well, that's disappointing. What's the matter? Honestly. It can't be about this graduation thing."

"Stop calling it a graduation thing. You're giving it far too much credit."

He pulled back slightly and Emma was half a breath away from grumbling at that as well – it seemed to be a trend for the day – when she noticed the look on his face, a pinch between his eyebrows and a very specific set to his mouth and she could almost see the line of tension running between his shoulder blades.

"What's the matter?" Emma asked, worry sinking into the pit of her stomach and possibly pulling her through the bed and maybe he knew.

Maybe he knew and he was mad.

No, that was insane. Agh, that word. It was fine. Everything was fine. God, he looked worried.

"I'm not giving you enough credit, Swan," Killian said, and that might have been the last thing she expected. It was probably good she was still laying down.

The room kind of felt like it was spinning.

And she couldn't think when he looked at her like that – all serious and determined and like he believed. In her. Or something decidedly sentimental and domestic and her mind was moving a hundred miles a minute, playing a game Emma wasn't sure she knew the rules to.

That metaphor didn't even make any sense.

Maybe if they blew off the not-quite-ceremony she could get some answers.

She was really bad at asking questions.

"That's stupid too," Emma muttered, ducking her eyes and staring at the still-unfolded blanket she'd collapsed on top of a few minutes before. "And I realize how stupid my constant use of the word stupid sounds. I'm just…"

"I'm proud of you," Killian cut in, and Emma jerked her head up so quickly she was positive she'd done permanent damage to her neck and possibly her entire spine. Her heart probably wasn't supposed to beat that quickly.

Or loudly.

It sounded like it was ricocheting off the walls or maybe that was just the buzzing in Emma's ears and she could barely hear the traffic outside or the sound of her phone. Ruth must have just landed.

The tips of Killian's ears were red.

"What?" Emma breathed and, ah, shit, she was going to cry more than anyone else. And they hadn't even left the apartment yet.

He couldn't really shrug when he was still on his side and his arm hadn't actually moved, fingers still tracing across her shirt and she should probably put on a dress at some point. Maybe. If they ever got off the bed.

She could see the muscles in his throat move when he swallowed and his fingers stopped tracing up her spine long enough to tap quickly on the small of her back, nervous energy practically working into Emma and they should totally blow off everything else they had to do for the rest of the day and get into the bed.

"Proud," Killian repeated, but his voice was a bit scratchier than usual and it must have been difficult to talk when he barely seemed to move his lips. "Of you. A fairly ridiculous amount."

"Is that the right word in that context?"

"Probably not."

Emma let out a slightly shaky, slightly swooning laugh, teeth finding her lower lip until she'd pulled the whole thing into her mouth and her own cheeks were probably tinged a bit red.

"We'll let it slide this time," she said softly, pulling herself up until she could actually kiss him without doing any more damage to her neck and she didn't realize she'd moved on top of him until she felt his hand on her waist and he made some kind of strangled noise that shot straight through her.

They were very good at this.

Even if they were laying the wrong way on the bed – Killian was nearly falling off the edge and the blanket was twisted up into what felt like several different knots under Emma's knee and she tried to ignore both of those things when she rolled her hips the way she knew would work that sound of him again and she smiled when it did.

"Ha," she muttered triumphantly, like she was actually playing a game and Killian might have laughed, but it turned into something else entirely and if they didn't move someone was going to show up at their apartment and drag both of them downtown.

That probably would have been weird.

"Swan, did you just say ha while you were on top of me?" Killian asked incredulously, but the tension seemed to have fallen out of his shoulders and possibly over the side of the bed and Emma just nodded when his fingers moved under her shirt.

She moved again, ducking her head, but he didn't seem all that interested in anything that wasn't actually kissing her. And doing that thing with his tongue.

Fuck.

Killian laughed again and maybe Emma had actually said that out loud. He grinned at her, hair a righteous mess from her fingers and her misplaced attempts to find something to hold onto and someone's phone was ringing.

"God, they're impatient," Killian sighed. Emma's shirt was some kind of cotton-based lost cause.

She made a noise, frustration or just generic disgruntled'ness and that wasn't a word, she knew it wasn't a word – she was, almost, a high school graduate after all. "Stop talking," she said, but it came out a bit more like a demand and he hummed in agreement, eyes flashing and lips tilting up slightly.

He flipped her. And Emma made another noise, a gasp or the general embodiment of swooning in audible form, breath catching when she felt Killian's teeth graze across her collarbone and maybe cotton t-shirts weren't that bad when they let him do that.

"Jeez, you can't do that," she muttered, but there wasn't really much fight in it and she wasn't entirely sure what she do if he actually did stop.

"Why?" Killian asked. He didn't stop, just mouthed the words against her skin and his arm couldn't have been very comfortable, twisted up as it was under her back, but he didn't complain about that either and Emma's shirt was halfway up her stomach.

"I honestly have no idea. I've lost complete control of this conversation."

He chuckled against her, the feel of his smile obvious and everything seemed to slow for half a second, settling into something a little calmer and a little less frantic and it didn't help her pulse at all.

"It's because you were leveling up on the charming," Emma accused, and Killian laughed again, the sound making her think all sorts of future-type things and plan-type things and she was still a bit hung up on that whole pride thing.

"Honest, love, there's absolutely a difference."

"Ah, well, it got you bonus points or something in whatever analogy we're using here,"

"This is your analogy, Swan. I'm just along for the ride, so to speak."

Emma rolled her eyes, doing her best to actually scowl, but it didn't really work when he just smirked at her and did something ridiculous with his eyebrows. "Oh, that one was bad," she laughed. Killian didn't even try to disagree. "And we don't have time."

"I'm a bit disappointed in your lack of faith there."

"It's not a matter of faith, it's a matter of the Earth rotating around the sun."

"Excuse me?"

"Isn't that how time works?"

"I really have no idea," Killian admitted. He hadn't actually moved off her, settled in between her legs and she grinned triumphantly when he hissed as soon as her foot wrapped around his calf.

"If I say 'ha' right now, is that no good because I'm just repeating myself?" Emma asked, pressing her tongue to the corner of her lips when Killian's eyes fell towards her mouth. He groaned. "Because I feel like another 'ha' is almost appropriate right now."

Killian shook his head and it looked like he was trying to take a deep breath, shoulders moving again and eyes closed lightly, but his teeth dug into his lip when Emma's hand shifted slightly, tracing over his side and the top button of his jeans. "That's, uh…" he started and Emma grinned like they'd figured out a way to get out of a graduation ceremony and post-graduation party and her phone was ringing again.

"Symmetrical," she suggested. "A solid call-back to earlier parts of this conversation? Proof that I'm definitely the smartest person you know?"

