He nearly stumbles over her as he exits his apartment, freezing in place at the sight of the woman who, for all intents and purposes, has dominated his thoughts for the last six weeks.

He'd searched for her after that night, gone back to that corner bar for two weeks straight hoping she would reappear but, alas, she hadn't, and since the only thing he'd had to go on was her first name there had been no way for him to track her down.

And now she's here, standing on his doorstep, looking just as stunning in an oversized sweater and a messy bun as she had all those weeks ago in a tight pink dress and sky high heels.

"Emma," he stammers out, a little louder than he intended due to the shock rolling through his body.

She immediately takes a step back to put distance between them, holding out an envelope and saying, "I was going to leave you this."

There's a rim of red around her eyes and he wonders for a moment if she's been crying. When he tries to ask her in, she refuses, pushing the envelope into his hand and disappearing down the hallway before he can stop her.

In a daze, he wanders back into his apartment, gym visit completely forgotten, staring at his name scrawled across the envelope. He glances back to his now closed door like somehow it will hold the answers to all the questions whirling around in his head before ripping at the paper.

She's pregnant.

He reads the letter 3 times.

The first time the only feeling he has is complete shock.

The second it hits him – she's pregnant – he's about to become a father. And it surprises him how much he likes the idea.

The third time is when he notices the tone of her words. It's all business. She's not asking for anything, just thought he'd want to know. It's completely up to him if he wants to be involved or not. She'd understand if he wanted a paternity test.

It rankles him a bit, the way she states everything so cut and dried. Especially when he reads the post script… And just in case he was worried, she'd also had a full panel of tests done and he has nothing else to concern himself about.

Really? What kind of man does she think he is, anyway that he would even worry about a thing like that when he's about to become a father?

The answer to that is clear: He's a man who meets a woman in a pub and takes her home without even learning her last name.

Or at least that's what she thinks.

She doesn't know how utterly captivated he was by her, doesn't realize the triumph he felt when he was able to pull a smile – a real smile – from her. In fact, of the many times he's thought of that night (and he would rank that in the hundreds) that moment is the one he remembers most clearly. Not to say what followed wasn't lovely, it certainly was, mind-blowing really, and it's not like he hadn't conjured those images as well (her kiss swollen lips, the sound of her sighs, the softness of her skin) but that moment when he'd admitted his favorite film was Peter Pan, when her eyes had sparkled and her grin was uncalculated, that's the picture he's conjured most often. That's the image that had driven him back to that pub over and over again. And that's the image in his mind now as he looks back to the letter.

It's signed simply 'Emma Swan' and phone number.

Emma Swan. It suits her.

He calls Liam right away to tell him the news.

His older brother's first reaction is concern. What if it's not his? What if this is a scam? How could he be so careless? Didn't he use protection?

"Of course, I did," he tells him.

Liam only grunts in response then asks, "When did this even happen? This isn't like you Killian. Oh, wait, is this the woman you called about a few weeks ago? The same one you were looking for when you drug me out to that pub?"

"Aye, one and the same," Killian responds, and dammit if he can't hear the smile in his own voice.

Liam mulls that information over before saying, "Be careful, little brother. You don't even know her. I know she fascinated you but things are much more complicated now. Just… Be careful."

Killian promises he will before the conversation turns into plans on how they can transform his office into a nursery. By the time he hangs up he's standing the middle of his extra bedroom/office picturing stuffed animals everywhere, a swing, a crib and a miniature rocking horse in the corner.

The next call he makes is to Emma, asks if they can meet, and they arrange for coffee at a little place around the corner from his flat the next day.

He's nervous but excited when he goes to the coffee shop. He tries on three different shirts before settling on a solid black button-down that he hopes exudes responsibility and support.

She's nervous, too, when they meet, worrying her lower lip between her teeth as they wait for their drinks. He offers to pay and she refuses. The message is clear: This isn't a date. This is a meeting to discuss how they're going to proceed.

She's all business, just like in the letter. He doesn't have to do this. She'll be fine on her own. She's not going to come after him for child support or anything. In fact, she pushes the idea so much he starts to think that's how she would prefer it and he has to cut her off by placing his thumb over her mouth to get her to take a breath.

So when he tells her, "I'm in this, Emma. This is my child, too, and I'm not going to walk away from that," he's surprised to see a flick of relief cross her features.

She covers it immediately, though, back to the business at hand and he doesn't push it because he can see the distrust in her eyes and, somehow, he knows if he pushes her, she'll retreat further. She gives him the date and time of her ultrasound and as they part ways he promises to be there.

He's not offended at her look of surprise when he shows up at her doctor's office. She doesn't know him, not yet anyway, but she'll learn. She'll come to understand he's in this for the long haul.

When the technician announces they're having a girl, his heart soars as he pictures a lass with hair of gold and sparkling green eyes. It isn't until the technician leaves the room that he realizes Emma's hand is in his, their fingers laced together like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"A baby girl," she whispers in awe as she continues to stare at the screen.

Her smile is radiant when she looks to him and he can't help but lean forward to give her a tender kiss on the forehead. The action seems to snap her out of her trance and she immediately pulls her hand away, averting her eyes and returning to her all-business attitude.

Two weeks later, he rushes into the hospital with his heart in his throat, Emma's frantic phone call on repeat in his ears. The amount of time he waits while the clerk is trying to find her room number is nothing short of torture but then he's running, charging through the assigned door to find her on the sterile white hospital bed looking so fragile and beautiful that she's in his arms before he can stop himself.

It takes her at least three times of telling him that everything is okay before it registers over the sound of blood pumping in his ears.

It was nothing, just some spotting and she panicked and she's sorry and the doctor said it's normal and she won't freak out again, she promises. But he can't seem to let her go as he leans his forehead into hers and clenches his eyes shut, his chest still tight even though she's telling him everything will be okay.

"I just got scared," she tells him, stroking his face with the backs of her fingers, "It's silly I know. Maybe the hormones are getting to me. I really am sorry to make you rush all the way down here over nothing except my paranoia."

