The horrible, lovely thing about Hope was that her tears were often the quiet kind, that secret suffering an odd, unsettling, painful trait that Emma had hoped she'd grow out of. Because the silence was the kind of sadness that wouldn't be easily soothed. It wouldn't betray a reason or rhyme, and if she wasn't looking for it constantly, she'd never even know it was happening. Emma and Henry hated it, that simmering paranoia it fed—wished she'd be louder.

That's what Henry told him as some small form of comfort when the lass had busted out into wild, red-faced wailing. They'd been wishing for her to be louder. All it took was a magical town.

"We'll just…" Henry grimaced, glancing towards the bedroom where Mary Margaret had waddled off to the moment they arrived at the loft. She had given them firm instructions to wake her for anything—it, frankly, blew his mind that she was somehow still asleep—and they had every honest intention of doing just that. Except… "We'll do it ourselves."

Killian, too, hesitated long enough to mull it over—the mistrust of the Charmings, the mistrust of himself, the hopeful lilt to Emma's voice when she had handed him their daughter—and knew that he had to do this alone. If he was going to prove himself, it wouldn't do to shout for help. Even if Hope had latched onto his chest hair and given it a furious yank.

"How hard can it be?" the lad asked, his shoulder quirking in sync with the corner of his mouth. He dodged the arm that swung out for him, the child only crying more ferociously when her hand came back empty, and drew the canister closer to him. "Just follow the instructions, right?"

Killian studied the tin doubtfully—only briefly, with a stern side-eye, before Hope gave another furious howl. His face was nearly as red as hers, the pair making for quite a flustered sight. He smoothed his digits down her quivering back, then worked a finger into her little fist and shifted his weight.

"Okay, so, you just… just change her diaper. And I'll make her a bottle."

"Aye, I'll just change her diaper."

Henry opened the can of formula that Mary Margaret had taken the pair to buy (the formula that she also paid for), stared down into its depths for a moment, and then firmly resealed it with pursed lips. He pivoted towards Hook. "Maybe I should change the diaper."

He faltered for a beat, his eyes flitting down and lips pursing. "Your mother showed me how. I think I can manage…" He leaned forward as if to deposit Hope on the bare counter, head pounding too tempestuously for clearer thoughts, when Henry lurched in realization.

"Not here!" he barked, stirring Hope's competitive nature (that, of course, came from Emma) and ratcheting up her yowls. Quieter, Henry amended, "The floor. Or the coffee table. Or seriously anywhere that isn't the kitchen. Preferably on something… disposable? Just in case."

"Aye. Of course." Killian turned to contemplate how he would get her on the floor. He had no hook, nor hand to support her. He supposed he could attach the hook but that seemed worse than the risk of dropping her. Captain Hook could do many a thing with his lethal claw—gut a man or make him beg; he had adjusted. But this was too much delicacy in one wishful moment. Switch arms? He'd not be able to support her head and—"Maybe you should..."

Henry seemed to agree. With compassion, he uttered, "Just until you've had more practice."

"Of course." Killian didn't point out that this could probably be considered practice.

"The instructions seem pretty easy. Just water and then formula. But not too much water. I read online that that's dangerous. And I think you're supposed to warm it up? I think I've seen that on TV. We can google it." Henry continued to describe the ridiculously arduous process, tossing out some bewildering and alien terms that Hook had never heard, but it was all for naught.

Killian didn't know how to tell Henry that he was quite useless with modern technology.

Regardless, they attempted an exchange, squirming babe for plastic tin, before quickly realizing their mistake. Hope let out a ferocious cry, tears streaming down her cheeks and her little fists clenching and releasing and jerking until she was nestled back against the warmed leather of her father's coat, his soothing sounds pressed into her hair.

She snuffled, smearing her nose into the familiar leather, and he wished he knew what more he could do to ease her pain.

"Um…" Henry twisted the baby formula around and glanced begrudgingly towards the bedroom. "Maybe… maybe we should get Mrs. Nolan?"

"No," Killian said, too quickly. And then, feeling ridiculously childish for it, he added, "She really ought to rest this late in her pregnancy."

"Oh. Right."

An aching moment of Hope's tears burning deep cavities into his heart set shame alight under his skin. Shame that spread black in his veins. In that profound instant, of whimpers and winces and watery eyes, he was struck with a thought:

He was not meant to be a father.

It was true enough that the time he came from demanded little of a man for the task—but this was not then. And he did not take the privilege so lightly. He thought of Emma grabbing his arm and pushing the girl into his hold, thought of her quiet, hopeful question, her bright eyes and certain mouth that foolishly believed she could leave him in charge for one damn afternoon. And then he thought of the betrayal, the disappointment, the… the disgust that would surely follow when she beheld his failure.

