The sails snapped sharply in the afternoon breeze, draping the deck of the Jolly Roger in dappled shadows. Emma's thoughts drifted lazily as she turned the ship's wheel further to port, tacking into the shifting wind as Killian had taught her. Her growing belly brushed the wheel lightly. If she got much bigger she wouldn't be able to reach the wheel at all. A sudden kick brought her out of her reverie. Smiling, she put her hand to her abdomen where her daughter was apparently waking up from a nap.

She felt his approach even before he pressed his warm body against her back. Strong arms wrapped around her, the tip of his hook tickling her skin through the thick cabling of her sweater.

"Good form, Swan," he murmured against her ear.

"I think I'm finally getting the hang of this sailing thing. Piece of cake."

He laughed, the joyful sound of it lifting her soul as it always did. Just when she thought she couldn't get any happier, Killian would say or do something that would make her heart feel like it was filling with helium. Sometimes she thought she might just float away, she felt so light. It was as if they had spent the last seven months making up for the first thirty years of her life spent alone, and his own centuries of loneliness. It had been sheer bliss, and Emma still couldn't quite believe it at times.

"Indeed you are, love. As with so many things, you make it appear easily done," he said, nuzzling her neck,"and might I add, manage to look stunningly beautiful doing it."

"Mmmmmm," she replied, turning her head for a kiss. Her blond tresses tumbled about them in the salty air. Their sunglasses bumped one another as Killian deepened the kiss. They pulled apart laughing.

"Bloody ridiculous things, these 'sun glasses'," muttered Killian, slipping his off and squinting in the bright autumn sunshine.

"You look good in them, Hook. Really."

He raised an eyebrow, looking unconvinced, but gamely slid the aviators back on. Emma had finally gotten him to wear Storybrooke clothing, though he still grumbled that he didn't feel like a captain aboard his own ship when he was wearing these 'horrid dungarees'. He was currently sporting tight dark jeans and a heavy cable knit sweater with a thick collar. And his usual scuffed boots, of course. She loved his pirate look, but damn, he could rock this modern one like no man she'd ever seen. Another jolt to her belly from its tiny occupant startled her, her hand going to her stomach automatically. Killian drew a worried breath, but she calmed him immediately by taking his hand and placing it over the spot where a miniature foot was making its presence known.

"Restless today, is she?" he murmured, holding her more tightly against him and rubbing his hand lightly over her protruding belly.

"Yeah, she let me sleep through the night though, so no complaints."

"Perhaps she knew her mother needed some rest," he whispered, a wicked tone in his voice, "after yesterday's...activities."

"Activities? That's not how I'd describe it," she replied with a smile.

"Hmmm, you have a better term?"

"Incredible, mind-blowing sex in every position we can still manage? I'd just call it the perfect way to spend an evening."

"Aye, love. I'd call it the same."

Emma sighed contentedly and let Killian take control of the wheel from her. She rested her hands on the spokes and admired the view, resting her weight against her husband's warm, lean body. The coast of Maine was nothing short of spectacular this time of year. All of the fall foliage along the rugged coastline was bursting in reds and golds and pinks. The baby would arrive just before Christmas. Emma couldn't believe they were only a few weeks away. She also couldn't believe that Killian - Captain Hook! - was now contentedly settled with her in a cozy white cottage perched above the harbor. It was too domestic to be believed. The day she'd woken up and looked out the window to see him happily painting their new white picket fence, she'd simply laughed with the absurdity of it all.

Just before they left on this weekend getaway, he'd surprised her with a beautiful hand-made crib that Gepetto and Pinocchio had labored over for months. It was a gorgeous work of art. Sculpted from oiled teak, it even had ingenious pins built into the rockers to secure it to the deck, so they could take it with them aboard the Jolly Roger when they wished. It was designed to look like a miniature version of the Jolly Roger, which even David, not known for his love of sailing, had to admit was just freaking adorable. The base of it was covered with fine carvings of waves and sea creatures. There was also a figurehead at the prow of the ship. Emma had smiled to see that it was a perfect little sculpture of Yemaja, her hair streaming in the wind, perfect breasts jutting proudly toward the horizon.

Killian had actually blushed when she'd commented on how well he'd conveyed the goddess's proportions to Gepetto. She could hardly blame him though. Yemaja's measurements were basically burned into her own brain, after the eyeful they got of her with Neptune.

"Lisette?"

"Huh? Oh. Um, no," replied Emma, frowning. "Sounds like a french prostitute."

Killian laughed. They were still struggling to come up with a name they could agree on for their daughter. Everyone in the family kept offering ideas but nothing had felt right yet.

"Take the helm, stubborn woman. I'm going to go haul in some sail. We'll be back at Storybrooke's port within the hour."

"I'll call ahead and let them know. We should have cell service this close."

Emma tied the helm at their current course before she pulled out her phone and dialed David. It went straight to voicemail, which was odd for the middle of the day. He always kept his phone on. Maybe his battery died?

She left a message letting them know they'd be back soon and inviting them to dinner at Granny's. Next she tried Henry. He'd finally gotten his own cell after months of begging. The winning argument was when he guilted Emma about the amount of time she would be spending with the new baby and not with him. She'd rolled her eyes, but had to admit it was an effective argument. He'd gotten the phone. But Henry's number went right to voicemail as well. Emma was frowning when Killian rejoined her on the upper deck.

"What is it, love?"

"No one's picking up. Everything's going straight to voicemail."

"Dead...batteries?" he asked. She normally found his enunciation of these modern words like 'batteries' to be endearingly hysterical. But right now, she was fighting a rising tide of anxiety. Her instincts were telling her something was wrong.

She tried Snow's phone next. "This is Mary Margaret, please leave me a message and I'll get back to you-"

Then Regina. Nothing. Granny's Diner! That was a landline. She tried it. The phone just kept ringing. After a dozen rings, she ended the call. She tried Gold's shop, knowing in her gut that it was unlikely she would get an answer there either, and was unsurprised when the answering machine with Belle and Rumple's message picked up. She felt suddenly chilled and shivered in the crisp air. Trying not to panic, she put her phone in her pocket and took a deep breath.

Killian folded her in his arms and rubbed her back soothingly. "I'm sure it's nothing, Emma."

"Something's wrong, Killian. Something's happened in Storybrooke."