"Stop apologizing, love," he says as he pulls back and brushes her hair off her forehead. "It's no trouble. I want to be here."

Her eyes soften at his words and, damnation, he barely knows this woman but he's already half in love with her, had been since the night they met. He cups her cheek as she continues to stare at him and he sees something that looks like hope in her eyes. His heart rate speeds back up, but this time it's not fear causing it as he leans in toward her.

She averts her lips at the last second, clenching her eyes shut and shaking her head in what he can only interpret as regret as she grinds her forehead into his. "We can't do this, Killian," she whispers, but her actions defy her words as she clutches at the collar of his shirt to keep him close.

Their breaths mingle together, her lips so close he can practically taste them as he rubs his thumb softly against her cheek. "Why not, love?" he asks gently.

She doesn't answer right away and he can feel her resistance wavering so he waits, heart pounding in his chest, his whole body taut because he wants to close the distance between their mouths so badly. But he doesn't. This has got to be her choice, so he continues to stroke her cheek with his thumb in a way he hopes she finds reassuring.

"It's not that I don't want to," she whispers, still clutching at his shirt, "but I'm not good at this… I don't do relationships. And with you… We're going to be parents. You say you want to be part of our daughter's life. And I… I want you to be. So if we try this and it doesn't work out…"

She trails off as she releases his collar and leans back to meet his gaze, and it breaks his heart, the regret and longing he sees mirrored back at him.

The moment is broken before he can reply when the nurse walks in with her discharge papers – not that he knows what to say anyway.

He walks her to her car when they leave, tension thick in the air as Emma turns to him, looking nervous. "Friends?" she asks.

Part of him wants to argue, he wants so much more than friendship from her, especially now that she has confirmed he's not the only one who feels this pull between them, but he sees the wisdom in her words. And she's right, they don't know each other that well and physical attraction is not worth risking the happiness of his child.

Still, it's with reluctance when he finally replies, "Friends."

Being friends with Emma is just about the hardest thing he's ever done. As the months pass and he gets to know her better, the want only increases. It takes a conscious effort to not let his eyes linger on her too long. It takes all of his strength to pull his hand away from her stomach when she shows him where the baby is kicking. And he has to resist the urge to run his fingers through that soft fragrant hair of hers every time he sees her.

And he sees her a lot.

He goes to every check-up, every test, standing beside her and forcing himself to keep his hand on the back of the doctor chair instead of wrapping it around her shoulders the way he wants to.

She's in her third trimester and Emma has a doctor's appointment today and he's running late because some delivery guy had his car blocked in this morning… and the coffee shop was busier than usual… and there was an accident on the expressway… and then he got caught by a train... So by the time he gets to the doctor's office he's winded and annoyed. He rushes into the waiting room and the sweet little receptionist who stammers most of the time he's around tells him Emma is already in one of the exam rooms. He doesn't waste any time, heading straight to the room and opening the door without knocking.

As he enters, carrying her precious hot cocoa with cinnamon which has probably gone cold due to all the delays, dammit, he immediately says, "Sorry I'm late, love, one of those mornings when nothing goes right."

He's busy stripping off his jacket as he says it but as he turns to her with her hot cocoa in hand, he sees the way she's wiping at her eyes and his heart jumps to his throat.

He's sitting beside her in the next moment, panicked, as he cups her cheeks. "Emma, what's happened? What did the doctor say? Is the baby alright?"

She's shaking her head and looking anywhere but his eyes. "The baby's fine. The doctor hasn't even been in yet," she tells him.

"Then why - "

He cuts off as understanding dawns on him and the confusion he feels hardens into something cold and heavy in his stomach.

She'd thought he wasn't coming.

She had assumed, again (because this is certainly not the first time she's looked surprised to see him) that he had abandoned her and their child.

Anger boils through his veins, the stress of the morning and the actual tears on her cheeks adding to the already nagging annoyance he feels every time she looks at him like this.

But he's not angry with her – because he gets it, he does. He's learned a few things about her over the last several months, not from things she's said – because she doesn't talk about herself often – but from things she hasn't said.

She doesn't talk about her parents, she doesn't talk about her friends, she doesn't talk about her past. She talks about what she did over the weekend, about how she's tired of manning a desk at work now rather than being out in the field chasing down dirtbags who skip bail. She talks about her favorite movies or the annoying but sweet neighbor who brings her cookies and tries to get her to come over for dinner all the time.

And he knows why. He started suspecting a while back but last week, when she'd finally agreed to let him come over to help her paint the baby's room, his suspicions had been confirmed.

He'd never been to her apartment before and as he took it in, everything had fallen into place.

There were no childhood trinkets or ratty old stuffed animals anywhere to be found. There were no pictures of family or friends. In fact, there were no photographs at all (save for the ultrasound picture that was stuck to her refrigerator).

On top of that, everything was impeccably neat and tidy, not one single thing out of place and very few frivolities – except in the baby's room. It was filled with everything a child could want or need, toys everywhere, a beautiful bassinet, a baby swing, a glider rocker in the corner.

She'd looked nervous about having him there, shifting back and forth on the balls of her feet and saying things like, "I might have overdone it a little," or "I don't even know why I bought this. I'm not sure why a baby needs a bouncer and a walker."

And he'd stood there, in the middle of that room watching her fidget in embarrassment, and he knew.

She doesn't have a family. She doesn't have friends (although that neighbor of hers who popped by with more cookies while he was there would disagree). And she never has.

She's an orphan. Just like him.

But it was even worse for her. At least he'd had Liam – the one constant in his life. She'd had no one.

His heart had ached when he'd looked back to her, nervously rearranging the stuffed animals in the crib and doing her best not to meet his eyes. And it had taken everything in his body not to go to her and wrap her in his arms and tell her he understood, to tell her he'd done the same. He'd bought everything he'd come across because he wanted his child to have everything he hadn't.