He definitely wasn't breathing evenly. She wasn't really either.

"All of the above," Killian muttered, tugging tightly enough on the bottom of her shirt that Emma wouldn't have been surprised to hear it rip in half. "You have to take this off, Swan."

"I thought we agreed about the sun."

"In the sense that neither one of us knew about the time-telling tendencies of the sun, but that makes sense, right? Sailors or something."

"Excuse me?"

"Sundials."

"You're just saying words."

"I promise, I'm not," Killian said and he was still trying to rip her shirt in half, but Emma was so goddamn charmed by all of it and mostly him, that she barely even noticed. "There really is a point to all of this and it'll make sense eventually."

"What will?"

"The point."

"About the sun?"

Killian hummed, making some kind of entirely unfair noise when Emma arched up and, between the two of them, they finally got the shirt off, a streak of cotton tossed over her head that landed, at least, several feet away from the hamper.

"You're going to be frustrated by that later," Emma said, but Killian just widened his eyes meaningfully and she got the distinct impressions she was missing something. She stopped worrying about that as soon as his hand moved again and she did eventually change into that dress, but that was mostly because she'd managed to get out of all her other clothes in near-record time.

And they weren't even late.

They were the first ones there – standing in the lobby of some building that Killian knew the name of and was, apparently, very historic and Emma tried to make some joke about it being on Gossip Girl as well.

"This is some kind of miracle," Emma said, pulling self-consciously on the actual cap they'd given them all to wear. "And I look like an idiot. I don't understand why I have to wear this."

Killian glanced at her, something flashing across his face that set off a slew of other thoughts in the back corner of Emma's and she wasabsolutely missing something. But she wasn't really telling him everything, either, so by comparison…

"So, you can throw it, Swan," he said, not for the first time that afternoon. "There are traditions."

"Screw traditions."

He made another face – something that looked like...trepidation or another word she couldn't think of and Emma narrowed her eyes. "Seriously, what's going on with you?" she asked, pulling lightly on the tie she'd told him he absolutely did not have to wear.

He'd told her he wanted to.

"Nothing," Killian answered quickly. Too quickly.

"You're really, really bad at being an even remotely good liar."

"That's a confusing sentence, Swan."

Emma nodded, pressing up on her toes and she'd resolutely refused to wear heels because her actual face was on the internet quite a bit and she didn't need for any corner of the internet to see her trip across the stage in a ceremony she didn't want to be at.

While wearing polyester. And a cap.

Killian moved his hands to her hips, but he was standing straight as a rail and that tension was back in between her shoulders and, well, that was frustrating. She was fairly certain they'd gotten rid of that when they'd raced against time or something less absurd sounding.

"Nothing," he said again, tilting his head like that would make the lie sound less like a lie.

"Yuh huh."

The door the lobby had been open the whole time and Emma was dimly aware of other students and families and camera shutters and she dropped back on her heels when she heard her name.

And Ruth had already won the who will cry first lottery.

"She was crying when she got off the plane," David mumbled, throwing a knowing smile Emma's direction. "Were we supposed to wear ties? Is there a dress code?"

"No," Emma shook her head. "There is no dress code. This is not a real thing. Killian is just…"

"Giving you a hickey," Ruby finished, barely getting the word out through the force of her laughter and Ruth sniffled loudly.

"What?"

Ruby nodded seriously, pointing one finger towards Emma's neck and Killian's ears were red again. Anna made a noise that might have been an agreement, pushing Emma's hair off her shoulder and, apparently, trying to grow several inches to brush her fingers over the mark and it was, easily, the most absurd thing that had happened in the last year.

Or it was as soon as Will joined the whole lot of them, lifting Anna up slightly and she held her hand out expectantly, a bottle of concealer landing in her palm.

"What the hell is going on right now?" Emma demanded. Killian suddenly seemed very interested with the ground. "And why do you have that?"

"It's El's," Anna explained, shrugging slightly and Will mumbled hold still under his breath.

"That's not a normal answer."

"Emma, seriously, you can't move or I'm going to get concealer in your eye."

She exhaled loudly – more a sigh than any actual movement of air – glancing cautiously at Ruth who was still crying, but might have also been smiling and Mary Margaret looked like she was watching some kind of miracle.

Mary Margaret absolutely knew something . And Emma's graduation cap had fallen on the ground.

The door swung open again and there was more talking and yelling and sprinting footsteps – a very solid force colliding with Killian's side, finally getting him to move when he tugged Roland up and nearly got hit in the face with a sign.

"Hi, Emma," Roland yelled, trying to twist the sign in between them and the letters didn't all fit on the piece of poster board, getting progressively smaller from left to right.

Emma smiled and Anna announced she was done . "Hey, Rol," she said. "Thanks for the sign."

He beamed at her, kneeing Killian in the side when he tried to move again and, apparently, Robin was going to take pictures all afternoon, thumb nearly pushing through his phone screen as he ignored Will's suggestions completely. "What's going on here, right now?" Robin asked when he finally looked up at them and his eyes narrowed as soon as they fell on Killian. "Hook? You ok?"

Killian nodded, but Emma noticed Robin's gaze flicker towards Will. He shrugged, grabbing his phone and snapping no less than twenty-six photos in two seconds.

"Should we, uh, go get seats or something?" Mary Margaret asked, one arm around Henry and an encouraging smile on her face. She looked at Killian too.

Something was going on.

"There aren't assigned seats because this is not a real thing," Emma said. "So you guys might all have to beat down to sit next to each other, small army that we are."

"I think we can hold our own," Ruby promised. "After all, we did just deal with hickey-gate in record time, so you know, a fight for seats is, like, nothing."

"Oh my God, do not call it that."

"Too late!"

Ruby was gone as soon as the words were out of her mouth, tugging Anna and Elsa with her and the echo of her laugh would probably linger in the back corner of Emma's mind for the rest of her life or something.

She hoped the cover up lasted throughout the whole stupid ceremony.

Killian was still holding Roland and his ears were still tinged red, but he looked straight at Emma when the rest of them were gone, a nervous smile on his face that she couldn't quite remember ever seeing. And that didn't make any sense.

There was nothing to be nervous about.

Right? No, it was fine. And they hadn't even decided if they were going to go. They probably weren't going to go. There was travel andstuff and a whole other plan and things were fine as they were.

The site was running, the stream was running. There was no need to change any of that.

She should have told him two weeks ago.

"You're still thinking, Swan," Killian said, taking a step towards her and the sign Roland was clutching had sparkles on it and a video game controller Anna had absolutely drawn.

"So are you."

"Ah, yeah, that might be true."

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead, several different emotions shooting down her spine at that particular admission. "About?"

"The sun."

