Disclaimer: I do not own OUAT.

AN: This is a birthday present for my lovely Lenfaz. Happy Birthday! Thanks to my lovely betas: captain-k-jones, and o-u-a-timer.

Part 1

Lights flickered in the quiet of the ER waiting room. A single nurse sat behind the corner eyeing him in judgmental way. Like he was the worst human being alive, a bug that deserved to be squashed with the dark satisfaction of doing the right thing.

He did not need her self righteous attitude to know he screwed up. He was well aware of that on his own. Thank you very much.

Being a single father was hard enough, even without strangers giving him "good" advice. He should be used to it by now. Used to all the surprised reactions he got when old ladies found out Liam did not have a mother. The looks he got from women eager to flirt with him, until he mentioned his son. He was the perfect prey for them- tall, muscular, blue eyed brunette, with a subtle scruff and a dashing smile. A potential boyfriend they could show off, making their girlfriends jealous. A kid was not a wanted addition to their fantasy. He had no need for a woman anyway. Not after what had happened to the last one, whom he had given his heart to.

He was a widower. Was that a stigma? It was not one that he had chosen. He didn't ask to be left alone with an infant. Didn't ask for his wife to bled to death because of labor complications. Bloody doctors could not do anything for her. One minute she was there and in the next, she wasn't. He hated hospitals. He had lost too many people there- first his mother to cancer, than his brother after that blasted accident, and finally Liam's mother. The thought he could also lose his son was just…

A frustrated groan came out of his mouth as he drew his hand through his hair again, which made it stick out even more. His elbows pinned the expensive looking charcoal jacket to his knees, where it laid crumpled. His wrinkled, light blue shirt was untucked. He had undone the first few buttons and rolled his sleeve.

Killian Jones normally deemed himself a self sufficient man. He had a nice apartment in a fairly decent neighbourhood. He had a job that gave him satisfaction and financial support. Most importantly, he had a three year old miracle who loved him unconditionally- his son Liam. What possibly he could have wanted more?

A reliable babysitter.

That particular evening had turned out to be a total disaster. He had an extremely important business meeting. One that could lift his company up to an entire whole new level. It would bring him lots of money which, in perspective, could have lead him to employing more people and give him a chance to spend more time with Liam. He might have even be able to buy a house. A small cozy house in the suburbs, with a garden, where he could play with his son. Maybe even a dog.

Everything was set - a reservation in a fancy restaurant, a fancy suit (a look like a person you aspire to be thing) and a nice girl, whom his son liked, to babysit. That was until Ashley had called him an hour before the meeting. She was sick and wouldn't be able to make it.

He looked helplessly at his lad, already dressed in his spiderman pajamas with a stuffed brown one-eared bunny under his arm.

"Papa?" bare feet hit the wooden floor, as Liam came his way. "Where Ash?"

Killian crouched before him, trying to smile, as the child rubbed his blue eyes tiredly. He was already all dressed and had only 20 minutes to find a solution to this whole situation. He could not afford to cancel the meeting, he just couldn't. His mind was racing frantically- what to do, what to do. Then it hit him- the old widow from the apartment across the hall. Liam seemed to like her well enough and she had offered to help before. Plus, Ruby, his late wife's friend was her granddaughter and usually visited the old woman that day of the week. Yes. This could work out perfectly.

10 minutes later he had found himself knocking on Mrs Lucas door, with a sleepy Liam in his arms and a bag full of things his son might need while he is away.

The widow had opened the door looking at him with curiosity. Her eyes looked tired behind the half moon glasses, gray hair stuck out in different directions. Her dress was wrinkled, socks mismatched.

Killian adjusted his hold on Liam, as the boys head of curly brown hair hit his shoulder.

"Good evening Mrs. Lucas" he smiled charmingly despite the uneasy feeling he got because of the old woman's appearance. She usually was a very neat person. Maybe something was wrong. He pushed the thought aside. It was probably his nerves, besides Ruby would be here soon enough. At least that's what she told him, when he had called her before he left his apartment. He held his son a little closer.

"I have a favor to ask".

