Chapter Text
The house was quiet, a common occurrence now that Henry had been gone for several months. Killian had grown quite used to hearing the sounds of video games or music or the frustrated groans over homework assignments or ‘writers block’, or simply the presence of the boy in the kitchen or sprawled on the couch. Even on days when the lad was with Regina or his grandparents, it never seemed to be as quiet as it was now that he was traversing the realms.
Killian lay on his back on the couch, the radio kept in the kitchen quietly playing a rock song with instrumentals he could feel in his chest if he listened closely enough, with Emma spread on top of him. It wasn’t the most comfortable position—if he lowered his chin just so, strands of her hair would enter his mouth and nose—but she had long ago fallen asleep, so there wasn’t much he could do.
He closed his eyes, idly tracing circles along his wife’s back, when she finally shifted. “Hello,” Killian whispered as Emma pressed her lips to his. It was a gentle kiss, sweet and soft and tired. “I hope you had pleasant dreams.”
Emma smiled and rubbed a hand along his stomach. “Yeah, but not as good as this,” she said before leaning forward to kiss him again. Her fingers lightly pulled at the hairs of his treasure trail and Killian grinned into their kiss. When his wife pulled away, he lifted his eyebrows suggestively at her, only for her to roll her eyes and push away from him. “Yeah, nope. We have to get ready for dinner with my parents. Is that the time? You should’ve woke me up earlier.”
Killian leaned on one elbow, grinning as he watched his wife stretch, her pajama shirt lifting just enough to expose her stomach. He licked his lips. Emma noticed his expression after a moment and swatted at his shoulder. “No need for violence, love,” he teased as he sat up. “A man can appreciate his wife’s body, can he not?” He held out his arms and Emma willingly stepped in between his legs. He settled his hand onto her hip and his residual arm rubbed at her back.
“Well,” Emma said quietly, already climbing back onto his lap, “Maybe we can waste a few more minutes.” Sweet, sweet greed lingered on his tongue as they kissed. True to her word, after a few minutes of mindless, playful above the belt action, Emma stepped away to get herself dressed for dinner with her parents. Killian sat back on the couch for a moment longer, feeling winded by his wife’s compassion. That was the one nice thing about having the house to themselves and only themselves: more room for passion without interruption. After a few breaths, he left to get dressed as well.
When he arrived at their bedroom, Emma was in the process of tucking her blouse into her trousers. They were a rather brighter pair than her usual attire that he had yet to see her wear, with yellow and brown vertical stripes. As the years went on Emma was becoming much more adventurous with her outfits, more comfortable in herself, which was quite the sight to see. Killian grinned at her as he carefully unbuttoned one of his shirts from where it was hung up. “You look wonderful.”
“Really?” She ran her hands over her thighs and frowned at the mirror in the corner of their room. Her ass looked absolutely wonderful in them. Killian couldn’t help but give her another relishing once over from the corner of his eye. He was a simple man, with simple pleasures. His wife? She would always be a sight to him. “I don’t know, maybe it’s too much.”
That caused Killian to chuckle. “Love, you’re related to the Evil Queen. If anyone is too much, it’s her. You loved those pants when you bought them, so why question them now?”
His wife sighed and Killian could practically hear the way she frowned as she answered, “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I’m trying to play dress-up? But, it makes me happy to have them so. Ugh. You’re right, I look hot. I don’t need to worry about it.” She gave herself one last, long look in the mirror before turning away to finish dressing herself.
Dinner with her parents was common, but this was the first time in a while that Emma’s mother had grabbed her by the arm and told her that this one was extra special with that big happy grin of hers. Special for her parents meant many things: the dog had puppies, little Leo had done this or that , it was some arbitrary holiday that Emma wasn’t quite sure was made-up or not for the sake of being together as a family. The farmhouse was quiet enough; the clucking of chickens and the soft bleating of the few sheep her father kept was still novel to Emma’s city girl outlook to life.
“Here’s to hoping Snow has some eggs for us,” Killian muttered out as he pressed on the doorbell.
Emma lightly smacked at his shoulder. For someone who lived two hundred years in a fantasy land, her husband sure got mad over the prices of items in stores. They’re swindling us, Swan , he would proclaim each time. And, yeah, sure, Emma would probably agree with Killian if Storybrooke literally wasn’t in some weird eighties limbo with eggs that cost a whole eighty cents a carton. Though her parents' chickens really did have some good eggs. The yolks were more orange than yellow and were more filling than others she had in her life.
Her mom answered the door with a wide smile and Leo half a step behind her. Hugs were dished out and, predictably, Killian was dragged away by his newest teeny-tiny best friend to see the new additions to Leo’s treasure collection. The little boy was obsessed with rocks and, oddly enough, eggshells. Mary Margaret had complained that she had to keep any eggshells used for cooking high above where his mischievous hands could reach. “God forbid he gives himself salmonella on my watch,” she had joked once.