"What?"

"You were almost frighteningly on point before, love."

"I have no idea what you're saying."

"Yeah," Killian grinned, mumbling something against Roland's shoulder that sounded a lot like don't hit my kidneys like that, mate and they'd been the first ones there, so, naturally, Emma was going to walk into the ceremony late. "I know," he added. "At some point today, though."

"You sound like you've got, at least, three quarters of a plan."

"Two-thirds, for sure," he said with just a bit more confidence and Emma was smiling before she realized her mouth had even moved. "Definitely today."

"Promises, promises."

"Absolutely."

She scrunched her nose, butterflies in her stomach and nerves in the back of her mind and she really hoped she didn't fall across the stage because she was too busy thinking about that flash of something she could see in Killian's eyes to walk properly.

"Remember to flip your tassel, Swan," Killian continued, trying to shift Roland onto the floor so he could take a step into Emma's space and that didn't really work, but she almost didn't care when he kissed her anyway.

She did, in the end, remember to flip the tassel and she didn't quite stumble when they called her name, but no one in that entire, stupid auditorium noticed, far too distracted by the small eruption of sound that came from three rows in the back corner.

They called Emma Swan and she shook hands with some city official Killian probably knew the name of as well, but she barely even registered any of that, something she couldn't name working through every inch of her as she turned towards the noise.

Ruth was still crying, joined by Mary Margaret and Anna and, jeez, Ruby and Emma was never going to let her live that down, even if it meant she had to hear about hickey-gate every day for the rest of her life. Henry was standing on a chair, Regina with a hand on his back and the sign held as high above his head as he could reach and Robin was still taking photos.

Will was just making noise, screaming through cupped hands while he jumped up and down next to Elsa who had both hands on the side of her face and appeared to be just a few moments away from joining the crying brigade at the other end of the row.

David wasn't actually crying, but his shoulders weren't quite even either and he had that look on his face, chest heaving just a bit like he'd run a marathon and pride was a good look on him.

And Killian.

Killian who was, still, somehow, holding Roland Locksley and staring at Emma like...a string of adjectives he'd probably be able to come up with.

She flipped her tassel.

There were more pictures and there wasn't actually a degree in that little folder thing they handed her on stage because New York City was New York City, so naturally there was more paperwork to fill out, but Emma almost wasn't totally infuriated by that, trying to wade her way through some kind of metaphorical sea of feelings and home and team , in more ways than one.

Mary Margaret didn't just make those cookies Emma was obsessed with either – she made Henry cupcakes and bought fancy hot chocolate and cheesy Party City decorations and the paper napkins all had graduation caps on them.

Emma found Mary Margaret in the kitchen – trying to time up appetizers and her tiny oven and the microwave and the coffee maker was already on. "Hey," Emma said, wincing when Mary Margaret jumped. "Just me, just me."

Mary Margaret widened her eyes, huffing slightly and Emma smiled apologetically, holding her hands up, and the glasses in them, slightly. "God, you scared me."

"Yeah, I picked up on that. You ok? You need help?"

"Nah," Mary Margaret shook her head. "Are you ok? This is a lot of...family."

"Yeah, it is. That's...uh, that's why I came to find you, actually." Emma clicked her tongue when she stumbled over the words and Mary
Margaret narrowed her eyes slightly. "I just...well, I brought alcohol as some kind of thank you and you're the best and this is...you're the reason I believe, M's. All that happy ending talk stuck, I guess."

Mary Margaret's mouth dropped and Emma tried not actually wince, certain she'd get a slightly better reaction than that, but she hadn't really gotten the words out very well. "I can't take that," Mary Margaret said.

"What?"

"That," she repeated, nodding towards the cup in Emma's hand. "I can't drink that."

"What? It's good, fancy...I mean, Regina bought it so...oh shit."

Mary Margaret laughed softly, pulling her lips back behind her teeth and widening her eyes. "Got there, huh? That was incredibly quick."

"I live with a journalist, I'm all kinds of perceptive now."

"Yeah, I can see that."

Emma let out a rush of air and she must have been holding her breath because the noise she made was a mix of a sigh and an exclamation and she was the one crying. "God, that kid's going to have everything."

"That's the idea at least. And you should go home."

Emma blinked. "What? M's, c'mon, you tell me you're pregnant and then you kick me out of your apartment? Does David know?"

"I'm not kicking you out of anything. And of course David knows, but only David. We haven't told Ruth yet."

"You told me before you told Ruth?" Emma asked, doing her best not to just start sobbing in the kitchen. Mary Margaret grinned. "And you just told me to go home."

"Well, I don't know where you'll go when you leave here, but I do know that if you don't get out of here, soon, Killian might actually self
combust."

"What do you know?"

"Nothing."

"You and Killian should honestly stage some sort of lying contest."

"It's not a lie," Mary Margaret corrected. "It's an aversion to the truth in very specific circumstances."

Emma narrowed her eyes – she couldn't actually do that eyebrow thing Killian did – but Mary Margaret didn't say anything else, just nodded back towards the couch and Killian wasn't sitting down. He was pacing. In front of the window, while both Robin and Will took turns shooting him furtive glances.

"I'm going to leave now, apparently," Emma muttered and Mary Margaret just shrugged, a knowing smile on her face that almost matched up perfectly with David's. Ruth was still crying. "But...for real, this is...I will battle Ruby to some kind of MarioKart death to be the most obsessed with mini-Blanchard comma Nolan."

Mary Margaret laughed, eyes almost on the wrong side of glossy and Emma couldn't breathe when she felt arms wrapped around her. "You're definitely the front-runner," Mary Margaret mumbled into Emma's shoulder blade.

"And you're the only reason I know any of this works."

"Swan."

Emma snapped backwards, Killian eyeing her hopefully – and still just a bit nervously, that wasn't a word, God – arms crossed lightly over his chest and Mary Margaret made a noise that might have been words.

"You done digging your ditch, then?" Emma asked and Killian quirked his eyebrow in confusion. She nodded back towards the window, fairly certain she'd actually see track marks left behind. She didn't. It was a hardwood floor – science or something.

"Ah, right," Killian muttered, tugging on the back of his hair. "Yeah, no, there was no ditch."

Emma chewed on her lip, glancing towards Mary Margaret who appeared more than ready to push them both out the door if necessary. It wasn't. "You want to take a walk or something?" she asked, stepping into his space and pulling his fingers out of his hair. "Find a fountain?"

He almost smiled, fingers lacing through hers out of instinct. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea, Swan."

"A fantastic idea," Mary Margaret added, ignoring whatever glare-type look Killian shot her direction. She nudged on Emma's shoulder lightly, nodding towards the door. "Call me, later, like, you know, way later. Or at some point. Tomorrow. Call me tomorrow."

