SO SORRY IT'S BEEN MONTHS. I have no excuse, I won't waste your time with the typical "life is busy" excuse. I should've updated sooner. Sorry, darlings.

Emma Swan was positive that if she kept at it for another minute, she would surely wear a hole right through the floor and into the apartment below. And she could only assume that Gold would be none too pleased and up their rent in response. But she had yet to find a way to calm herself. So she continued pacing.

To hell with the floor. There were more pressing matters at hand. At hand, in uterus, consuming her life…Yes. There were definitely bigger things to worry about. And worry about them, she did.

A baby. A baby. On the list of things that could accidentally occur in her life and drastically change it, unplanned pregnancy sat right at the top. And she had managed to check that box twice now. Not to mention that those check marks occurred fourteen years apart. Well woop-de-doo…Ten points for Emma.

And twenty for Graham and his seemingly very fertile self.

It had been a week. She had denied it, shoved it aside, ignored it, everything. But as fate so often liked to remind her, life cannot be ignored and you can't run away from it forever.

Peanut butter. It was all she could think about. Well, besides the human being currently nestled in her—GOD. Why did he have to be so cheeky? Graham knew that face would put her at his mercy with a single glance, and now look where it'd gotten them. She was never having sex again after this kid was born. Never.

Oh. Right. Peanut butter. Peanut butter would solve all of her problems, she was convinced.

Maybe with some toast.

Emma Swan could cook. She knew she could cook. Give her a recipe and an oven or a stove and she could whip out a delicious dish. What Emma Swan could not do, however, was work a toaster.

On many an occasion she found herself in complete lack of a toaster; though only by her own doing. In times of frustration she found that attacking them with her underlying hatred for them was therapeutic.

Part of her liked to think that maybe if this kid didn't make her have to pee all the time she might've avoided all of what came next. But somewhere deep down she knew that her and toasters were just a love affair that was never meant to be; no matter the circumstances.

Emerging from the bathroom, she found herself confronted with the unpleasant stench of burnt bread. Cursing, she shuffled her socked feet across the wood floor and into the kitchen, popping up the lever on the toaster and releasing two large black pieces of bread. Correction. No longer bread. More like charcoal.

She felt her fingers start to tightened as her frustration rose but she shoved it aside and reached to retrieve the remnants of her would-be snack.

As she grasped the second piece, and large chunk broke off and remained settled deep within the still hot coils of the toaster. Now, if Emma Swan had been in a clear state of mind, she would have—oh who was she kidding. She would've done the following actions all the same. Dipping her fingers into the slot, she moved them around blindly in search of the missing scrap. Misjudging the width of the space she rocket her index finger into one of the hot coils, and seared the middle knuckle without abandon.

Whipping her hand out with a sharp cry she immediately pressed the burned joint into her mouth and sucked on it until she reached the sink. She hissed as the water numbed the throbbing and, once content with the pain level of the sting, backed away from the sink and set herself toward the bedroom to fetch a book.

Or maybe watch TV. Her blood pressure had already risen enough and she was close to launching into one of her piss parties which the toaster was not likely to survive. A book might not be enough of a distraction.

Or maybe it would've been. But she would never know.

Earlier that hour she had hastily done the dishes as an attempt to keep her mind off of the mounting pressure of reality, and apparently splashed water about and onto the floor. Which her foot promptly stepped into en route to the hallway that led to the bedrooms. The cool liquid seeped quickly through her sock and left her with a chilling, and quite agitating, wet spot on the sole of her foot.

Groaning audibly she reached down to pull off the sock, hopping around on her other foot.

"Damnit." Bouncing crookedly, her body wobbled about until making its way back into the eating area. She started moving backward and felt herself about to fall, so she twisted her waist violently and swung her jumping foot out in the opposite direction, hoping to connect with the ground and stabilize herself.

As fate would have it she did connect with something. But not the ground. The big toe of her left foot slammed directly into the leg of the table, spurning another sharp cry. Responding automatically, she reached out for anything she could grasp and in doing so, her wrist connected with a vase on the table and she watched in horror as it toppled over the edge and onto the floor, shattering immediately and sending even more water across the kitchen floor.

Emma dropped her throbbing foot to the ground, released an exasperated growl and observed the scene before her. Running her tight fingers through her curls, she could feel a headache mounting and knew that she needed to release the fuming anger she was bottling or else she might dump it on the nearest victim.

She needed to scream, to hit something, or to tear something to shreds. Her life felt like it was slowly falling to pieces and the last five minutes of her day were driving her to the precipice of a breakdown. She couldn't explain the anger but for the longest time it had been her go to emotion. This moment was no exception.

The blood pumped through her veins and down her arms and her fists clenched. She needed to hit something. Now.

It had been said many timed that Graham did not have the greatest luck. He had his heart taken out, crushed, and coincidences and happenstance were very much not in his favor. This instance was no exception.

Having snuck silently in the door amongst Emma's water-table-vase fiasco, he walked up behind her and made the stupidest comment a man in that position could have made.

"Wow. Your day is going great isn't it."

He would've added a chuckle at the end of his words if it weren't for the hurtling fist that connected with his jaw as a certain fuming blonde whirled around and walloped him across the face. The force knocked him backwards and he stood hunched over and in shock, his wide eyes rising up to the ones of his girlfriend who looked more frenzied than he'd ever seen her.

He didn't even want to know what he'd done now. Before he could ask, realization hit Emma's eyes and she stepped backwards wanting to distance herself from her unsuspecting victim. Her eyes started to wet and her brow knitted tightly together, her mouth open and slack. She took a second step back, but upon doing so, slid into the large puddle onto the floor and sent her foot out from under her and throwing her form into the air before connecting her rear firmly with the kitchen floor.

The thump was definitely loud enough to be heard a floor below.

Emma Swan was officially done. After the girlish shriek left her mouth and the shock of her slip subsided, she collapsed on her back and sprawled out starfish-style in defeat. Her wild curls laid spiraling in all directions and the puddle was slowly working its way through her clothing. But at this point she really didn't care.

"I give up. I actually, seriously, give up," she called out into the quiet air before bursting into tears. Or was it laughter?

She really couldn't tell. Either way, her body was shaking with giggles and she was smiling open-mouthed while tears poured from her eyes. The world had chewed her up and spit her out, it'd been the shittiest week she'd had in a long time, and even her emotional state had been turned on its head.

She'd officially lost what little control she had left.

Graham, who remained a spectator through most of it, was left utterly speechless. It had been a normal day for him, albeit a bit boring, but otherwise ordinary. He'd come home to what he thought was a humorous display.

"Emma?" he finally spoke.

She calmed herself and sighed. "You know this is your fault right?"

"What is?" Graham was even more confused than before. He had no idea what was going on.

Emma stayed sprawled out on the floor for another minute before speaking so softly that it was almost impossible to hear. "I'm pregnant."

So even though I don't deserve reviews after making you wait that long, they always make my day anyways :) Love you!