“So,” Emma said slowly as she hung her coat onto the hooks next to the front door. They were custom made by Marco to look like oddly shaped mushrooms, which completely fit the theme of farmhouse-fairytale-chic that her parents' house was. “Do you need any help in the kitchen? Because I can go grab Killian if you do.”
Mary Margaret laughed as she rubbed her warm hand along Emma’s arm. “Oh, honey, we know to be fully prepared for you, don’t worry. The food should be done in around ten minutes. I love those pants on you, by the way,” she remarked as they walked out of the foyer and towards the living room, “are they new?”
The comment made Emma relax slightly as she smiled and ran her hands over her thighs. She had been a bit nervous about them, but her mother’s assurance made her confidence boost up. “Thank you. Uh, yeah, I think I got them a few months back when me and Killian went on that trip to Boston together.” Short single day vacations were becoming a sort of thing for her and Killian since Henry left. It was fun to walk around tourist traps and overpriced farmer’s markets with him, though they always ended up homesick for the comfort of Storybrooke. “Maybe you and Dad could go there sometime. Could be fun to go out of the town once in a while.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” her mom sighed as they sunk onto the couch together. “That would mean Grumpy and the boys doing the chorework with the animals all alone and then finding somebody to take care of Leopold.”
Emma fiddled with a loose string on a pillow. “We’d love to have Leo over. It wouldn’t be a bother.”
Then: her mom gave her that look . The one that said oh you poor empty nester . That goddamn look was becoming more and more common with each day from practically everybody she knew as she struggled to find something to fill up the time. At least Emma knew that Regina was in the same boat as her. That look from her mom made Emma simultaneously angry and sad. “I suppose we’ll see,” Mary Margaret settled on with a purse of her lips.
“See what?”
Emma’s father stepped into the room with a grin on his face as he enveloped her into a hug. She melted into his arms for a moment, not quite aware of her mother’s answer of “us going on a trip together” as she took in all the warmth from the hug that she could. Maybe a lot of kids thought this, but Emma was absolutely certain that her dad gave the best hugs out of anyone in the entire world.
“A trip, huh?” David muttered as he pulled away and set his hands on his hips. “I don’t know about something like that. These days, it’s nicer to stay put at home than anything else.”
As much as Emma loved having a home to come back to, she doubted that the call of adventure would ever leave her heart. Her and Killian were both what Granny called free-spirits in the loosest of ways: they enjoyed having something to do and exploring when they could. Especially Killian—he found the world outside of Storybrooke endlessly fascinating, though he always preferred their little town at the end of the day.
It wasn’t long before Mary Margaret was pulling the finished dinner from the oven. It was a lovely garlic chicken roast with baked mac-and-cheese, buttery rolls, and an assortment of roasted brussel sprouts, cauliflower, and asparagus. For a couple that preferred eating at a diner, Emma’s parents sure knew how to cook. Killian came into the dining room with Leo by his side, the boy frowning at Emma when her husband dared take a seat next to her and not his booster-studded chair.
In a show of maturity, Emma grinned at her younger brother and pressed a kiss to Killian’s stubbled cheek. “I think Killian likes me better,” she taunted.
Leo’s cheeks puffed up and he crossed his arms as he practically stared daggers at her. “That’s a lie. Killian loves me more than you. Be- cause ,” he stressed with a tilt of his chin, “I’m cuter than you!”
Emma was an adult woman in her thirties. Still, that didn’t mean she wasn’t contemplating throwing down with a preschooler. Before she could continue her play-argument with him back, Killian laughed and lightly tapped his hook against Emma’s thigh. “Don’t you worry, love. You’re plenty cute. And,” he raised an eyebrow towards Leo, “it is the truth when I say this, my young friend: I love you both.”
That, of course, satisfied Leo. The boy grinned and crossed his arms, looking like the picture of triumph.
During the entirety of dinner, as they talked and laughed and ate the delicious food, all Emma could think was: what’s the catch?
Something had to be up. Dinner at her parents' house always felt more subdued than this. A roasted chicken? Creamy, decadent mac-and-cheese? A promised dessert of homemade chocolate cream pie? Something had to be up. Emma knew her parents were people of the big gesture variety, and this definitely felt like they were buttering her up for something. She just didn’t know what that something could be.
This worry meant that she watched her parents like a hawk.
Every gesture and movement, every look between David and Mary Margaret had Emma narrowing her eyes as she tried to understand what was happening here. It was after the dinner plates were put into the sink, dessert only minutes away, that the answer to her question was finally about to be answered. Her parents shared a look, smiling shyly at one another, and that was the shift that told Emma that they were ready to reveal whatever this special dinner was about.