"What is going on?" Emma asked. Killian and Mary Margaret could have both been statues for as much as they moved in response. She sighed, rolling her whole head and only pausing long enough to kiss Ruth's cheek and promise they'd meet up for dinner the next day.

They were walking east. And that didn't make any sense at all because they lived north and west of Mary Margaret and David's apartment, but it was that kind of day and Emma wasn't really sure what was going on and, well, it had been a lot of family.

There weren't any fountains east. There was the FDR Drive and...consulates.

"I had no idea all of these things were over here," Emma said, breaking the relative silence because they were still in the middle of Manhattan and nothing was ever really quiet.

"What?" Killian asked.

She waved her free hand through the air – the other one still wrapped up in his – and she could practically hear his distraction. "This, consulates and the entire goddamn United Nations. Well, I knew that was here, so I guess the consulates make sense, but c'mon, what is going on with you? Seriously. You're freaking me out."

"That is actually the opposite of what I'm trying to do."

"Talk to me then."

Killian took a deep breath, eyes wide with several dozen emotions and they were standing in front of the Consulate General of Luxembourg. It almost smelled like the ocean, waves almost audible if Emma strained to hear them and it wasn't really late, but it was the middle of June and diplomats probably didn't work during the summer.

It was, almost, quiet.

"I love you," he said, but with a quiet urgency that didn't quite make sense.

Emma nodded slowly. "I love you, too. Was that the answer?"

"You didn't ask a question, Swan."

"I'm not the journalist in this relationship."

Killian scoffed and the smile was still a bit nervous – he hadn't let go of her hand. If anything he held on tighter. He squeezed one eye shut, tilting his head and Emma tried not to wilt under the force of his stare, all those adjectives she hadn't been able to come up with before reappearing in force.

"Alright," Emma said, seizing control of the conversation and, eventually, she'd realize that's where she went wrong. "I do have a question."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Um...we haven't really decided one way or another, but, uh there's another thing. An Overwatch thing happening. In a couple of months and it's, you know, probably not more organized crime, maybe, fingers crossed, but they're trying again and doing area-specific teams and, well….Ruby got the email."

"This is still not a question, love."

Emma rolled her eyes and the whiplash through emotions was...weird. Killian smiled at her, tugging her back against his chest and the waves weren't just loud, they were causing wind or something and that was more science that was decidedly out of place for the conversation they were, maybe, having.

"Ruby got the email," she repeated. "Two weeks ago. And the league people contacted us, which didn't happen the first time and Els thinks that's a good sign and we could all still stream, Belle read the contract and this thing wants us to be popular and there'd be some travel involved and…"

"And?"

"And it might be a good story."

He kissed her. Again. And she wasn't entirely ready for it, swaying slightly in her flats and the wind and the goddamn ocean air and she probably wouldn't be able to find Luxembourg on a map. Emma wound her fingers through the bottom of Killian's hair, trying to make sure he couldn't pull away and it didn't really matter because he didn't seem all that inclined to stop.

Breathing, eventually, became a necessity and Emma tried to regain her equilibrium when he brushed his thumb across her jaw.

"Was there actually a question in there, love?" Killian asked. "And is that what you've been thinking about all day?"

"Yeah, to that second one. And the question isn't so much a question as it is a request. I mean, if we're going to do this and there's going to be coverage anyway, then you might as well write it, right?"

"A glowing review."

"I'm serious. I...I want you to."

And it was like any worry or nerves or whatever he hadn't been telling her all day disappeared, replaced with something that felt akin to being stared at by the sun.

Oh.

Oh.

She was incredibly quick on the uptake that day. It was probably because she had a degree – or would have a degree in six to eight weeks once she paid the city of New York fifty more bucks.

"The sun," Emma mumbled. "Like the sun."

Killian, somehow, managed to take a step towards her or just occupy the same space and Emma was positive she could feel him everywhere or maybe she was just delirious because she couldn't actually remember the last time she took a deep breath.

"Do I get my follow-up, now?" he asked softly.

She heard him perfectly. "Yeah, ok."

"You know when I got here, I thought I'd be gone in a couple of months," Killian said. "That's why it took so long to get out of the hotel and Scarlet's and it wasn't...I didn't want to stay until you, Swan. I was...it didn't matter, none of mattered and then all of it mattered and then some in a way I couldn't remember anything ever actually mattering."

He let out a shaky breath, licking his lips quickly and Emma's lungs were on fire, she was sure of it. "And I know it hasn't been...well, it hasn't been easy, right? But I would do it all again if it meant we ended up here. So there can be stories or no stories and every site I write for could just explode or however the internet works and I will still be right here, with you, for as long as you'll have me."

She still wasn't breathing.

She was surprised she was even standing.

"That's not a question," Emma said, pushing her finger into his chest and she didn't remember moving her hands.

Idiot.

Killian laughed. "That's true," he agreed, leaning back to pull something out of his pocket.

"Holy shit," Emma breathed, and there was more laughter and, somehow, still vaguely coherent thoughts and there was a ring.

He got down on one knee. In front of the Consulate General of Luxembourg. "Emma, will you marry me?"

She wanted to respond immediately. She did. Honestly. And she'd have been lying if she said she hadn't thought about this for just...a questionable amount of time. So, naturally, Emma didn't do anything the way she thought she would.

She jumped at him instead.

And, really, that almost made more sense.

Killian had to throw his hand back to keep from crashing into the sidewalk and, at least, three cars honked as soon as Emma fell against him, but she was laughing and smiling and maybe crying, again, and he was still holding the ring.

"Swan," he muttered, but it barely sounded like her name in between the kissing and the honking and the goddamn waves. How were there waves? Wasn't it a river? God, she should have paid more attention in that not-quite science class.

"I thought we'd agreed on this no talking thing before," she said. They were sitting on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, but that was before we started asking questions."

She kissed him again, appreciating that soft sound he made when she opened her mouth slightly and the weight of his hand on her back was a comfort she was never quite sure she'd ever actually get used to. "I love you," Emma whispered.

"Was that an answer?"

"You're really harping on this, huh?"

"It'd be a bit helpful to get an actual response, Emma. On the record, as it were."

"Idiot."

"That wasn't really the response I was hoping for."

Emma grinned – butterflies and belief and hope and this was the moment . "Of course," she said, and Killian might have jumped that time, some kind of celebratory sound on his lips that disappeared as soon as they met hers.

And someone in a car yelled get a room and, well, they did, theirs, but only after they scandalized the cab driver by making out in the backseat for an entire cross-town trip and Emma didn't turn her phone back on when it died at some point in the middle of the night, far too focused on this and them and the way the light from the street reflected off her ring.

