#Forgive me lads I can’t draw times hair to get bitches

[chaosfantasmic]

They’re literally like my faves 🔥

[thegladelf]

Fate or Destiny or Whatever

I don’t know why I’m even bothering to post this this weekend, but it’s been sitting on my computer--finished, apparently--since last year so...it’s waited long enough. I started this back after 6x05--but ended up rewriting the whole thing once 6x06 aired (for the obvious reason that my original fic involved Killian & Henry deciding to hold onto the shears). Anyways, 6x05 raised the question--what could possibly make Emma change her mind about using the shears. And this happened. As always, this has been added to “The Lost Get Found” over on ff.net if that’s you preference. And also, as always, you know I love getting yelled at. (Though this maybe doesn’t qualify as angst???)

Word count: 3.3k

Normally, Emma loved that her kitchen could fit her whole family comfortably.

Tonight, though, all those people just made her head throb worse as they talked back and forth about the object she held in her hand. All of them so caught up in the excitement of finally having the shears back in their possession that none of them had noticed her silence.

"We could put them in the vault." Regina paused her pacing. "No one can get in there unless I let them."

"That spell has been broken too many times," her dad shoots back. "We need something better. Somewhere no one will think to look."

"Maybe it's not a somewhere that we need," her mom said, her finger tracing the rim of her mug. "Maybe it's someone. Namely, all of us."

"What are you getting at?"

"The Evil Queen didn't make her move until the shears were no longer in anyone's possession," Snow said, sitting forward. "Maybe if someone's holding onto them, no one can steal them."

David nodded. "So we all share the burden of holding onto them and she has no way to know which of us has them."

"Or she could just knock all of us out at once and search our bodies at her leisure." Killian's hand on Emma’s shoulder tightened a little, tension radiating down his arm even as his thumb rubbed circles on the back of neck.

"Do you have a better idea?" Regina snapped.

Emma closed her eyes, her grip around the shears tightening. Before anyone could say anything else, she stood, her chair screeching against the tile floor.

"Guys, that's enough."

Everyone but Killian flinched like she'd slapped them.

Emma sighed. "Look, Killian and I will figure out what to do with these. If we need your help, we'll let you know. Okay?" She willed her hand not to shake, gritting her teeth with the effort.

"Okay," Snow said. Her mom stood, gathering the mugs of cocoa sitting on the table and carrying them to the sink. She worked quickly, efficiently to load the used cups into the dishwasher as her dad ran upstairs to get Neal from the pack-n-play in the spare bedroom. Regina went to the closet and grab her coat.

Henry's mouth became a thin line when she returned with his in hand as well. "Mom, I know it's your week, but..."

"No," Emma said. "It's fine, Henry. No reason to upset the schedule."

"But..."

Emma looked to Regina, imploring her, but it was Killian who stepped in first.

"Emma's right, lad, the shears are with us now, there's nothing to be worried about." He clapped his hand on Henry's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Henry's eyes narrowed, as though he suspected a trick.

"I won't do anything without letting you know first, kid," Emma said. "You know that."

David, holding a groggy,fussy Neal, came tromping downstairs as Snow turned on the dishwasher. The dull thrumming added another layer to Emma's headache. Her parents held her close for an extra moment each when they hugged her goodbye, but finally, it was just her and Killian in the house and she felt she could breathe again.

Gentle fingers glided down her arm, closing over her hand and the shears.

"Why don't you let me take care of these for now," Killian said, "out of sight, out of mind. You can decide where to hide them in the morning."

"No." The shears moved in her hand, their blades scraping against each other. "No, I—we need to decide what to do with them. Tonight."

"Hey. It's okay. It's okay." He ran his hand up and down her arm, his hook curling around to pull her closer. "We have them, Emma. No one else is getting ahold of them tonight. We have time."

But they didn't have time. That was exactly the point. That was exactly why she couldn't let go of the shears.

Seven days they had haunted her and here they were in her hand, finally. And she wanted to use them so badly. She wanted to use them right now and be sure, be safe. Know that that the future she could see so clearly right now could come to pass. She knew, deep down in her soul, that it would be a selfish choice, one that would likely haunt her for the rest of her life.

But couldn’t live with the alternative. Literally.

"I shouldn't have asked you to hide the shears," she blurted out. It’s only one of the things that weighed on her all week, but it's the least nerve-wracking.

Killian flinched and of course, of course he took it the wrong way. "Aye, I am sor—"

"No, I didn't mean it like that," Emma said. "I meant—" She sighed. "I mean, I'm sorry I asked you to do that. Without even talking it over with you first."

He shrugged. "It's your decision."

She gripped his arm with her free hand. "But I could have at least heard you out, given you a say." She looked down at their shoes, feet spread so their feet interlock almost. Swallowing, she continues, "I'm still figuring out this whole functional relationship thing. So I'm sorry and I don't want to do this on my own again."

"You're not on your own, love," he said. "And you never will be again." He pressed his lips to her temple, lingering. "I forgive you. You were just trying to do the heroic thing."

"Screw heroic," Emma muttered.

Killian drew in a quick breath, his body drawing tight as one of her mother's bowstrings.

"What happened to fighting?" he asked.

"I can't fight if I'm dead."

Killian stepped back, shaking his head. "So you want to use the shears now?" He raked his hand through his hair. "Emma, I know this has been weighing on your mind the last few days, but this means parting with your magic for good. Are you sure that's what you want?"

Her breath caught in her throat. No, it wasn't what she wanted, but it was looking more and more like the best chance open to her.

"I'm not willing to pay the price anymore," she said. "I want to live."

"You will," he said, his voice hard and sharp as a knife. "We'll find a way."

