A/N: So here we are at the end of another story. I hope you have enjoyed this little world and the hopefully familiarity of the characters. It has been a fun ride for me and I hope for you to have a light and fluffy story. Thank you for taking the time to read it, comment on it, review it, enjoy it, like it, favorite it, follow it, etc.

One year after Emma and Henry arrived in Storybrooke, Killian Jones stood in one of the guest rooms of Granny's Bed and Breakfast and smoothed the jacket of his suit the best he could with a shaking hand. He was not nervous to be marrying Emma, but the knowledge that she might very well attempt to run was playing through his mind and scaring him senseless. He would have to chase her, he decided firmly, convince her that this was not such a bad idea. If she wanted to keep things the same with them just sharing a bed, he was okay with that too.

"Don't throw up," Elsa said as she entered the room without knocking. He was used to her now, used to the way she simply entered a room as if people were waiting on her. "It'll be hell to clean up."

"Wouldn't want to lose any of the deposit," he mumbled as Elsa dug into her small purse for a mint. Finding one, she held it out and waited for him to take it. When he didn't, she unwrapped it and thrust it forward to his mouth.

"And you don't want bad breath on your wedding day," she finished. "Everyone will watch you kiss Emma for the first time as her husband. You don't want her to look grossed out by your breath."

"Aye," he said, blinking as his eyes watered from the strong mint. "I wouldn't want that."

"So Emma doesn't have a father to deliver this speech," Elsa said, her hands resting on her hips. "And I'm not much for fatherly speeches, but she gave Will this same talk. So I'm here to do it to you." He raised a solitary eyebrow. "Three rules. If she cries, you had better be crying too. I mean tears of joy, pain, or sadness. Second rule goes with the first. If she shoes up at my place to get away from you, you'd better run. I will find you and kick your sorry butt back across the pond or the lake or whatever. Third rule. Make her happy. You do a good job of that so keep it up. Bring her ice cream just because. Kiss her because you can. Hold her hand in the grocery store. It's the little things. Just make her happy."

"Or you'll kick my sorry arse?"

"You betcha." She gave him a warning glance, told him he looked passable, and then ducked out of the room to finish helping Emma get ready. He was alone again, waiting on David, Thomas, and Philip to arrive to help him. He heard David arrive first, the sunglasses a clear indication that he was still sporting a hangover of epic proportion. The night before had been a bit wild and crazy.

"And how are we this morning?" Killian asked in his best imitation of Mary Margaret he could muster. "Did we have too much to drink?"

"Cocky bastard," David mumbled dropping into a chair and kicking his shoed feet on the bed. "Death has to be preferable to this."

"Did you drink some coffee?" Killian asked, eyeing him suspiciously in light of the warnings about deposits and puking on the light colored rugs. "Toast? Juice?"

"I didn't come in here for the breakfast buffet," David said testily. I'm here to help you get ready and to deliver a much needed speech." He cleared his throat dramatically as pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. Giving it a once over, he folded it back in his hands. "Emma doesn't have a family to do this so I have decided to give you the dad speech."

"Bloody hell," Killian said. "Elsa just did the same thing. If you are just here to threaten me, I'm thinking I've gotten the message. Anyway. You're my mate. Why aren't you giving her the speeches? I don't have any family either." He was touched at how his friends had embraced Emma, but it was getting ridiculous. He wondered if they had broken up whose side these blokes would have taken.

David tugged at his tie, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm considering this practice for Ruth," he said. "You see, Killian, women are like flowers. They are beautiful and resourceful, tough yet delicate."

"Are you kidding me, mate?" Killian asked, rolling his eyes. "You sound like a bloody fortune cookie."

***AAA***

"Are you going to carry me into the room each time?" Emma asked as Killian deposited her on the bed and raced to lock the door behind them. "I think it might be overkill."

"We're on our honeymoon," he reminded her. "Isn't it supposed to be good luck or something?" He winked at her, yanking at the fabric of his jacket as she giggled and propped herself on the mountain of pillows that their hotel had provided.