It was, as far as moments went, the best one.

Three Years Later

It was, approximately, eight-hundred degrees outside.

And he had to wear a tux.

He did not want to wear a tux. He did not want to go to this thing. Ceremony. Event. Whatever.

"If you stare at your phone any harder, you're going to actually crack the screen."

Killian spun on the spot, nearly dropping his phone in the process and oh. Maybe he didn't mind going to this ceremony, event thing. If it meant that dress existed and it existed on Emma – his wife, which was still taking some time to get used to – then maybe it was worth it to be paraded around like some kind of journalism peacock.

Emma smiled slightly, a nervous edge that didn't belong there when she was wearing that dress and he was having a hard time remembering his own name, let alone how to properly compliment his wife.

"If you stare at me any harder, you might actually break me," she said, taking a step towards him and his hands fell on her hips out of instinct and years of practice and a year and a half of marriage.

Killian shook his head, trying to remember the English language or even conversational French and his jaw felt like it was locked in place. Emma leaned back, eyeing him speculatively and she already knew.

"They said maybe today," she whispered, mostly into his shoulder and he tightened his hand.

"It's not very timely, Swan," Killian mumbled. "Maybe we shouldn't go."

"You just don't want to go and you're using this as an excuse."

"That's not true, at all."

"Couldn't even make it sound like the truth, huh?" Emma asked, leaning back and maybe if they didn't have to go so he could just spend the rest of the night trying to memorize the, approximately, eighteen different shades of green in her eyes and hoping and coming up with a compliment about that very distracting dress.

Probably not.

"You look incredible, you know that?" Killian muttered, appreciating the soft flush that crept across Emma's cheeks and maybe they could just spend the rest of the night in that very specific spot in their room and maybe there'd be a hell of lot of kissing involved.

That, almost, seemed responsible.

He really did not want to go to this thing.

Not when they were maybe going to call at some point that day and it was already six o'clock and half of him had resigned himself to the idea that no one was going to call because it was Friday and the city of New York loved to just stop working, collectively, at four o'clock on Friday nights.

"You're not wearing a tie," Emma said, and it was enough to pull Killian out of thoughts that weren't so much thoughts as they were complaints and a very thin shred of patience he was barely clinging to.

"I thought I'd live on the edge."

"Regina will be pissed."

"Gina can deal."

"C'mon, she's been really helpful the last couple of months."

That was true. She had. And Killian wasn't going to be able to get out of this night or the tie or the tuxedo jacket he'd have to put on despite whatever heat wave had descended on the entire island of Manhattan earlier that week.

Regina had actually spent most of the last few months on the phone – since he and Emma had decided and it wasn't really so much a decision as it was just obvious and, God, he wanted – talking to people and agencies and calling someone she knew in Children's Services every other day, demanding updates about paperwork and files and promising that Emma Swan and Killian Jones are some of the best people I know, make this happen Mark.

He didn't know who Mark was, but he was fairly certain he wasn't supposed to hear that conversation.

And he should really work on being less of an asshole.

Maybe they knew that and that's why they hadn't called. Ah, that was depressing. Regina would probably smack him if she knew he was thinking that.

And then promise this is going to work because he and Emma were married and they had money and were willing to move and the site was doing well – would be doing even better if the night went the way it was supposed to – and Emma was some kind of legitimate celebrity now.

They started counting the number of times people asked her to pose for selfies every time they went out now.

The high was twenty-two one time they went out downtown and Ruby still brought it up every time they streamed – but only after she mentioned that the grand return of Widow's Wail had ended in an actual video game title and a very large monetary prize and this should work.

They should have called by now.

"You should really put a tie on," Emma said, tapping her finger on the row of buttons on his shirt. He grabbed her hand, tugging it up to brush his lips over her knuckles and she exhaled softly, eyelashes fluttering and it was going to work.

"You're going to have to tie it, love."

"I watched some videos."

"Did you really?"

Emma flushed again, shrugging slightly and she wasn't wearing shoes yet, pressing up on her toes to rest her hands on his shoulders. "They're going to call, right?" she asked, quieter than anything else she'd said and Killian's heart stuttered in his chest.

It hadn't really been a big wedding, all things considered – a loft on the West Side and photos in Lincoln Center, which, required, just an absurd, amount of paperwork since Lincoln Center was private property, but that tour guide, apparently, had some pull and knew a security guard who was willing to let them pose for half an hour while quietly looking the exact opposite direction.

It had been freezing. It was December. And windy. And Emma's teeth chattered when Killian announced we're going to get coffee, directing them both to the Starbucks at the end of the block and a barista who looked more than a little stunned to find them at the register.

Killian stole her cinnamon.

He gave it to her that night – feet on the wrong side of sore after Ariel decreed that this is a wedding, there will be dancing, get up and Mary Margaret and David booked them a hotel a few blocks from the park, promising you can't stay in your own apartment on your wedding night. Well, Mary Margaret said that. David didn't seem very interested in discussing the wedding night.

"Have you been carting this around in your pocket the whole time?" Emma asked, fingers in his hair and a smile on her face with blankets pooled at her waist.

Killian grinned, balancing the plastic container in tiny amount of space between them. That bed was enormous – they were taking up, approximately, two feet. "It was in my jacket pocket," he said. "There's probably just a small mound of cinnamon in there now."

"Good thing you bought it."

"The cinnamon or the jacket? Because I promise, Swan, I did not buy this cinnamon."

"The jacket," she laughed, hair everywhere and eyes bright and they should probably buy that hotel too, just so they never had to leave it. "I'd be scandalized if you actually bought that cinnamon. And what would you even offer them? It's, technically, free."

Killian blinked, trying to memorize all of it – the light in the room somehow making her hair seem lighter and the feel of her legs tangled in between his and how she traced her fingers over his left arm without even thinking about it, prosthetic resting on the table behind him.

"I think I'd be willing to overpay," he said, and it was absolutely a line, but it absolutely worked and neither one of them spent much time discussing cinnamon the rest of the night.

They did, however, discuss something else and he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it, wanted it, maybe just a bit desperately from the very beginning, thinking things far earlier than normal relationship schedules dictated.

It didn't really matter.

Emma brought it up.

He should have figured.

He was brushing his teeth – standing barefoot in the very fancy, marble-floored bathroom of that very fancy hotel and they needed to leave because there was a check-out time and that was just absurd because the only thing he really wanted to do was spend the next several weeks with his wife in bed. He saw her in the mirror before she said anything, lip twisted in between her teeth and a smudge of makeup under her eye that hadn't actually washed off when they'd tested the shower the night before.

They didn't really shower.