But she'd been so tense, so wary of his reaction and his own emotions had been so raw over the realization that the only thing he'd been able to do was say, "I think it's perfect."

So when he looks at her now, he can't be angry with her. Those tears on her cheeks are the same ones he'd cried over and over again when he was young, when he and Liam had gotten moved to another home, when he'd lain awake at night scared and wondering if the fact that he'd tracked mud into the house would be the reason they would be sent away again.

No, he's not angry with her. In fact, he realizes in that moment just how madly in love with her he is, can physically feel his heart swell in his chest because of it.

He considers telling her, just blurting it out in the hope that it will help her get over the fear of him leaving but he doesn't because he knows it won't make a difference. Words mean nothing to people like them. Actions are the only things that matter.

Still, he needs to say something, and since he can't tell her what he wants to, he settles for telling her the thing that binds them. Something he hasn't talked about in years.

Steeling himself, he looks away and forces the words out. "When I was a lad my father abandoned us."

Her head snaps up immediately and she gasps in a breath but he doesn't look at her, instead keeping his eyes trained on the hot cocoa stain on his knee as he continues, "My mother died when I was an infant and then he left us when I was five."

Her hand gropes for his and she twines their fingers, squeezing tight. "I'm so sorry, Killian," she whispers, her voice shaking with emotion.

"Liam was ten at the time. We woke up for school one day and our father was nowhere to be found. We got dressed and went to school anyway, both of us sure he'd be home by the time we got back… That went on for weeks, coming home from school every day believing every time that he'd be there, that he'd return, but he never did. Then the food ran out and we didn't know what to do. We finally had to face the fact that he… that he wasn't coming back…"

He has to stop because his voice is about to break and he draws a shaky breath to cover it. He chances a look at her and the tears brimming in her eyes are almost his undoing, the understanding he sees on her face. He has to swallow hard against the lump in his throat and avert his eyes for a moment to compose himself.

Once he's regained a little control, he meets her gaze steadily and adds, "I'd never do that to my child, Emma. Never."

She doesn't say anything in return, but she blinks and the tears stream down her cheeks an instant before she's clinging to him, cradling his face in her neck and rocking him slowly in an almost maternal way.

He's not sure how long she holds him, but as she does he feels an unexpected peace settling into his chest.

Then her lips are at his ear as she whispers, "Our child is very lucky to have you as her father."

The words make his eyes sting and any reply he can think of is lost because he's not sure he can speak at the moment. So he just grips her tighter and hopes she understands what those words mean to him.

They're forced to break apart when the doctor enters but, after that, she never looks surprised to see him again.

It's a Tuesday night a six weeks later when she calls him and tells him she's having contractions.

He goes straight to the hospital as planned, barely avoiding several speeding tickets, and gets there just as Emma's sweet neighbor – Mary Margaret, was it? – pulls up to the curb with Emma in the passenger seat.

He helps her from the car and she smiles at him, the most radiant smile he's ever seen.

It's a welcome sight because the last couple of weeks had been hard on her even though she's been trying to hide it but he could tell every time he saw her how uncomfortable she was.

"Ready to meet your daughter?" she asks.

"Aye, love, I'm very ready," he replies with a smile of his own.

The next few minutes are a flurry of activity as they get checked in and the nurse does her exam. She's only dilated to three centimeters and the nurse warns them it could be a while yet.

And it is, progress goes slow and Emma gets more tense and irritable the longer it goes on. He does everything he can, feeding her ice chips, rubbing the small of her back, letting her grip his hand until he thinks the bones might break until finally the doctor announces it's time to push.

The screams of pain rip through his heart as he uses a cool cloth to wipe her forehead but then she twines her fingers with his for one last push and the next scream he hears is his daughter's wailing cry. Emma nearly collapses from the exhaustion but he holds her up by wedging himself behind her as they both stare in awe at the bright pink bundle of joy.

The baby is whisked away to be cleaned up and Emma's head falls backwards onto his shoulder. When he tightens his grip and hugs her to him, she doesn't shy away, in fact, she turns her head and nuzzles into his cheek and he swears his heart grows to twice its size in his chest from the overwhelming happiness he feels.

"Thank you for my daughter," he whispers into her ear and she responds by reaching back and cupping his cheek as she nuzzles into him again.

They bring the baby back, smelling of baby powder and wrapped in a solid pink blanket, and lay her in her mother's arms. It's by far the most profound moment of his life as he holds the woman he loves and uses one finger to stroke his daughter's cheek as she falls asleep to the sound of Emma's voice.

"Time to name her," Emma says softly.

"Aye."

"I've always liked the name Isabelle," she tells him.

"That's lovely, Swan, but I was thinking – and maybe this is a little sentimental of me – but I noticed the picture you hung in her room. The one that says 'Faith, Hope, Love…'"

"You think Faith?" she asks.

"No, actually, I was thinking Hope."

"Hope," she says as though testing it out, then turns to smile at him. "I like it."

He smiles back and then looks to his daughter, "Hope Isabelle Swan."

"No," she says as she snuggles closer into his chest and tightens her grip on their sleeping child, "Hope Isabelle Swan-Jones."

Emotion chokes him again and he can only press a long kiss to her temple in response.

Being a father changes Killian in ways he never imagined. He's amazed at how different the world looks now that he has a child to share it with. Suddenly things he's taken for granted for years are magical again because he sees them through his little girl's eyes. The sky is bluer, the sun is brighter, colors become more vivid. Simple pleasures like watching a flock of birds fly south for the winter or finding shapes in the clouds now top his list of favorite things to do.

But while being a parent has changed Killian, it's made Emma a completely different person. It's an amazing transformation to witness, the way her smiles come more easily with each passing day.

He and Emma fall into a comfortable friendship (and by 'comfortable' he means comfortable for her and acute torture for him). They work together as a team raising Hope, sharing snapshots and cute texts back and forth on nearly a daily basis.

She's incredibly generous with him in regards to spending time with Hope and never questions his love for his daughter. They are both so proud and anxious for each milestone, that they end up spending more and more time together as neither of them want to miss a single one.