"With as many times as you've carried me over the threshold, I'm thinking we should consider buying lottery tickets," she said, mimicking his motions to rid herself of the clothes she had put on just for dinner. "Or maybe you're just trying to ensure you get lucky with me."

His look was almost predatory as he hovered over her, the shirt he'd been wearing was pushed off his shoulders and clung to his pants as she yanked and tore at his belt. He told her she was in too much of a hurry, but he didn't stop her. He'd never dissuaded her from doing anything other than leaving.

"I love you."

***AAA***

Emma sat nervously in Dr. Graham's office, waiting on the professor to finish reading the conclusion to her semester's research paper. She had seen the younger woman before her leave the office in tears, crying that after years of work she had been shot down just weeks before graduation. Emma could only pray at this point that her fate was not the same. Her stomach lurched with what she attributed to nervousness and maybe something she didn't want to consider at that moment as her hands rubbed against the soft denim of her pants. Her engagement ring and wedding band shone brightly in the office light, giving her some comfort that Killian was in the next building over.

"It is an interesting theory," he said, holding his pen above the pages as if he was trying to find the right words to mark down on it. "I might say it is a bit optimistic."

Her laughter tittered nervously. "Not many people say that about me," she said, sighing as she waited on the proverbial axe to drop. He was going to hate it. She had spent weeks working on perfecting her words, double checking her research, interviewing social workers and former foster children. All of it was a waste if he declared it as such. By credit hours she was still just a beginning junior, but she'd pushed through so hard that she had applied for the dual graduate program at the university. She could finish her last year of her undergrad while taking graduate courses. That was, if her advisor approved.

"There are a few small issues with your statistical analysis, but I see nothing major there since this is more of a qualitative paper than quantitative." The pen touched his lips. "I think that you have the basis of a great undergraduate thesis here. Perhaps even the makings of a publishable paper."

"Really?" she asked, her hands clenched together tightly. "Do you…"

He dropped the thick stack of papers onto his desk and peered at his computer. "I suppose you are wanting a letter of recommendation to the joint studies program," he said, pressing a few keys. "I'm afraid there are usually more applicants than there are spots."

Her smile faded, the feeling of disappointment clouding over her. "I understand," she said, reminding herself that at least he had not ripped her to shreds. She was not sure that this overload of a schedule was for her anyway, not with a family.

"A letter from me is not a guarantee, mind you," he said, his gaze fixed on the screen. "However, they usually follow my lead on such things. Come by after our next class session. I'll have it ready for you then." He smiled back at her. "Good work, Mrs. Jones."

Emma practically flew out of the faculty offices and out onto the cold landscape of the campus. Snow crunched under her boots as she ran for the life sciences building where Killian now had his office. She hurried past the tired looking students in the lobby, who were cramming for anatomy tests and flipping through flashcards at blinding rates. There were four students waiting to see her husband, who despite protests had agreed to take on a full load of classes. Emma pretended to ignore the two 20 year old students who were applying new lipstick and talking about how cute Professor Jones was to them.

As one of the students left, Killian poked his head out to discern who was next, his eyes brightening as he saw Emma. He knew about her meeting with her advisor and despite his inclination to do so, he had not placed a call in her favor. She had insisted she was doing this by herself, which was his independent wife's way. No favors, she had said, nothing that would be unfair to the other candidates. So he complied and let her fight her way into contention for one of the spots.

He beckoned her into the office, ignoring the grumbles from the other students as she slid into the small space and shut the door behind her. There was no clue with the expression on her face, no telling what exactly she was thinking or feeling at that moment. So he had to ask. "What's going on? Did you talk to him? What did he say?"

The smile that broke out on her face was dazzling and her arms looped around him, pulling him in for a quick kiss. "He said he'll recommend me," she practically squealed. Her arms were still around him, face turned up to his.

"Of course," Killian said. "He'd be an idiot not to recommend you, love. You are perfect for this spot. You have worked so hard for it. I know that…"

She stepped backward, her face blanching as she gripped the doorknob behind her. "I don't feel so well," she said, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. "It's probably just nerves."

"Sit," he told her, barking out the order as though she was a pet. He guided her to the chair beside his desk and helped her into the seat. "You look pale. Are you in pain? Is it your head?"