"I have a question," Emma started, hopping onto the edge of the comically large sink and swinging her legs out in front of her. "Or, well, more of a statement, I guess? No, it's definitely a question."

He was still brushing his teeth, eyebrows lifted slightly in response and she didn't look away from him when she started talking again. "Do you...I mean...maybe...would you ever want a kid?"

He swallowed all the toothpaste in his mouth and then nearly choked. The morning after his wedding. Emma bit her lip even tighter.

"What?" Killian asked. Emma winced and, no, that wasn't right. That was the opposite of right. He shook his head quickly and there was still toothpaste in his mouth, but he ran the back of his hand over his lips and tried to promise everything without actually saying all of it at once. "No, no, Swan, that's...that wasn't what I meant."

"No?"

"No, the opposite of no."

"Is usually yes."

"Then, yeah, that."

She stopped biting her lip. And it was like seeing the sun and that wasn't a metaphor he'd thought of in, at least, a year and a half, but that's exactly what it was and the science kind of checked out. "Yeah?" Emma whispered, and Killian nodded quickly, likely doing permanent damage to his neck in an attempt to make his point.

"Unequivocally."

"Good word."

Killian hummed, trying to keep the toothpaste out of the conversation as he moved in between Emma's legs. "What brought that on, Swan?" he asked softly, desperate to keep his voice steady on each word and that was almost as challenging as talking through a mouth full of toothpaste.

"I don't know...I mean, we've kind of talked about. Something about responsibility, but, uh, well, M's sent me a picture and Ruthie did something absolutely adorable and, well, I started thinking again and…"

"And?"

"And, uh, I mean...it was cute and I…"

He lifted his eyebrows, resting his hand on her thigh and they could afford another night in that hotel. Absolutely. Definitely. He was married to an internet celebrity. Not that he'd make her pay for the hotel.

That probably wasn't a very romantic start.

"But I've had another thought," Emma continued, the words just a bit more certain than they'd been while discussing the perpetual adorable'ness of Ruth Nolan. The younger version.

"Which is?"

"You know, eventually, if it happens….that's good and everything, but I thought…"

Oh.

Of course.

And something in the back corner of his mind – the front corner too, if he was being honest, every single inch of him practically screaming in agreement and hope and maybe they could start researching how this worked now and he should find his phone.

He could search things on his phone.

Adoption.

He knew. And Killian wasn't ever sure how he knew, but he did and he wanted and he was nodding before Emma could get another word out. "Yes," he said, far louder than he expected to, but he'd more or less lost control of just about everything.

"What? I didn't get to the question."

"Yes," Killian repeated, ducking his head until he was in her eye line and the world suddenly felt a bit more positive and a hell of a lot brighter and he hadn't expected that after the day before, but he wasn't going to argue it.

He was going to fill out a shit ton of paperwork.

"That whole open book thing seems like cheating in moments like this," Emma grumbled. "I had a whole spiel planned. I had reasons. And ideas. And explanations."

"I don't need any of those."

"But I had them."

"And I appreciate the thought behind all of those things, love, but I really don't need them. You don't have to try and convince me of anything."

She sagged forward slightly, resting her head against his shoulder and the goddamn sink was in the way so he couldn't actually step close enough to her, but Killian tried anyway, wrapping his arm around her waist and trailing kisses along her neck.

"We just could help," Emma mumbled and Killian's heart grew forty-seven sizes. "And I wouldn't even care about age, but if we could get a kid out before it got bad then…

"Yes," he said again, a broken record of emotion and feeling and a want that was probably bordering close to selfish.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They started researching the next day – after he called the front desk and told them they'd need another room and they didn't actually go outside. And nearly a year and a half later, they'd finally, finally, gotten some kind of response.

Or a promise for a response. Soon. Maybe.

They'd called Emma three days before, at a very appropriate two-thirty in the afternoon, and told them they'd received their paperwork and were processing, whatever that meant, and there were more levels to get through and that wasn't the word they used. That's what Emma kept calling it.

It made Killian smile – when he wasn't too busy being stressed the fuck out . Because the next level was pre-adoption and a trial run with a kid, a kid who could become their kid and it would be fine, he knew it would be fine, knew they'd love any kid unequivocally and irrevocably, but the waiting was not-so-slowly driving him insane.

"They're going to call, Swan," he said, doing his best to sound as confident as he absolutely did not feel.

Emma rolled her eyes, glowering at him and he hadn't noticed she'd brought his tie into the bedroom. She slung the material around his neck, working it under his collar and his jacket was...somewhere.

She probably knew where his jacket was.

"Soon," Emma added, fingers moving quickly and she clicked her tongue when he tried to nod. He nearly choked himself in the process.

Regina would kill him if he died before this thing.

"Absolutely," Killian promised.

"You look nice counselor. We'll probably look good in the pictures, maybe we can send those to the people, let them know we clean up well."

"That's absolutely going to make all the difference."

"At least a good picture. Mary Margaret wanted one. She helped pick out the dress."

"I should probably thank her."

"It's a good dress, right?"

"A fantastic dress," he agreed, dragging his hand down the curve of her hip and moving his eyebrows until Emma actually laughed, resting her hands flat against the front of his shirt. It was buttoned now. He hadn't even realized she'd buttoned his shirt.

God, he was losing his mind.

These people needed to call.

Tongiht.

Two hours before.

"If we are late to this thing, Regina is going to riot," Emma muttered. "And we can't leave Scarlet there to charm investors. That's just going to end in disaster."

Killian rolled his eyes. "There shouldn't even be investors. The site's doing fine. We're making money. We had to give our tax returns to Child Services."

"I don't think that makes much of a difference to the investors. Or the advertisers. Especially the advertisers. And this is part celebration too, you know that."

It was.

It was some kind of anniversary and the site was some kind of accredited source that broke news and told good stories, but journalism was, well, journalism and Regina wasn't Cora, but she was still almost constantly worried about investors and advertisers and there were always more to find of both.

That required Killian to wear a tuxedo in a heat wave and Emma to wear a dress he'd probably think about into the afterlife.

"At last count there were fifteen prospective advertisers set to be wined and dined downtown tonight," Killian said. "Not to mention the usual suspects and A's supposed to be working some kind of charm circuit to prove to all of them that our numbers are real."

"Do they think your numbers aren't real?"

"I think they are surprised by how real our numbers are."

"That kind of sounded like a line to the numbers."

Killian laughed, some of the frustration at his incredibly silent phone and incredibly overheated body melting away as soon as he looked at Emma and it was going to work. Eventually. They just had to be patient.

"I promise, Swan, the only person I am interested in using undeniably romantic lines on is you," he said, leaning forward to kiss her forehead and he didn't even need to see her to know she was rolling her eyes.

"That was the worst line you've ever used."