The dinner went surprisingly well. Killian was able to negotiate an astonishing deal. He and Liam would be set for life. He skipped a few steps of stairs, absentmindedly noticing an ambulance before his apartment building. Tonight was perfect and nothing could make him think otherwise. He just needed to see his boy. He was just rounding the corner, when his heart almost stopped.

Widow's Lucas granddaughter was standing by the door of her grandmother's apartment, as a medic team literally ran out. But it was not the old woman, who was lying on the stretcher, it was Liam.

"Killian" Ruby's voice was uncertain. "I was trying to call you- you weren't answering your cell." she bent her fingers awkwardly.

"I got stuck in a traffic… Was almost an hour and a half late here. He swallowed some of my grandmother's pills" she said quietly. "She has not been feeling well lately and needed to..."

He looked at her with unseeing eyes, his stance petrified with fear.

"I didn't know she was sick." she muttered. "He took them just as I was entering the apartment. I am so so sorry Killian."

He did not have a time to react, not that he was in a state to react to anything. All that he could see was his son's scarred eyes, looking so incredibly tired. His heart was beating frantically, breath heavy, and he felt his hand trembling, when one of the paramedics approached him.

"Sir, are you the father?" Killian heard the man in red ask. He nodded absentmindedly.

"You are going to have to come with us."

Emma Swan's life goal was becoming a pediatrician. Ever since she was a kid, she dreamt of helping others. Her parents had taught her to be a hero. Being a hero in her family had meant being willing to help others in every way possible, to make the world a better place. Of course the place of fairy tales was in children's books, and in real world dragons did not look all that frightening. Evil and darkness had a way of creeping up on you in various manners. Diseases were like curses thrown at you, when your back was turned, destroying not only health but hope also. Children were the most vulnerable to that hex. They had their whole life before them, filled with opportunities, dreams and love. Being ill took all of that from them. From that perspective, her choice had been an obvious one. She had become a dragon slayer in modern world, a fairy-tale godmother who tried to undo evil spells. She became a doctor.

That particular night, Emma had rushed into the ER, slightly annoyed, after receiving a call from the nurse on duty. A call that made her quite angry. Not only because she had to leave a perfectly warm cup of hot chocolate, she was not that kind of doctor.

Med intoxication! Third time this week! Really? she thought. What's wrong with parents these days? Why weren't they keeping their medications in safe places? Did they even think about the possibility that their thoughtlessness could cost them the life of their children?

She had enough work with patients, who were actually sick, she did not need to deal with ones who should have never been there in the first place.

The paramedics rushed in with an approximately 3 year old boy on a verge of losing consciousness. His eyes were already becoming misty and clouded with fear.

Her training kicked in, almost like a muscle memory. She checked the kid's vitals immediately, and turned to the man her patient was brought in with. She assumed he was the boy's father.

"What did he take?" she asked him, taking him in.

He was a very handsome man, with dark dishevelled hair and striking forget-me-not blue eyes, the same colour as the child's. Yep, definitely his father.

"I don't know" he answered brokenly with a heavy accented voice. Irish maybe?

"How can you not know?" she narrowed her eyes at him. Was this guy even real?

"I wasn't there…" he whispered, as he looked at her with unseeing eyes. He seemed lost.

She was sure he did not know who was he talking to. Drunk? Maybe, judging by the state of his clothes - wrinkled dress suit and inappropriate unbuttoned shirt. She had no time for some irresponsible casanova. Men attractive like that usually meant no brain and a lot of trouble. Emma quickly turned to the paramedics asking all the right questions.

Fortunately they seem to know everything she needed. In situations like this time was an essence. She felt rather than saw the boy's father standing helplessly in the ER, while she gave instructions to the nurses.

"We are going to have to do a lavage" she announced, turning to him. She could see him running a nervous hand through his hair.

"You need to sign the forms" he blinked at her, which irritated her even more. "Go to the waiting room to do the paper work. It will be better if your son does not associate you with this procedure. We'll handle it from here."

He nodded his head, touched the kids head reassuringly and whispered something to him for a while. Then, he walked out of the room.

Finally, she could do her job.

End of Part One