She waved off his concerns, assuring him that it was just the stress of presenting her paper and having to talk to Dr. Graham. That had to be it, had to be all that was bothering her. "Killian, I'm fine," she insisted.

"You probably skipped breakfast," he said accusingly. The last few mornings she had, as the idea of food was somewhat distasteful at times lately. "Here. I haven't touched my coffee yet. Have a sip." He lifted the captain mug to her lips, almost spilling as she yanked away from him.

"Sorry," she said, holding a hand over her mouth and nose. "I can't…" She was out of the seat and pawing at the door to open it, leaving him shocked and confused as she dashed down the hall to the restroom. He was still wearing that expression when she emerged a little while later. Her face was pale and her shirt a bit wet from her attempts to splash water on her face and drink from her cupped hand.

"Emma?" he asked taking a tentative step toward her as she leaned against the wall with a sheepish look on her own face. "Love, are you ill? Is something…"

She wondered for a moment if he was at all aware of the possibilities in this situation. They had been married a few weeks more than two years. The topic of children had come up more than a few times, even leading to a decision to see where nature took them. However, after five months an no positive pregnancy test to show for it, they had quelled their enthusiasm for expanding their family and decided that the timing was probably not right anyway.

"I don't know for sure," she began, not wanting to raise his hopes. She had seen his face each of those months when the news did not come. She had seen his smile fade and return as he talked to continuing to practice and he was sure there would be a result soon. She had heard the hitch in his voice when he told her that Henry was enough and that they had a wonderful family the way it was. "I'm late."

His mouth opened a bit, thinking to ask her if she had another meeting or class he didn't know about. Despite her complaints that she did not need him to always be the hero in her life, she knew he was a fixer by nature. If he heard of a problem, he sought the solution. "Late?" he repeated, confused by the choice of word and the fact that he knew her schedule.

She nodded her head slowly, waiting for him to understand. "Late," she repeated. "I know this is probably a bad time given that I'm trying to take on an overloaded school schedule, my capstone project, Henry starting high school, and work getting more hectic, but we thought we would let nature take its course." She paused again, hoping she wasn't the only one catching on to the fact that she was late, her emotions had been haywire, the morning sickness, the aversion to foods, and the fact that she just knew.

"Pregnant?" he asked in one word. She had expected this moment to be different. Maybe it was the commercials and cheesy movies where the father to be was so overcome that he swept his wife into his arms and danced her around the room. Maybe it was the scene in her head where the father would fall to his knees and circle himself around her middle, talking to the unborn child through her stomach. Killian, for once, was not as dramatic. He seemed rooted to the floor, unable to move. "You're…we're…"

"I don't know for sure," she answered quickly, well aware they were having this conversation in a hallway of a very public place. "I…"

"We have to find out," he said in exasperation.

***AAA***

Emma climbed the stairs to the second level of the house, the scent of fresh cut wood strong from the work that Marco had been doing on the nursery. She was not even sure what the plan was in the extra bedroom, but Killian had insisted that it be done right. His face when she pointed out the ready to assemble cribs and changing tables had been of a man so horrified that she slunk backward and agreed to the remodeling project.

Their bedroom was dark when she entered and glanced at the clock that said it was close to midnight. She was exhausted, the combination of school and work not mixing well with the exhaustion and fatigue of being an expectant mother. Just that night she had seriously considered asking Killian if they might move their bedroom to the first floor because her legs did not want to climb the stairs. Kicking off her shoes, she glanced around again to see if she could tell where her husband was or what he was doing. There was no noise from Henry's room and the only glow was from the nightlight in the hallway and the soft lamps in the baby's room. Of course, she thought, he's in there inspecting Marco's craftsmanship.

Her feet slapped against the hardwood floors as she made her way into the nursery, taken aback by the comfortable space it was becoming. The rich cherry wood was carried out in the crib, changing table, and two matching rockers. The walls were painted in a soft blue with a darker blue stripe that chased around the room. The pile of the rug in the center of the room was so thick that she could practically feel it on her ankles. Built in bookshelves were loaded with every children's book imaginable, protected from the dust and elements by doors with plexi (not glass) inserts.