"That can't possibly be true."

"I am well acquainted with your charms, counselor, I'm not lying."

He was going to kiss her – again or maybe just tug her towards the bed or the counter or whatever , but he didn't get a chance.

A phone started ringing.

And it was like the whole world froze and Killian swore he could almost feel the air stop moving in his lungs, stuck halfway in his throat and flying out his mouth when his jaw actually dropped open.

"It's late," Emma muttered, but it sounded like she was trying to convince herself it couldn't be what they both so desperately wanted it to be. "It's probably Scarlet demanding we share a cab downtown because he doesn't want to pay."

"That actually makes a ton of sense."

"I think that's my phone."

"That's your ring tone."

"We have the same ring tone."

"We have different kinds of phones, your ring tone is...it's different," Killian stammered, the words flipping on the edge of his tongue like every single one of his internal organs and if it was Scarlet demanding they share a cab he wasn't going to be held accountable for the amount of rum he drank at this very fancy, very corporate event.

"I'm going to go answer my phone."

Killian nodded, suddenly unable to come up with any words – positive or negative or, just, generically frustrated – and Emma pulled up the bottom of her dress to actually run back down the hallway.

He could hear her answer and he probably should have sat down because his legs felt like jello or pudding or some vaguely disgusting mixture of both, but Killian was fairly certain he wasn't actually getting enough oxygen to his brain, so staying in one place seemed like the best option.

And it seemed to last forever, but that might have been the oxygen deprivation or the way Emma's voice picked up the longer the conversation went on and the words started to slur together a bit.

That might have just been Killian's vision.

It seemed to last forever, but, eventually, he realized, it was only a few minutes and he heard Emma's footsteps before he saw her.

She was smiling.

And she nodded.

He never really knew who moved first, just that they moved towards each other, a mess of hands and lips and matching smiles and laughter and they'd called back.

"I love you," Killian whispered, pressing the words against Emma's neck and the curve of her jaw and the skin behind her ear and he could feel her smile against his cheek, tears that might have been hers or possibly his and it didn't really matter one way or another.

They were late.

And Scarlet had left four voicemails asking to share a car.

"What the hell, Hook?" he demanded as soon as the Uber they, eventually, got stopped in front of another Manhattan loft. Killian was still smiling. "What's going on with your face?"

"Excuse me?" Killian asked, holding his hand out towards Emma and slinging his arm around her shoulders as soon she moved next to him. "Haven't we done this before? This all seems strangely familiar."

"Yeah, but you're allowed to flaunt your disgusting romance at this company event."

"Delightful as always, Scarlet."

"Ass."

"Yes."

Will deflated at that, eyes flashing towards Emma like he was looking for backup or an explanation and groaning when he didn't get either. "What's going on with you guys?" he pressed, stepping forward to knock the toe of his shoe against Killian's ankle. "You're all freaky, smile guy."

"Freaky, smile guy," Emma laughed, letting her weight fall against his side and he absolutely tightened his arm. And kissed her hair. Will groaned.

"What is going on? You know Gina's losing her shit in there? She had this whole schedule, Hook. You were supposed to be here forty-five minutes ago so she could parade you and your awards around and people would just start throwing money at us."

"That is absolutely not what the plan was," Killian muttered, and he tried to be annoyed. He did. But they'd called and there was a new schedule he was, suddenly, far more interested in and a nine o'clock appointment a week from Monday that was going to change everything.

God, he was happy.

Elated. Thrilled. Ecstatic. Joyful.

"It was kind of like that," Will argued, snapping his head back when the doors opened again and a clearly frustrated and annoyed Robin glared at all of them.

"What the hell, Hook?" he yelled, throwing his hands up and rolling his whole head with his eyes and his shoulders. He kicked Killian's ankle. "There was a plan! You were supposed to be here hours ago."

"Oh my God, it was forty-five minutes," Emma muttered, and Killian kissed her hair again.

Robin's expression didn't change.

"A is running out of numbers to talk about. She's started repeating things and Gina's almost actually steaming. That's not even hyperbole, Hook. That is an actual fact."

"Stewing," Will added. "Audibly. She just keeps muttering about all the different places she's going to send you."

"What?" Killian asked, but he was only half listening, fingers moving up and down Emma's back and it was absolutely disgusting outside. He was going to sweat to death before Regina even got to him.

"Hell, Hook. A variety of different hells and underworlds and did you know how many different Greek gods could curse you to all of those places?"

"No," he said at the same time Emma said "yes" and Will gaped at both of them.

"What is going on?" he asked again, stomping his foot for emphasis.

Robin narrowed his eyes.

"That's probably a good skill, Swan," Killian said, ignoring his friends and the string of questions Will was shouting at them. "Good for homework. Book reports."

She scrunched her nose, hands still gripping the lapels of his jacket and that felt a bit familiar too. "We're, like, homework experts at this point anyway."

"That's definitely true. She'll probably be a genius."

"It could be a boy. They weren't specific on the phone."

It was like both Will and Robin erupted, right there on the sidewalk, exclamations and shouting and several words that absolutely sounded like what the fuck is going on, Hook. Will smacked him, both hands hitting against his shoulder and his forearm and ribs that sometimes, still, ached just a bit before it rained.

"Are you kidding me?" Will shouted, and his feet had joined the melee, bouncing back and forth to try and keep his balance while still connecting with Killian's ankle.

"Scarlet, if you keep beating up Killian, we're just going to go back home," Emma warned, and her voice almost sounded threatening, but she was still smiling and she hadn't actually taken a step back.

The muscles in their cheeks were going to get overworked.

"Fine, fine, fine," Will muttered, hands in the air when the door opened again. Robin was frozen – staring straight at Killian with something that felt like disbelief and a hell of a lot like pride.

Ariel ran towards them, eyes somewhere close to on fire, and Regina wasn't far behind her, still muttering under her breath and glaring at Killian like he'd committed several felonies or been sent to a medium-security prison upstate.

"What the hell, Killian," Regina screeched, and he tried not to roll his eyes, certain it would just end with more kicks at his ankle.

"You've got to get here quicker, Gina," Will muttered. "We've done all of this already. You've missed all the breaking news."

Ariel made some kind of gagging noise, sticking her tongue out and Will grinned at her. "Don't be a jerk," she chastised. "Killian, you were supposed to be here, like, days ago. Is everything...oh. Oh! Oh my God, for real?"

Killian moved his eyebrows, the smile on his face, somehow, getting wider and Emma laughed, burrowing further against his side and she might have actually been bobbing up and down on her feet. Ariel absolutely was.

She started jumping – hands pressed over mouth when she just started making some kind high-pitched noise that only certain animals could likely hear. "Guys," she shouted, jumping towards Emma and Killian and grabbing both of their shoulders with her hands. "You have to answer the question!"