When Hope is on the verge of walking, they spend every evening together for nearly two weeks straight until she finally makes the wobbly journey across Emma's living room floor. Hope has a hand in each of theirs during her first trip to the zoo where they snap several pictures of the three of them that he cherishes more than words. They worry together when Hope is sick, comforting her and rocking her into the wee hours of the morning and they cheer her on side by side when she blows out the candles on her birthday cakes.

But it's not only him Emma is being more open with. She also grows closer to her neighbor and even relents to Mary Margaret's prodding for a monthly 'girl's night' where she makes several other new friends. As for him, he meets Mary Margaret's fiancé, David, and he, Liam and Killian quickly start offsetting 'girl's night' with a monthly poker game.

He attributes Emma's change almost entirely to Hope. The child is bubbly and sweet and loves everyone and everything. She's the spitting image of her mother (except she inherited his blue eyes), beautiful and vivacious and he can't help but wonder if this is what Emma was like as a child.

He's more in love with Emma than ever but he keeps it to himself so as not to ruin this beautiful family they've created. Occasionally, he catches himself staring at her when she smiles, when she really smiles, just like he had the night they met. It's a relief to him when he realizes those smiles are seen more and more frequently.

She's giving him one of those smiles right now as he walks back into her living room after tucking a very tired Hope into bed. They'd spent the day at the Children's Museum, six hours of walking through dinosaur exhibits and playing interactive games, after which they had stopped for pizza and ice cream.

"She's asleep?" Emma asks.

"She was asleep before I even laid her down," he tells her.

Emma chuckles lightly, "Yeah, she had a full day. Thank you for inviting me."

"Thank you for coming. It wouldn't have been the same without you."

She lowers her gaze as if she's suddenly nervous, leaning over to pick up a few stray toys off the couch and returning them to the toy box in the corner of the room.

He rocks back on his heels as he watches her. He knows he should leave but, like always, he wants to extend his time with her as much as possible. Sometimes, she'll offer him cup of tea or a beer after an outing like today and he knows he's stalling but he can't help it. So he picks up a few toys himself and meets her at the toy box to drop them in.

She smiles (shyly?) at him with a murmured, "Thanks," before shutting the box with a light click. As she turns away, she's wringing her hands together like she's not sure what she should do with them.

Killian's brow wrinkles in confusion as he watches her, completely confounded by her behavior. He's never seen her like this, nervous and jittery, and he's just about to ask her what's wrong when she speaks.

"Mary Margaret told me that you're planning David's bachelor party."

It takes him a moment to answer because something is going on here and it's starting to make him nervous but when she turns to look at him questioningly he clears his throat and replies, "Yes, well being the Best Man and all, it's my job. And you're planning Mary Margaret's bachelorette party, I hear. No worries, lass, I know it's my night to have Hope and I've already arranged a sleepover for her with one of the mothers from her class so that we can both fulfill our duties."

"Oh? Which mother?" she asks.

"Abigail's. You've met them before. She lives two stories down from me. She's a nurse and I've helped her out with Abigail a few times when she's had to work over, so she was happy to repay the favor."

Emma mumbles something under her breath that sounds a little like, "I'll just bet she was," but then she clears her throat and says, "Ruby said her mother would be happy to keep her, if we need it."

"While I'm sure Hope would love that, she's already excited about staying over with her friend, so maybe next time."

Emma makes another grumbling sound and shrugs her shoulders, "Well, it was just a thought… Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. Ruby and I wanted to do something special and we need a, ah… co-conspirator from the men's camp."

Intrigued, Killian crosses his arms over his chest, wondering if this request is what's making her act so odd. "And what, exactly, would we be conspiring about, Swan?" he asks, lifting an eyebrow at her.

Emma's face lights up with a mischievous grin and his worry disappears. "Let's have a beer and I'll tell you all about it," she suggests.

They settle onto the couch a few minutes later and Emma tells him what she and Ruby have in mind. By the time Killian finishes off his beer he's smiling as well.

"Never knew you were such a romantic, Swan."

"I'm not," she replies with a roll of her eyes. "It was Ruby's idea, not mine."

"Uh huh," he says slowly, leaning his head in his hand and giving her a look that clearly says he doesn't believe her.

Her eyes dart away from his as she relents under his scrutiny, "Okay fine, maybe it was my idea. They've just been really good friends to me and I wanted to do something special for them."

His grin widens. "I do believe you've gone soft, darling."

She ignores his comment but he swears she's actually blushing. "So, will you help?"

"Of course I will, love. I don't deny being a romantic."

"I know," she replies in a low voice as she reaches to take his empty beer bottle. When her fingers brush his, it sends an electric shock all the way up his arm and, dammit, what is wrong with him tonight? It was just an inadvertent brushing of fingers, so why does he feel like she did it on purpose?

He watches her disappear into the kitchen with his breath caught in his throat but when she returns, she gives no indication that anything has changed and by the time he gets home, he's certain he imagined the entire thing.

Friday night rolls around and he shows up at David's apartment sporting a fine bottle of rum and a box of cigars. They spend the earlier hours of the evening playing poker and jeering David as much as possible before his phone lights up with Emma's text.

Liam appears next to him and reads the text over Killian's shoulder.

"Time to set the plan in motion?" he asks.

Killian looks back to his brother, "Aye, the ladies will be there in 20 minutes."

Between the two of them, they'd managed to fill in all of the guests at the party about Emma's plan, and it's not long after that David is wearing a gold plastic crown and a ridiculously large pin on the front of his shirt that says 'Kiss the Groom.'

David puts up a momentary fuss over the blindfold but relents after Killian promises that what he has in mind will not endanger his impending nuptials. (David is one of the most honorable men he's ever met and he made Killian promise there would be no strippers anywhere in sight tonight.)

"Trust me, mate. I'd never lead you astray."