She knew that Killian liked to spend time in the room, but she wasn't prepared for the sight of him on the floor. "What are you doing?" she asked in a shout like whisper. "It's time for bed."

Flipping over to a sitting position, he held up a plastic contraption that she assumed he was trying to install on the electrical outlet. "I read about these in that magazine at the doctor's office," he explained. "It was among the top items for babyproofing your home."

"Babyproofing?" she asked, her hand touching her abdomen out of habit. At just over 20 weeks, they had only recently learned the baby's sex. Their son would not be making his arrival for another few months and even after that it would be a while before he was mobile. She told him as much.

He sighed, looking around the room with a bit of reluctant shame. "I just feel like I need to be doing something, love. You're carrying the baby. You have the morning sickness, the cravings, the leg cramps, and all that. You're the one who will have to push the baby out in the delivery room. I feel like I haven't done enough." He turned the plastic cover over in his hand and stared at it. "Silly, I know."

"It's not silly," she said, carefully lowering herself to the floor with only a little more effort than the task used to require. "You want to be a part of this baby's life. That's not a silly or small thing, Killian. But here's the thing. He doesn't need us to be perfect. He needs us to love him and to give him a good, safe, and happy home."

Killian lifted his head and smiled. "You are getting pretty good at those pep talks."

"You and Elsa are rubbing off on me," she grinned back. Reaching over, she plucked the plastic device out of his hand. "Any idea how this thing works?"

"Not a bloody clue," Killian admitted, chuckling as she tossed it over her shoulder. "Perhaps we can come back to it."

"Does that mean you're ready for bed?" she asked, looking around the room once more. "Because you're going to have to help me up. Someone knocked me up and left me feeling like a whale." She held out her hands as he stood to encourage him to pull her up too.

"You're not even close to a whale, love," he corrected, kissing her as she regained her balance. "You look beautiful."

Holding up her hand as if to direct traffic, she grinned. "Save it, buddy. We're a little more than half way there. Save some of the lines when you have to talk me down from a few more ledges. I may be giving the pep talk tonight, but I assure you that I'll be back to my crazily neurotic self soon enough."

***AAA***

She wasn't completely wrong as her pregnancy continued and she struggled to maintain normalcy and sanity. Henry made himself scarce, unable to take his mother's sudden mood swings that ranged from grounding him for being rude to hugging him because he was growing up too fast. He and Killian had created their own system of looks to say whether or not the other one wanted to brave a confrontation at that moment.

Her final exams were just beginning that semester and she had been up most of the night studying until Killian had gently pulled the books out of her hands and insisted that a good night's sleep was more important.

She flung the cover off of the bed with such force that it landed on the floor in a heap, leaving Killian without protection from the cool night air that did not seem so cool to her. "Bloody hell," he said, blindly reaching for the covers in a groggy state. "It's freezing in here."

One eye popped open to see her staring at him as though murder was not illegal in the state of Maine. He scrunched back in the bed, holding his pillow for protection. "It is 900 degrees in here. I can't sleep. I'm sweating to death. And your child…yes, your child…has decided that tonight would be a great time to take up kickboxing inside of me." She glared at him the low rumble of her growl reverberating around the room. "Now is not the time to tell me about your problems with the temperature."

He nodded mutely, jumping up from the bed and dashing into the hallway to adjust the thermostat. When he entered the room, she was sprawled out in the center of the bed, the tank she had been sleeping in was riding up over her belly and her hair was damp from sweat. He snuck into the closet and pulled out a sweatshirt, covering himself with it and joining her on less than half of the bed. Something told him not to fall asleep until she did.

***AAA***

The days had grown longer and the sun sat higher in the sky as Killian offered a suggestion about correcting their course to Henry. Both men squinted against the bright reflection of the sun against the waves and heard Emma reminding them earlier that sunglasses and hats would have been a good move at that point. The wind was strong, pushing the boat along as Killian and Henry adjusted the sails to just the right angles.