"Was there a question in there?" Killian asked, chuckling when Ariel stuck her tongue out again.

"To be fair, I was still kind of thinking about homework," Emma admitted. "Although now we know they'll be good at Greek mythology and vocabulary tests."

"See, genius. Genius kid."

"Oh, damn we didn't tell Mary Margaret yet."

"She'll understand."

Ariel shrieked again, actually getting a good amount of air on her latest leap and Regina had gone slack jawed, not cursing Killian to any location, demonic or otherwise. She had the same look on her face that was, practically, etched on Robin's at this point.

"Killian," she breathed, and it came out like a whisper, barely audible over the party and the cars and he nodded.

Regina wasn't much of a hugger – usually more apt to tell Killian how she was feeling, frequently with a very specific brand of sarcasm, but it had been a night in some kind of life-changing way and so it almost figured that she'd hug him.

Or both him and Emma, who was still tugged up against his side and they were some weird, three-person, blob by the end of it all with more tears and more laughing and Will's phone shutter clicking in the background.

"For Mary Margaret," he explained and, well, that almost made sense too.

"When?" Regina asked.

They'd all lost the ability to ask questions. They were terrible journalists.

"Next Monday," Killian answered, and Ariel made another noise, something that sounded a bit like a choked out sob or possibly closer to a whimper. Robin stood up straighter, beaming at him and shaking his head slightly in disbelief.

"It's kind of a test period," Emma said. "Not that we'd ever...you know, not want to, but, uh...for the kid and making sure he or she is good in our apartment and that it all kind of gels."

"It's totally going to gel," Will promised, a picture of confidence that shouldn't have been a surprise. He'd given a very good best man speech, after all, and told Killian if he didn't get to give his best man speech he'd never talk to him again.

"Absolutely," Ariel agreed. She was still jumping up and down.

Regina was crying.

Huh.

Killian glanced in Robin's direction, eyes narrowing slightly when the expression still didn't change and it felt like a decade and a half earlier and broken feet and broken promises and he hoped….

"He'd be proud of you," Robin said and any of the air Killian had in his lungs seems to fly out of him in one, enormous huff. "I am...I'm so incredibly proud of you."

Emma might have pushed him forward, which was probably for the best because Killian's legs were some brand of dessert again, and he almost crashed against Robin, but he felt arms around him again and all his muscles were a bit too tight and too loose all at the same time.

"Henry and Rol are going to spoil that kid rotten," Robin continued, gripping both of Killian's shoulders to look at him. "Best not-quite-cousin a kid could ask for."

"So, uh, we should drink some super expensive champagne, right?" Will asked.

"Yeah," Regina replied. "Super expensive champagne."

They did just that and Killian did, eventually, meet the investors and the advertisers and there were lots of hands to shake and promises to agree to and his left hand never moved away from Emma's back.

They didn't really sleep that night – wrapped up in blankets and each other and a whole new set of possibilities and plans and a futurethat was now, suddenly, laid out in front of them.

They talked about it all.

They talked about schools and commutes and what kind of pie they wanted to bake on Thanksgiving. Cinnamon something, of course. And they talked about vacations and college and homework schedules and maybe, maybe, they'd be mom and dad.

They told Mary Margaret – and David and the rest of Widow's Wail – and there were more tears and more screams and shouts and Ruby announced that kid is going to be the best goddamn MarioKart player in the history of the world and there was more than one trip to a Target in Queens and a small mountain of supplies and diapers and a crib that took far too long to build and required Killian, David and Robin to make sure it didn't collapse while Will cackled in the background.

The alarm went off on Monday morning and it didn't really have to because neither one of them had really fallen asleep the night before, far too wired and anxious and ready and there was a town car waiting for them downstairs.

"We should really buy Regina something," Emma muttered, sliding into the backseat and lacing her fingers up with his.

"This was A," Killian said. "She set it all up last night on company dime."

"We're doing this weird, history and cyclical thing and it's kind of freaking me out."

"It's symmetrical, Swan. I think it's a sign."

"For what?"

"That this is going to work."

Emma sighed softly, a ghost of a smile flashing across her lips. "Yeah," she said. "This is absolutely going to work."

It was a girl.

Or, rather, she was a girl and she was tiny and just a few months old and nothing in the entire world would probably ever convince him that she was anything less than perfect.

Abigail.

The social worker told them her name was Abigail and it fit and Killian's heart must have exploded because it felt like his chest was too small to contain all of it and Emma squeezed her fingers around his brace.

"Oh, yeah, ok," Emma murmured, trailing her finger over the curve of a tiny elbow and if his heart hadn't already exploded or evaporated or done something impossible, he would have been certain it did all of those things again.

Killian never believed in much.

The world had made sure of that – taken everything and everyone he'd loved and twisted it until he hated just about everything and everyone and he never wanted to come back to New York.

He never wanted to come home.

But the world, it seemed, had other plans.

And, well, maybe it was worth the wait.

He was dimly aware of the social worker asking Emma something, but he was too busy trying to find his balance when gravity disappeared to realize that the entire world was about to shift.

Emma muttered a string of words under her breath and Killian glanced up just quick enough to see Abigail move in her arms and breathing was, absolutely, overrated.

"Hey, hi," Emma whispered, rocking back and forth on her feet and Killian was never going to blink again. "You're going to come home with us for a little while, ok?"

Abigail made a decidedly months-old baby type of noise and Killian was fairly sure his entire body was just systematically shutting down. He moved forward anyway, fingers tracing out the same pattern Emma's did over Abigail's arm and he glanced up towards her, lips pressed together tightly and eyes just a hint wider than normal.

He nodded.

"I love you," she said, and the world righted itself. All over again.

They couldn't file paperwork immediately, but that was more a technicality than anything and she'd been with them for a month before they were signing on dotted lines and filing more tax returns and proof of their inherent goodness as human beings.

And it took forever, again, but Abigail stayed with them and it took far less than forever to become a family.

They called again on a Tuesday afternoon – paperwork approved and there were court dates to deal with and more things to sign, but it didn't really matter and Abigail was theirs even without any of it.

"What happens, next, right, Swan?"

She nodded, grinning when he started babbling nonsense at Abigail. "Everything," Emma said.

And, once upon a time, when Killian Jones, begrudgingly came home, he was certain he was just going to have to figure out a way to survive, to deal with the city and the chaos and, eventually, he'd get out.

He was an idiot.

Liam was probably laughing at him.

And, there, sitting on the couch with Emma next to him and Abigail in her arms, it all seemed to settle, falling into something he'd always wanted and it wasn't just about surviving, it was about living.