The music is pumping when they enter the club and he immediately sees Emma and the rest of the ladies near the back, Mary Margaret already receiving kisses on the cheek from several men in the room. The music is so loud that from here there's no way Mary Margaret will be able to hear him as he announces David's last night of freedom to the many ladies nearby and it's not long after that David's cheeks are covered in a myriad of lipstick shades as he receives one kiss after another.

He chuckles at the sight and leaves David in Liam's capable hands to move the next part of Emma's plan. It's been a while since he's been in a place like this and as he makes his way toward Emma and Mary Margaret he's caught completely off guard when a petite brunette collides into his chest with a fumbled apology that he immediately recognizes as a contrived act to introduce herself. Internally rolling his eyes, he apologizes for getting in her way while setting her securely back on her feet and continuing the journey across the club without giving her a second thought.

The DJ switches the music to a soft ballad when he takes Mary Margaret's hand and leads her to the dance floor just as Emma does the same to David. Soon the crowd figures out what's going on and join in, Mary Margaret and David being passed off from one person to another as they get closer and closer to each other. His eyes stay trained on Emma as he watches her smile at their friends.

She looks stunning tonight and when she meets his eyes with a huge grin on her face, it nearly takes his breath away. They both move back toward the newlyweds-to-be and sweep them toward each other for the last few feet. He spins Mary Margaret out of his arms and into David's, pulling off her blindfold in one smooth motion as Emma pulls off David's.

The couple startle for half a beat but then their faces light up as they share a sweet kiss to the applause of everyone in the club.

Killian continues to watch them as they lose themselves in the dance, foreheads meeting and eyes closing in a gesture that speaks of the deep love between them and he can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at their happiness.

He feels someone tugging at his hand and turns to Emma as she pulls him toward the table where their other friends have gathered. As they watch the happy couple swaying slowly in the middle of the dance floor Emma's head lands on his shoulder.

Slipping his arm around her waist, he lets himself relish this moment of closeness with her. She's obviously drunk, and while it's not unheard of for the two of them to exchange moments of affection, he knows that part of the reason she's doing it now can be attributed to the occasion and the alcohol.

The song finishes and the crowd applauds again as David and Mary Margaret make their way off the dance floor and the music changes back to a thumping beat.

He and Liam are nominated to get a fresh round of drinks from the bar. As they head in that direction, the brunette who ran into him earlier makes a re-appearance. Liam seems keen on talking to the girl and her friends, so he does his best to make polite conversation for a moment so as not to spoil his brother's fun.

The next thing he knows, Emma is at his side, looping her arm through his and saying something about helping carry the drinks. Killian turns to Liam to get his attention and when he turns back the brunette is staring at Emma, looking pale and taking a hasty step away like she'd just been told to 'back the fuck off.'

Confused, he looks to Emma but she's all innocence.

When they make it back to the table with drinks for everyone, there are only two empty chairs. Liam takes one and Killian motions for Emma to take the other but she promptly ignores him, pushing him into it instead and settling herself on his lap. He places his left hand at the small of her back (no matter how much he'd rather wrap his arm around her waist and pull her closer) and squeezes the tumbler he's holding in his right until his knuckles turn white.

Liam and David both give him pointed looks from across the table that he pretends not to see. He knows they'll chide him about it later since they've both made it clear over the years that they know how he really feels about her but right now he doesn't care. Besides, it's not like Emma really means anything by it, it's just her way of being polite so he didn't have to stand while everyone else had a chair.

He quickly downs his rum because, bloody hell, he needs it, and when he leans forward to place his empty glass on the table, he upsets Emma's balance and she wraps her arm around his neck to steady herself. It doesn't go unnoticed by him (or Liam and David) that she leaves it there even after he has settled back into the chair.

Confusion strikes again as he sees Emma receive pointed looks of her own from Ruby and Mary Margaret and it's hard for him to tell since he's not exactly an unbiased party but he could swear the one Ruby gives her is one of approval – and dare he hope, encouragement?

More shots are ordered and he watches Emma take one after another. She's usually not much of a drinker but tonight she seems to be on a mission. In the back of his mind, it occurs to him that she's going to have a whopping hangover tomorrow, so he stops drinking, knowing that one of them will have to care for Hope.

The longer the night wears on and the more sober he gets, the more difficult it is to ignore the way Emma shifts on his lap, the way she leans further into his chest. It takes everything in him not to groan when she leans forward to put her glass down and her ass rubs against him, and he can't suppress it at all when she starts fiddling with the hair at the base of his neck.

He sees her home at the end of the night - there's no way he's letting her get into a taxi alone in her condition - still reeling from the feel of her body tight against his when she insisted he dance with her during the final ballad the DJ dedicated to the soon-to-be-married couple.

The ride to her apartment is torture. She rests her head on his shoulder and hums in satisfaction with a murmured, "You're so comfortable," that fills him with equal measures of tenderness and lust. He clasps his hands together in his lap in an attempt to keep them still and sits up straighter in the seat, his entire body taut as he looks out the window to distract himself.

She stumbles on the front stoop when they arrive and he has to all but carry her to the elevator. She hits the button for the wrong floor with a giggled, "oops" and then she's leaning on him again. When the elevator gives the initial jerk it does every time, she gropes for his hand and doesn't let go. He wants to write it off as nothing, but the looks he noticed between her and Ruby and Mary Margaret (and he noticed several) are still swirling in his head and he's suddenly not sure if it's just the liquor or something more.

God, he hopes it's something more.

He follows her into the apartment with some half-baked notion of getting her to take some aspirin to help with her hangover. They're both in the wedding tomorrow and Hope is the flower girl, so Emma will need to be as alert as she can be. She still hasn't released his hand and he uses that to pull her toward the kitchen even as she starts straight for the couch.

'I want to sit down,' she whines.

'Soon, love,' he promises.

She's leaning heavily against the counter while he opens the pill bottle and when he places the aspirins in her hand she sways enough that he snakes one arm around her waist to steady her. As he fills a glass of water one-handed, she takes the opportunity to burrow her face into his throat, pressing her nose into his skin with a murmured, 'Mmmm, you smell good."