Four years had passed since Emma and Henry first came to Storybrooke, though sometimes it felt much shorter. Henry had lost many of the boyish features he'd had and now took on the more masculine features of his father with his brown hair that curled at the edges when he let it get too long and the soft darkness of his eyes that crinkled in the corners when he laughed or smiled. He wasn't the only one who had changed.

Emma and Killian had married three years ago in a beachside ceremony. Four years of school and work later, Emma was now a graduate student and held her first degree. They had celebrated her graduation with their friends, making silly speeches and laughing loudly. However, Killian was quick to tell her how proud of her he was, sitting front and center with Henry at her graduation ceremony, which came just days before their son's first birthday.

There had been worries when they had confirmed her pregnancy. She worried that she wasn't up to the task – a thought she should have had sooner, she had chastised. She worried that Killian wasn't fully aware of the responsibility of fatherhood. She worried that Henry might not take to being a big brother after so many years of being the only child. He proved her wrong. Henry adored his little brother and went charging into the nursery every time that his little brother cried out. It was Henry that elicited the most smiles out of the pint sized Liam. That was not to say that Liam did not love his parents. He was a happy baby and even more cheerful toddler. He gladly shared his smiles and giggles with all three of them.

Killian chuckled as Henry stood a little straighter and adjusted his stance at the wheel, the gestures obviously not directed at his stepfather. He was clearly showing off for a girl, the blonde haired young lady sitting on one of the padded benches with her eyes trained specifically on Henry rather than the scenery around them.

"Are you sure I can't help you or Mrs. Jones?" Paige asked when Killian ventured closer to Henry to hand him the compass.

"We've got everything under control, Paige," Killian answered, again impressed by his friend's daughter. She was polite and thoughtful, both things he had told Henry it was important to find in a girl. "Henry might could use some help keeping us on course though." He refrained from winking at the boy, knowing that it was a blush reddening his young cheeks rather than a sunburn.

"Ummmm…yeah," Henry answered. "I could show you what to do." He sounded very unsure, almost as nervous as he had sounded when Killian and Emma suggested inviting Paige on their little daytrip. He had been to a few school dances with her, managed to invite her to three movies, countless afternoons studying, and a few shared meals at Granny's. However, he tried to keep it casual, not letting his mother or Killian know just how much he liked her.

Backing away, Killian busied himself with replacing a squeaking joint, smiling as he heard the familiar footsteps behind him. "So what's the plan, Captain?" Emma asked, emerging from the cabin below to inspect their progress. "Are we just going to sail around all day or is there a destination in mind?"

She was not surprised that his arms found their way around her, holding her against him as he pointed toward the horizon and a speck of green. "I thought we could have a nice lunch and some time on the beach since the weather is cooperative today," he said against the shell of her ear. "If all are agreeable."

Emma shot a look at her beaming son, who was proudly directing the boat on his own – not for the first time. "I think everyone can agree on that," she said. "But did you find us something to eat that everyone agree on or will there be mutiny today?"

"I believe we are all still on our best behavior with the lovely friend of Henry's onboard. Though you've been a little tough on the lass. Doing your motherly duty?" He was teasing, but she tensed a bit at the idea that she was being rough on anyone. "Emma?"

"You think you're going to be any different with this little girl," she said, lowering her hand to her growing abdomen. Their second child was due in a few weeks, a girl who was already seeming to weave her way into her father's heart. "I fear for any guy who wants to date her."

"Aye," Killian agreed, his hand rubbing along the swell. "Any lad who dares to want to court my daughter will be under strict scrutiny. Just as any lass who should try to capture the hearts of Henry and Liam."

Killian was becoming that father. He doted on both Henry and Liam, often being reminded by Emma that spoiling Liam was a bad idea. He mourned their defeats and celebrated their victories as though they were his own. On the evenings when Emma worked late or had a late class, she often found her three boys asleep on the couch. Lately though it had been more likely to find Henry and Killian asleep with Liam awake with a new tooth smile for his mother.

The second baby was not exactly planned, but Killian had been over the moon when Emma told him she thought they might just be expanding their family. He had resolutely stated that he just knew this baby would be a girl, which Emma had laughed off as his usual bravado. However, according to their recent ultrasound, he was correct – a fact he would not let her forget. She might have had doubts about adding to their family when things were already over the limits on crazy, but he had none. The look on his face when he learned he was going to be a father again sealed her resolution that she could not be happier with him.