David adjusted Leo on his lap, the boy preoccupied with quietly counting the infinite number of stripes on his checkered shirt. “Emma, Leo,” he started in a serious tone, “your mother and I have something to tell you.”
Emma and Killian shared a look of their own. Her husband reached over his lap to grab onto her hand. Grateful, Emma took it and squeezed his fingers. Before anything was said, Emma felt as though she knew what this was about. She glanced at her mom’s glass of lemon-water.
Her mom grinned and brushed a lock of hair behind Leo’s ear to catch his attention before turning towards Emma. “We’re pregnant! You two are going to have a new little sibling!” Her eyes were wide and she stared at Emma for a long moment. Waiting.
There it was.
Emma smiled and stood up. “Oh wow,” she stuttered out as she wrapped Mary Margaret into a tight hug. Her mom rubbed at her back gently and Emma wanted to cry. Instead, she smiled and said cheerfully, “This is great!”
The mattress dipped as Emma laid down next to him. She wore a pale pink chemise that complimented her skin and her long hair splayed against her pillow as she adjusted the blanket over herself. She had been near silent on the drive home and, in an effort to give her time to process, Killian had been as well. Snow's pregnancy with Leopold, Killian could recall, had been rough for Emma. That Killian could empathize with; he understood the tumultuous emotions of a parent raising a new child. Though, really, his situation with his father had been wildly different than Emma’s with her parents.
“I’m not—angry.” Emma said as she turned over and opened the drawer of the nightstand. Unsure what she would grab, Killian raised his brow, only to sigh when Emma pulled out the tin of ointment for his residual arm. While the mood wasn’t exactly one for sex, he hadn’t been of the mind to turn it down if that had been what she was suggesting. “Really?” She scoffed when she met his eyes.
Killian grinned and tilted his head back. “Well, if you recall, we did leave the house on a rather sensual note earlier.”
His wife chuckled as she set the lid of the tin between them. She sighed and leaned forward, pressing hot kisses along the line of his throat before biting at his bottom lip. There was a stirring in Killian’s stomach and a twitch between his legs, but he swallowed and closed his eyes when Emma pulled away.
“Should I put your ointment on or will it be too much for you?” Emma teased as she held up the tin.
He rolled his eyes and adjusted himself so she could have better access to his residual arm. The experience was always better when she did it; Emma would massage the ointment into his skin compared to his fast lathering. “I am at your mercy, love.”
They were quiet for a few minutes as she worked the ointment over the scarred skin of his arm. He kept his eyes closed, drowsy from the methodic movements of her hands. She had neither rough nor soft hands, something that was a complex mystery to him. Then: “I’ve had this thought in my head for a while. Before Henry even graduated.”
Killian opened a single eye, taking in the frown on her lovely face. That caused him to frown himself as he fully sat up to be present in the conversation. “A thought? What is this thought of yours, love?”
There was movement in her throat as she swallowed. “Well, uh,” Emma glanced away, visibly gathering the courage for her next words. “I’ve been thinking about how nice it would be to—if. If, maybe, we had a baby together.”
It took a few seconds for the words to process in his mind. He watched Emma as she fiddled with the tin container, waiting for him to answer. It wasn’t that Killian did not like the concept of raising a child with Emma. He had done that with her already, though he could acknowledge that a baby was much different than an adolescent boy. In fact, the thought of a baby—soft cheeked and impish as all infants were—with his dearest wife felt like a dream. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine a swollen curve to her stomach, the careful way she would cradle the child in her arms, the faces she would make while changing a diaper. And Killian, in turn, could imagine wiping off scraped knees and singing lullabies until his voice became hoarse.
Something must have passed over his face, because Emma grabbed his hand in her own. The ointment was still slick on her hands.
“We could adopt a baby or—there’s IVF.”
Killian’s eyes squinted as he tried to parse out the meaning of the second term. There were many things about this realm that he had learned over the past few years, but that was not one of them. “IVF?”
Emma shifted and her nose scrunched up as she tried her best to explain. “It’s, um, basically a doctor fertilizes an egg outside of the body and inserts it into a person and hopes that it will survive. If it does, then there’s a possibility of more than one baby being born.”
Wasn’t that something? Technology in this realm was advanced in a way he never thought possible. There were shots with hormones and machines that could show broken bones. With the small device on his nightstand, he could call anybody he knew without any tricks, schemes, or magic connected to it. Though, Regina had been reluctantly kind enough to charm his telephone from being able to break. With an abundance of creatures and mischievous spirits about the town, it was better to be prepared than anything.
Now, this.
The idea sparked something within him. Killian furrowed his brow and worried his thumb over the skin beneath his bottom lip. He met Emma’s willful eyes and knew that this conversation would be one they would continue to have for days, perhaps even weeks, from now.
“Tell me more.”