The water glass nearly overflows when his eyes fall shut at the way she rubs her nose into the column of his neck but he catches it just in time.

'Here, Swan,' he says in a strangled tone, 'take your medicine like a good girl.'

She reluctantly pulls away and takes the medicine. As she lowers the glass, she meets his eyes over the rim, studying him.

"Thank you for taking care of me," she says while placing the glass in the sink.

Her playful demeanor is suddenly gone, her voice steady but her eyes still glassy, and he's not sure anymore just how drunk she actually is.

Scratching behind his ear, he replies, "You'd do the same for me, Swan."

She shakes her head at that. "I'm not just talking about tonight," she tells him. "You're always there when I need you and I don't thank you nearly enough. I know you do most of it because of Hope but - "

"I do it for both of you," he cuts her off.

His interruption seems to confuse her for a second but then her eyes soften and a smile flitters across her lips as she closes the distance and meets his mouth with more accuracy than he thought she possessed at the moment.

His arms encircle her automatically, his first instinct more primal than common sense, and he kisses her back because he just needs to, he needs to feel her against him, if only for a moment. So he lets her lead his lips into a passionate and slightly reckless kiss that has his senses reeling and his blood humming before common sense wins out.

When he grips her by the shoulders to put a few inches of distant between their bodies, the groany whine she makes is almost enough to make him pull her back and damn the consequences but she sways on her toes and he can't overlook her current state. She wouldn't be doing this sober and, dammit, no matter how much he wants her body, he knows it will never be enough to have her just because her judgement is impaired and maybe she's feeling a little vulnerable because her best friend is getting married.

Still, when her hands grip at his collar with a whispered, please, Killian, and pulls his forehead to hers, when her lips seek and find his again on a long moan, he's helpless to stop her. He may be a gentleman but he's no bloody saint and the temptation of Emma's soft curves pressed into him are more intoxicating than every shot she had tonight. She drags him back under for a long kiss that has all the blood in his brain rushing south so fast that Emma gasps against his mouth when she feels it against her thigh.

The sound reverberates in his ears, breaking through the lust induced moment and he attempts to push away again.

"Emma…"

With a strength that belies her slight build, she grips at his arms to keep him from putting more than a few inches' distance between them and he can't seem to force himself to widen the gap because her eyes are full of wonder and it makes his breath catch as she holds his gaze, something soft and dreamy in the jade depths.

"Do you remember the night we made Hope?" she asks softly.

His heart constricts in his chest because of course he bloody remembers. He thinks about it on a daily basis, dreams of it nearly every night, but he hesitates because he's terrified that admitting it will endanger everything they've worked to build. If she remembers this conversation tomorrow will she look at him differently? Push him away? Or worse, look at him with pity? He's not sure he could handle that.

But the way she's looking at him right now, eyes wide and open and on him, reminds him of just how incredible it was. Then he remembers that brunette backing away… Had she given her a warning glance? And he remembers the approving look Ruby gave her, the way she'd played absentmindedly with his hair and how she'd tucked her body into his while they danced.

So he takes the chance as he clenches his eyes shut and leans forward to rest his forehead against hers, his voice clogged with emotion when he replies, "I remember every detail, love."

Her body actually shivers at his response and then she whispers, "So do I… I remember everything."

The groan that escapes him feels like it's being ripped out of his lungs and his heart starts beating so hard that the sound nearly drowns out her next words.

"I dream about it sometimes… about what it was like to be with you."

"I dream about it, too," he admits in a low voice because there's no point in denying it now. Even if she is only saying it because alcohol has loosened her tongue, he can hear the truth in her words and she deserves his honesty in return.

Whether she regrets it tomorrow is something they'll have to deal with.

But, right now, she seems thrilled with his confession and her hand moves to the back of his neck so that she can direct his mouth back to hers. He gives in immediately, the emotions running through his system making it impossible to push her away.

He's so lost in her that he doesn't realize she's backing him up until he hits the couch. Her hands are everywhere at once, yanking and pulling on his clothes, her fingers making contact with the bare skin of his chest and raking downward toward his jeans. It feels like absolute heaven but then she stumbles and nearly knocks over the lamp and he's reminded that she's not herself. She's drunk and no matter how much he wants to believe she wants this as much as he does, she's not in the right mind to make this decision.

"Emma," he breaks away from her mouth long enough get the words out. "Emma, we can't do this."

"Why not? You want me, don't you?"

"You know I do, Swan, but – ah…"

She cuts him off by rubbing her hand over his throbbing erection and he loses his train of thought because bloody Christ it feels so good.

"Emma," he tries again, "please, darling. You're drunk and we can't…"

He catches her hand and she groans against his mouth, "But I want to. I've wanted to for a long time and I've just been too scared to tell you."

He's pushed one step further to insanity because she sounds like she's telling the truth and damnation he wants to believe it… but it doesn't change the fact that even if she is, she apparently needed to get drunk to finally admit it… and that's not good enough.

"Tomorrow," he gasps, hearing the pleading tone of his own voice, "tell me this tomorrow. I want you, Swan. All of you. And if we do this and you regret it in the morning I... Tell me this when you're sober and clear headed and I promise, I'll give you everything, everything I have to give."

She continues to stare at him for several more heartbeats, her expression unreadable, before stepping out of his arms. He feels the loss like a physical blow and for a moment he almost snags her back. Then she turns and walks to her bedroom without saying another word.

The next day is a flurry of activity getting ready for the wedding. He picks up Hope and delivers her to Mary Margaret's apartment where Emma and Ruby have gathered to help the blushing bride. Ruby answers the door and he only gets a flash of Emma as Hope rushes excitedly to the dress she'll be wearing today. Emma's hair is pinned up in rollers but she still looks breathtaking and she only has time to offer him a tremulous smile before Ruby pushes him out the door and tells him to go meet up with David.