"You do realize that we are done after this," she said as he began his usual process of talking to his little princess. She had teased him during her pregnancy with Liam that he did not need to have long conversations with their unborn child. He did every night before they went to sleep, telling the baby stories of his own childhood. Each morning she woke up to his lilting voice promising their child anything and everything he could provide. "I'm not going through another summer as Storybrooke's version of a whale."

Killian chuckled, kissing her cheek softly before the monitor she held in her free hand began to sound with the indications that Liam was waking up from his nap. She often complained that she was struggling to keep up with her career and being a mother, but he knew she would not trade it for the world. She had been just as enthralled by their son and she was quickly falling into the trap of cute dresses and rompers for their yet to be born daughter. "I would never ask that of you, love," he said, holding her tight for a moment before heading down the ladder stairs to see his son.

Everyone did like the idea of the beach picnic, which turned out to be a quiet affair except for the constant chasing down of Liam who much preferred running toward the water than eating. Killian took most of those jogs, as Emma lumbered a bit gracelessly with the advanced stage of her pregnancy and Henry was distracted by too Paige. It was a simple meal of sandwiches and pasta salad, brownies for dessert and assorted snack items to hold them over.

After the meal Henry took Paige on a walk away from his family while Emma and Killian attempted to help Liam build a sandcastle. Each of their efforts were thwarted by the 14 month old's insistence at diving into the sandy creation. "Liam," Emma said in mock surprise when he did it for the fourth time. "That was mommy's castle!" The little boy giggled gleefully, launching his sandy self into his mother's outstretched arms.

"He's an expert at demolition," Killian laughed, kissing the top of his son's dark hair as the boy stayed wound around Emma. "There are probably some good jobs for that sort of thing."

Emma sighed, Liam snuggling into her neck. "He can be anything he wants to be," she declared.

***AAA***

Ruby's shop in what had been apartment below the loft was still the talk of Storybrooke after opening two years before. Each item had been hand designed and produced right there in town and each included her signature red color. That was why the name Red had been so fitting for the venture. With business booming, the expansion of the space was a foregone conclusion.

"I've got some awesome new ideas for a black jumpsuit with a red belt," Ruby announced to the ladies who had gathered for the preview party. "It's going to be incredible."

"Everything you make is incredible," Ashley said, her fingers touching the wispy fabric of a blue and red dress that seemed to defy gravity with its high collar. "You are so talented." The blonde and her friend, Aurora, had financially backed Ruby's business, adding their own line of children's clothing to the mix.

The raven haired beauty smiled proudly, sipping on her wine and letting her friends bestow praise on her for both her abilities and talents. She pulled out fabric samples, swatches, photographs, sketches and a few more items to better show off her new line. "What do you think?"

Emma sighed at the black cocktail dress that had been sketched. It was a simple a-line style with a black lace overlay and a hint of red in the threads that made up the seams of the dress. "This is beautiful," she whispered. "I just wish I could fit in it."

Laughing gleefully, Mary Margaret sipped her wine and gave Emma a nudge with her shoulder. "You were back in shape in no time after Liam. I'm sure it will be the same with this little doll." When Emma shot her an unbelieving look, she just patted the expectant mother's shoulder and sighed. "It'll be fine, Emma."

Emma might have mentioned that she was not so sure about the assessment, but Anna's entry into the room meant a shift in focus. The woman carried in cartons of gelato from her husband's latest shop – now located in picturesque Storybrooke – and passed them around with instructions to try the new flavors. Soon the conversation turned from fabric and design to flavors and taste testing. "I told Kris that would be a hit," she said when everyone complimented the strawberry swirl. "That settles it. It's going on the menu."

Elsa redirected her sister back to Ruby's display of fashion trends, ignoring her sister's pleas for more feedback on the flavors. "We're here to talk fashion," she said to Anna in a hissing tone. "Fashion and fattening ice cream desserts don't mix."