A year ago he left the Charmings behind for open waters because he could not imagine fitting without Emma; now, he wondered if it would be more of the same.

"Okay, just… just try and calm her down a bit and I'll get started on the bottle. Then we can do diaper duty together."

"Aye." He nodded. But the venture was fruitless, his little love squirming in his hold, and making a grand attempt at escape that otherwise would have made him proud, and crying more uproariously with each moment; even as he hushed her, and trailed a finger down the length of her pinked and runny nose, and slid his knuckle over her pinked and damp cheeks—

It was useless.

Henry started shuffling around in the kitchen, pulling open cabinets and opening taps and working furiously at a magic box. A minute later, something beeped and further upset Hope.

Completely useless.

Henry, having accomplished whatever he was doing—he did not deem it necessary to share—hurried to take the girl from Hook's arms and directed the man about until the pair were huddled over her. And with his only hand completely and necessarily occupied, it occurred to him that he could never do this on his own.

He was so damn useless.

"I just… want to check on them," Emma muttered, knowing Regina was rolling her eyes and sighing and putting on that haughty act behind her back but she ignored it in favor of knocking soundly on the apartment door.

"We do not have time for this, Miss Swan. This is our one chance to catch whoever took our memories. The pirate can wait—"

"Here's the thing," Emma cut in with a slight scowl, "Hook can wait, but I can't. I just want to see that my kid's alright. I figured you would understand that."

After a stricken moment, Regina smirked, her eyebrow tilted with smug amusement. "Don't trust him?"

Emma heaved a long suffering sigh and turned an annoyed glare on her, not wanting to justify the question because it had no basis. At all. None. She knocked again.

"It's fair. And I do understand. Because I certainly wouldn't have trusted him with…" the former queen faltered and then, after gathering her composure, forged ahead, stronger than before, "with Henry. What with the one hand and all."

Emma didn't know whether to feed into the pang of sympathy she felt or the urge to defend Hook's capabilities as a babysitter—no. As a father. Father, not babysitter. Father.

Opting not to fall into Regina's goading—an obvious defense mechanism if Emma ever saw one—Emma furrowed her brow and turned the handle, startled when she found it locked. "What the hell?"

Scoffing, Regina waved a hand and the satisfying click of the bolt rang out between them. Emma turned to give the woman she tentatively called her friend a grateful smile, which Regina promptly ruined with her impatient gaze and gesture towards the door. "Any day now. You really ought to practice using magic."

Emma rolled her eyes.

She didn't know what to expect, having left Hook alone all day with an infant and a teenager, having no true experience with parenting in the first place. But Henry was a good kid so it couldn't really be that bad.

Still, guiltily, she had to admit to the niggling worry that had settled in the back of her mind.

She couldn't bear it if… if she were wrong earlier. If she had acted on a stupid impulse rather than listening to logic and things had fallen apart. There'd be no one to blame but herself.

But the fear turned out to be misplaced. When she stepped into the room, Regina hanging back in the hall, her heart crawled up her throat in a rich swell of fondness. She could hardly bear it.

Henry was passed out in the armchair, headphones slipping from his ears, mouth hung open with a conspicuous snore. He carelessly wore a perfectly dark patch of probably drool that was probably Hope's on his shoulder. And lounging opposite him, with one booted foot dangling off the side of the couch, the other planted firmly on the floor, was Captain Hook cradling a baby to his chest and clutching an empty bottle in his hand.

Oh, her heart sighed.

"Oh," her mouth agreed.

"Emma? Was that you knocking?" A bleary Mary Margaret appeared behind her, yanking her from the moment. Her mother's dark hair was still perfectly in place, clothes seemingly unrumpled, like pure magic. "Sorry, this pregnancy's really kicking my butt." Snow swiped under her eyes and patted down her bangs.

Emma nearly laughed at Mary Margaret's idea of a rough pregnancy. "Yeah. Sorry. How'd it go? How were th—how was she?"

Mary Margaret bunched her shoulders sheepishly, her gaze following Emma's to the sitting area. "Honestly, I fell asleep when we got back from the diner. But… it looks like she was fine."

Emma nodded, folding her bottom lip between her teeth. "Yeah. Everything seems… fine. Everyone's fine."

"Alright, Emma. Time to go," Regina huffed, coming in from the hallway. Her heart, ever betraying her, snatched up her control and turned her face towards the couches, a lost ship beckoned by the light. Roughly, she murmured, "Well. Looks like your pirate isn't completely useless after all."

Unthinkingly, Emma breathed, "Yeah. Everything looks good." And then, realizing: "He's not my anything."

"Oh please."

A/N: This chapter was... well... brutal for some reason. And this story was just supposed to be fluff. But anyway.