The wedding is beautiful, set in a quaint little chapel that Mary Margaret picked out, and his heart swells when Emma smiles softly at him as she walks down the aisle. He can't seem to take his eyes off her as she takes her place because he swears that look felt like a promise, but then Hope appears and his heart swells for a different reason. Pride and tenderness fill him as his daughter approaches, looking like a princess in her flouncy dress as she drops the petals behind her. She stops in front of Emma, where her mother's hands land on her shoulders and winks at her with a whispered, "Good job."

His and Emma's eyes meet again over Hope's head as the music changes and he knows he should be looking at the bride but he can't tear his eyes off her. She's smiling at him and she looks so beautiful and she's standing there with their daughter and all he can see are his girls, his family, and love fills his body in the most profound way and he can't wait to get her alone.

But he can't get her alone. Not yet, anyway.

The wedding goes perfectly and he watches David and Mary Margaret make their vows and share a kiss and then they're walking out. Emma takes his arm and squeezes as he escorts her down the aisle.
She looks like she wants to say something but then they're both engulfed in people and she's called away to pose for photographs.

"Later," she says as she turns to go and this time he's certain: It's a promise.

During the reception, he tries more than once to get her alone but they're surrounded by family and friends who all seem hell bent on keeping them occupied. Even the dance they're supposed to share gets interrupted almost immediately when Hope wraps her arms around both of them and asks if she can dance with her daddy. He and Emma agree instantly and the next thing he knows cameras are flashing from every direction as he scoops Hope into his arms.

When the newlyweds get whisked away by a horse and carriage, Hope is slumping in his arms with her head on his shoulder as he rocks her back and forth, and that's when he feels an arm around his waist. He turns to see Emma waving to the couple as the carriage pulls away before she turns to him and asks if he can give her a ride home.

The look she's giving him warms his heart and then she absolutely stuns him by going up on tip-toe and brushing her lips across his, adding, "I've only had one glass of champagne."

She holds his hand as he carries Hope into the apartment and he helps her get their daughter ready for bed. She takes it again as she shuts Hope's door and leads him to the couch.

"I'm sorry about last night," she says as soon as they're both sitting and his heart sinks. Maybe he misread her looks tonight.

She's still holding his hand, her eyes on it instead of him as she uses her other hand to trace along his fingers.

"You were right. I was drunk and I never should have put you in that position."

"It's alright, love. We can pretend it never happened if you want," he says, trying to give her an out, and immediately regrets it when her eyes shoot to his and he sees hurt flash across them before she looks away.

"Is that what you want? To pretend it never happened?"

No!

"God, no, Emma. I just…"

"I told you a long time ago I'm not good at this," she interrupts him, "I'm not good at… at talking about…" She stops to huff out a breath and he can see the internal struggle she's going through and he wants to wrap her in his arms and tell her it's okay, that she doesn't have to say anything but then she's looking at him and he sees her expression change to one of determination. "But I never… I never told you why."

He almost stops breathing because her words are laced with tears and he knows what she's about to say and even if he figured it out years ago, she's never talked about it and he would do anything to spare her this. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he also knows she needs to say it, she needs to tell him on her own terms, which is exactly why he's never asked.

So he keeps silent and waits as she takes a long, shaky breath and steels herself.

"I was abandoned as a baby. I was found on the side of a highway. My parents didn't even drop me off at a hospital."

He swallows hard at the red hot fury her words cause. On the side of a fucking highway?

"I was placed with a family – the Swans – and I lived with them until I was almost five years old. But then the wife got pregnant and they…"

She hesitates and the overwhelming fury he feels hardens into a tight ball in his chest and drops into his stomach because, bloody hell, she's not about to say what he thinks, is she?

"They couldn't afford a second child, so they sent me back."

His heart breaks in his chest, he swears he can hear it crack right in two, and he can't stop himself from touching her anymore. He pulls her forward into his chest and buries his hand in her hair, whispering, "I'm so sorry, Emma."

She's stiff in his arms, her hands pressed flat against his chest, caught there as he squeezes her closer wishing he could do something more.

"I was moved around a lot after that," she goes on, her voice shaky, "I was never in one place for more than six months until I aged out of the system."

When she puts pressure against his chest, he loosens his grip and she meets his eyes, tears caught in her eyelashes that she refuses to let fall.

"I never had anyone I could count on. Never. I was always alone… until I met you. And you… You changed me. You made me want to trust you. When I found out I was pregnant, I almost didn't tell you. I was terrified because even that first night you made me feel things I didn't want to feel. But I couldn't not tell you… And then you were there… every time I needed you, you were there… and I told myself it was just because you wanted Hope, not me, because no one has ever wanted me but I think maybe, maybe you do? And maybe – "

"I do, Emma. I do want you… in every way possible."

The smile that spreads across her face is the only encouragement he needs as he leans forward and brushes his lips against hers. "And I don't just want you, darling," he adds as their noses rub together, "I love you… more than anyone I've ever known – except maybe our daughter – and if you let me I'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you."

There are tears back in her eyes but this time they're accompanied by a smile as she lifts a hand to his cheek and replies, "I love you, too."

His heart feels like it's flooding as he lets out a relieved sigh and then she's standing, tugging on his hand and leading him to her room.

Neither of them speak as they slowly remove clothing, worshiping each other with every touch, every kiss. Once they're completely bare, she cups his face in her hands and holds him there, looking at him like she's trying to see into his soul and then she smiles and surges forward to wrap her arms around his neck in a hug that nearly takes his breath away. He buries his nose in her neck in return and they stand there, locked together from head to toe, swaying slowly for a moment that fills his body with complete joy. There's not even anything sexual about it. It's deeper than that. It's an embrace that wipes away all the loss and heartache they've been through. It's a promise that neither of them will ever be alone again. It's tender and full of love and he never wants to let go.

When she releases him and takes a step back, she's still smiling but it's different, now she's biting her lip in a way that makes his cock spring to attention and, bloody hell, the woman can take him from zero to insanity in the space of a heartbeat. She falls back onto the bed and pulls him down with her and the tenderness from only moments ago is vanquished as her mouth finds his and she grips at his backside to tuck his throbbing erection against her center.