***AAA***

Emma dropped some of the gelato off in front of her son who was browsing a website about colleges and admissions. She closed her eyes at the thought that in another year her son would be a high school graduate and she'd be facing a life of seeing him only occasionally. His muttered thanks was good enough as she left him and followed the sounds of her husband and younger son playing in the bathtub.

The splashing sound made her cringe at the mess they were probably making, but Killian's laughter mixed with the shrieks of the young Liam pushed that worry away as she stood in the doorway to watch her son attempt to drown the boats that her husband had loaded up in the tub.

Killian slapped his hand into the water, splashing the little boy and sending the boats rocking on the temporary waves. "Tidal wave," he said with an excited voice, returning his hand to brace his son's back as the boy mimicked the slapping motion. That little effort proceeded to soak both Killian and the floor.

"Such danger during bath time," Emma said from the doorway, her hands resting on her back that ached from a long day. "I'm glad I came home in time to rescue you both."

"Hello there, love," Killian said, flashing a dimpled smile at his wife. "I'd invite you to join us, but it is a bit treacherous. Pirates are on the attack." Liam splashed again, hitting his father square in the face with a shot of soapy water.

"I hope that the good guys win," she said, "though I do have a thing for pirates."

***AAA***

Already marking a way for the dramatic, Emily Celeste Jones was born six weeks early. Killian and Henry had reluctantly taken the boat out on a charter trip, assured by Emma that she and the baby were both fine. Liam asleep on against her shoulder, Emma had waved them off with a flick of her hand before heading back into the house. Her research was spread all over the home office and the computer's cursor blinked tauntingly at her with the first draft of her thesis on the screen.

She lowered Liam back down for his morning nap and got in a good two hours of writing when the first contraction hit. Familiar with the sensation, Emma scrambled to her phone and began the chain of calls that it would take. David picked her up and called Elsa and Anna straight away. Mary Margaret took Liam with Ruth to the park and had plans for a Disney movie marathon at the house.

Emma was already being prepped for delivery with Elsa holding one hand and Anna shouting out instructions when her husband burst through the doors smelling of fish and saltwater. Anna wrinkled her nose in distaste for the scent and grabbed for the hospital required garb for dads to be.

"Bloody hell, Emma, I thought you said you were fine," he said, breathless and shrugging out of the shirt he was wearing for a scrub top that was being foisted at him. "You didn't say you were having contractions."

"I wasn't," she said defensively. "Your daughter decided to interrupt my paper and make her debut. It's not my fault."

Anna trailed behind him, tying the cap on his head and grumbling as he leaned out of her reach to kiss his wife. "When I finally got the call from David I thought I had missed it. I thought I missed our little girl being born." He smoothed back her hair, searching her eyes for any sign of discomfort or distress. "I didn't miss it, did I?"

"Do you hear a screaming baby or see one?" Elsa asked sarcastically, giving her friend an agitated look that said she wanted to insult the gall of men. "You didn't miss it, you dork."

Emma smiled weakly at her husband's panicked face. "You act like we haven't been through this before," she breathed, cringing at the start of another contraction. "But I am saying it again now. This is the last time, buddy. If we have more children, they are coming out of you."

His hand grabbed for hers as he heard the commotion of Victor and two nurses entering the room and shooing Anna and Elsa out into the waiting area with the others. "I'd do anything for you," he assured her, leaning his forehead at her temple and marveling at the calmness his wife had in such a situation. She followed each instruction, scooting down or up on the bed as commanded, relaxing her legs when told, and breathing in the pattern directed by one of the nurses. She cussed like a sailor and threatened him with certain death if he ever touched her again, but the determined woman did everything in her power to push the baby out.

And just as with Liam, he was in shock as there was suddenly another person in the room. His daughter, red and wrinkly, wailed in protest of her entry into the world. Wiggling and bucking against the nurse's sure hands, the baby's shocking black hair stood out to him as he kissed his wife's temple and watched them weigh, measure, and clean up the baby girl who he knew would change their lives even more.

Emma was the first to hold her, the fatigue dropping to a state of wonder as she outlined each finger and toe, judged each feature, and wondered aloud why none of her children looked like her. "It's not fair," she said, laughing softly as little Emily seemed to calm herself against her mother's chest. "My children look like their fathers."

"It saves on the DNA tests," joked Victor, his jovialness silenced by a look from Emma. "She's a beautiful and healthy girl. I might add that Killian's features do translate well for a female."

"Thanks, mate," Killian said with a chuckle, leaning in to better see his daughter. "I'll try not to be insulted by that." As the tasks were done the room seemed to clear out and Emma and Killian were left alone with their tiny daughter.

Wrenching her gaze from the baby to Killian, Emma smiled at him warmly. "She's beautiful," she muttered, dreading the moment when the nurse said she'd be back to take young Emily away for more tests. "I can't believe we have a daughter."

His pride was evident on his face as he gazed down at his wife who had completed in his estimation and Herculean task by giving birth to such a miracle. He again felt inadequate as he realized just how incredible the moment was for them. "I love you," he said simply. "I don't even…"

"I love you too. I'm sorry for everything I said while I was in labor. I might have been a little mean." She smiled again, holding their daughter tighter. "She's pretty incredible, isn't she?"

***AAA***

In the seven years since she and Henry had moved to Storybrooke, Emma's life had changed dramatically. Now a social worker, Emma worked each day with foster children in the state system, finding them homes and resources to have lives better than her own had been at that age. Her cramped office was decorated in the institutional colors that were allowed on the state budget, but there was still a warmth to the space with pictures colored by the children she had helped and framed family photos on many of the surfaces.

Henry and Paige were in their first year of college at NYU, coming home every few weeks with laundry and stories of the latest happenings in the city. So far they had not honed in on majors, but Henry was leaning toward English and had just had a short story published in the university's literary journal. Killian was teaching fulltime and had finally agreed to go for his PhD, studying most evenings with one or two children on his lap as Emma caught up with paperwork or visited with her friends.

Their weekends were spent with the extended family they had created. There were Vermont ski trips with Elsa and Anna and their families. Game days with David and Mary Margaret, as well as their two little ones. Ruby dragged Emma and the rest of the ladies to fashion shows in New York and Boston. Philip had started an adult soccer league where the guys made fools of themselves on a regular basis. Belle started a reading group that had most all of them busy with the latest books and bottles of wine, as well as her efforts to start writing her own book.

But most of all, Emma thought as she finalized the last pages of the file of one of the children she was working with, was that Killian was still there. He had not left and she had not left him. Sometimes that just struck her. She still marveled that she got to sleep in his arms each night. She wondered why he put up with her when a case was too tough and she cried for hours because it reminded her of her own childhood. She asked herself if he was real when he left cookies for her after he had gone to bed and she had hours left of work. He seemed to know when she needed him or their children.

There were texts and phone calls just before an important custody hearing. There were the pictures of Liam making clay sculptures or Emily trying out a few ballet moves she saw on television. There was the way he would kiss her as if he had not seen her in months. And there was the loving appreciation he showed when she proofed his papers for school or rubbed his shoulders as he entered data into the computer for his dissertation.

Emma struggled to balance her own happy life with the struggles of her clients, knowing that she was the lucky one. There was the 15 year old girl with no family who was now pregnant herself. There was the boy who had been kicked out of every foster home and even two group facilities for inappropriate behavior. And there were the siblings who begged not to be separated. Emma took each case to heart and seemed to see herself in each of them.

"So Amber," she said, offering the little girl in front of her a piece of chocolate that she kept hidden in her drawer. "How do you like living with the Powell family?" Amber had been there for 18 months, but Emma had just recently learned that the child's birth parents were not going to get her back. That meant that she was cleared for adoption. Emma did not know how well the five year old could understand that or the concept of staying there forever.

The gap toothed red head smiled brightly, holding the candy up to her lips. "I love it," she said, swinging her legs wildly from the chair that was too big for her.

That was just the response that Emma wanted to hear as she typed away at her computer. "Sounds fantastic," Emma said as the little girl described her princess inspired bedroom complete with the plastic tiara that now sat on top of her head. "A bit like a fairy tale?"

The girl bobbed her head. "And you're like my fairy godmother, Emma."