He lets out a strangled moan that echoes through the room and she chuckles with a quick warning about keeping it down so they won't wake Hope. He nods his agreement but then has to give her the same warning a moment later when she cries out while he's sucking at her nipple. It's a struggle for both of them as they roll over the bed, taking turns driving each other to distraction but they manage to stay fairly quiet.

They come together with a sigh, the relief of finally being together like this again unsaid, but seen in each other's eyes as they both stop moving to enjoy the feeling. When they start moving again, it's slow and languid and when she whispers she loves him, his heart feels so light that it might float right out of his chest.

Her body welcomes every thrust, her warmth surrounding him and her hips rising to meet him as they share one kiss after another. It's all consuming as they move together; long, deep, slow thrusts that keep the pleasure licking at the surface without pushing past it into needy. Her hands rub up and down his back, her nails lightly scoring his skin and he shudders. He grips at her hip with one hand and buries the other in her hair and she sighs.

It's more than he's ever felt in his life as they move together, leisurely exploring each other with their hands, skin gliding against skin in a rhythm so perfect that he wants it to go on for eternity. They keep their lips close, sharing long, wet kisses while their bodies continue the unhurried dance.

She says his name like a prayer, breathes it out against his mouth and he answers with her name as their hands meet and twine together. She gasps when he changes the angle slightly and it's only a moment later when she comes around him. He watches in awe as she bites at her lower lip and her body quivers beneath him even at this languid pace and it must surprise her too because her eyes pop wide open on his before she smiles and lifts her head to kiss him again.

When she pushes on his chest, he rolls with her and she keeps moving in the same leisurely way, clearly enjoying the aftermath of her orgasm as she hums in the back of her throat. She sits up and he gasps as he sinks even deeper into her and he's tempted to grab her hips and increase the pace but, fuck, this is so perfect that he just can't. So he rests his hands on her thighs and watches as she rocks above him, her hands moving up and down his chest, teasing at his nipples.

She's a bloody goddess and he groans, loudly and without restraint, and she leans forward to drink it off his lips. Then she's sitting up again and groaning loudly herself and he pushes up to return the favor.

Her arms wrap around his back to keep him upright as she deepens the kiss, her tongue teasing and tangling with his while her hips grind down into his over and over again. It's mesmerizing, the way they just fit together, the way their bodies mold into one, the way they can keep the pace unhurried and the fire still starts shooting through his veins. She breaks the kiss on a gasp and throws her head back and, bloody hell, she's coming again and this time he's so close that the feel of her body quivering around him is enough to send him over the edge as well.

She doesn't let him go, in fact, she pulls him impossibly closer and wraps her legs around his waist as they come down. He plants one hand on the bed when she sways as her muscles go lax and she hums with contentment.

"Where are we going to live?" she asks.

His eyes pop open and he has trouble breathing because she doesn't mean…

Her eyes are still closed and she runs her lips across his forehead before she continues, "Your place is closer to Hope's school, but Mary Margaret and David are going to be living in her apartment now and it would be nice to have a couple of built-in babysitters a door away."

Holy fuck, she does mean it.

When he doesn't answer right away, she opens her eyes and, taking in what he is sure must be a completely dumbfounded expression, asks, "Too soon?"

The breath he must have unconsciously been holding whooshes out of his lungs and he surges forward to kiss her, burying a hand in her hair and tilting her head to the side so he can delve deep into her mouth.

When they come up for air, she smiles against his lips. "While I liked that answer, it really doesn'tanswer the question. Where do you think we should live?"

But he still doesn't answer, saying instead, simply, "Marry me, Emma."

It's her turn to look shocked and it's her turn to kiss him hungrily, her nails digging into his shoulders as she laughs out against his lips.

He grins as they break apart and leans back to see her eyes sparkling. "While I liked that answer, it really doesn't – "

"Yes!" she cuts him off.

They're both laughing as they tumble back into the bed, and he pulls her against him to tuck her into his side.

"I think we should live here," he whispers.

Two weeks later, they announce their new relationship status to their friends. Mary Margaret and David have just returned from their honeymoon and they all meet up at Granny's Diner for dinner one night. It's been torture keeping it from Liam but he and Emma decided to wait until all of their friends were together since they'd all been rooting for it for so long. He arrives first and claps David on the shoulder to welcome him home. Emma comes in with Hope about five minutes later and crosses directly to him. Neither of them say a word, she just throws her arms around him and kisses him for all he's worth.

He can hear the shocked gasps of their friends right before Hope speaks up, sounding a little bored as she says, "Yeah. They do that all the time now… and Daddy even bought Momma a new ring."

He and Emma break apart with a chuckle and he ruffles his daughter's hair while Emma holds the ring out to show Mary Margaret and Ruby.

Three weeks after that, he comes home to a quiet house. Usually, Hope greets him at the door and his brow wrinkles in confusion because Emma had texted him just an hour ago to ensure he'd be home in time for dinner.

"Darling?" he calls out as he walks through the living room. "Emma, love, where are you?"

He knows she's here because there's sauce simmering on the stove, so he continues on to their bedroom and sees her reflection in the mirror as she stands at the bathroom sink, holding something in her hand.

She's standing stock still, staring at the object in her hand and concern rockets through him.

"Emma? Is everything alright, love?"

She turns toward him but doesn't look up as she continues to study the… stick… in her hand… with a look of complete shock… and…

"Emma? Are you…" he shakes his head as if to clear it. "Is that a… a pregnancy test?"

When she finally looks at him, she's smiling from ear to ear as she says, "I guess we're batting a thousand, sailor."

He's smiling back instantly and then rushing forward to pull her into his arms.

"If it's a girl, I think we should name her Faith," she whispers into his ear.

"Faith, Hope and Love," he replies and rubs her nose with his. "That's perfect… love."