"Maybe this is the way," she shot back. Her control from early vanished, her hand trembling. "Besides, you're the one who kept them the first time. You can't tell me you think it's a terrible idea."

“I kept them as a contingency, love,” he said. His hand brushed down her arm, fingers curling over hers and trapping the shears. “It seemed foolish to dispose of such a powerful object before we found any other alternative, but, Emma, I do believe there is an alternative.” He smiled, a barely there smile that showed mostly in his eyes. This time, she let him pull the shears from her grasp and set them on the table behind him. He laced his steady fingers with her increasingly unsteady ones. He ducked down, his eyes holding hers as easily as he held her hand. "Emma, what changed your mind?"

She swallowed. Here was the crux of the matter. Weeks weren't long enough anymore. Months weren't long enough. Years, she needed years, as many of them as she could rip away from that bitch called Destiny. Tugging him away from the kitchen and into the living room, she made a beeline for the couch. Killian sat beside her, turned slightly so his knee brushed her thigh, his presence comforting.

Emma took a deep breath, fighting back the feeling that things were moving too fast. It was all moving too fast. It was one thing to know that they were true love, to know he wasn't leaving, that this wasn't like every other relationship in her past. That he was here to stay. But it suddenly felt like all of her time was evaporating right in front of her. If she had known, if she had guessed all those weeks ago, she wouldn't have thrown the shears away. But how could she have known?

It was all happening so fast.

"Hey," Killian said, squeezing her hand and offering his gentlest smile. "I'm not going anywhere."

It required an inhuman effort to push back the tears, but she managed.

"It's not just about me, anymore…" Emma started.

Like a Band-Aid. Quick, like a Band-Aid.

"I'm pregnant."

Killian blinked. "What?"

Emma rushed on, the words pouring out of her now that she had pulled the plug. "I've been meaning to tell you all week." She shrugged. "But you know how things have been lately and I just could never find the right time or the right way. And I wanted to do things the right way this time, since, you know, I never got the chance to with Henry. I mean, he was eleven by the time Neal knew and...but none of that matters, none of that matters because I have no idea what's coming tomorrow and I just—"

"Are you sure?" Killian asked in a hoarse voice.

She nodded. "This isn’t exactly my first time at this rodeo."

His eyes clouded for a moment as he tried to figure out the reference, but it only distracted him for a few seconds.

"We are going to have a child," he said. Then he added, "A baby."

"That is generally what pregnant means," Emma replied. Her lip caught between her teeth as she waited for the news to sink in, for him to react.

"Oh." He stared at her, with all the reverence and care that he had in Camelot, that he had the first time she told him she loved him with no other reason than that it was true. Maybe a little more dazed. She had just hit him with the Mack truck of life events. It would have been hilarious if her nerves weren’t already vibrating at a mile a minute.

“You okay there, captain?” She forced herself to breathe, reminded herself that she wasn’t alone this time.

“I—” Killian shook his head, the glazed look fading a little. The tears in his eyes when he met her gaze again were the only warning she got. His hand jumped to her cheek and he surged forward, pressing his lips gently to hers.

Emma chased the kiss with a sigh, her fingers finding purchase on the lapels of his vest. She didn’t have to ask twice for more. His fingers slid into her hair as he deepened the kiss and she lost herself in several slow, languid minutes, his gentleness and love chase away the proverbial sword dangling over her head, even if it was only for a moment. Killian moved as he ended the kiss, kneeling in front of her as she opened her eyes, his forehead solid and warm against hers.

"I love you, Emma Swan."

He said it like a prayer.

She didn’t bother to correct him. "So, better than okay?"

"Aye," he whispered. Chocolate and cinnamon and a little bit of rum was on his breath. He sat back on his heels, still staring at her with the kind of adoration that should be reserved for deities and spectacles of nature. His fingers found hers, slipping between them with practiced ease. "Are you?"

Emma laughed. "Yeah, fine, I'm—"

Killian shook his head. "No, I meant—" He sighed, ducking away from her searching gaze. "Apologies, love. Of all things I expected to hear, good news was not one of them. Let alone this."

"As evidenced by the lack of your characteristic eloquence."

Good news. He called it good news.

They hadn't exactly talked about this in so many words. She hadn't even been sure that she wanted another kid. Not until she saw that little plus symbol on the pregnancy test. Killian's reaction had been her one spot of uncertainty. Sure he got along with Henry, loved him, but that was a far cry from starting from scratch with a baby that wouldn't be able to tie sailor's knots or perfect a parry for years. She suspected on more than one occasion he had thought about it, especially considering the size of the house he picked out, but he never brought it up and she wasn't comfortable discussing it until she had a better grasp on her own feelings.

And fate or destiny or whatever had simply laughed at them.

"You're absolutely sure," he said again, his voice tremulous.

"Yes," she said. "I peed on a stick and everything."

"What?" His nose scrunched up and his brow furrowed.

Emma laughed. "Not a literal stick," she clarified. "It's a test we have here. I'll show you later..." Emma sighed, running a hand through his hair, less to calm him than to calm her. "Do you see now why I want to use the shears? I don't know any other way to be sure..."

He nodded solemnly. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, his hook a comforting weight on her thigh.

She'd had no idea that someone's eyes could hold so much joy and sadness at the same time.

"One of these days, Emma," he said, "you are going to realize that you are worth saving all on your own."

"You think that's what this is about?"

He tilted his head, smiling sadly. "I think you haven't a selfish bone in your body."

"I can be selfish," she said softly.

“Really?” One of those ridiculous, dramatic eyebrows winged up, mirth lighting his eyes. “Because as I recall, you spend most days chasing monsters and fixing other people’s problems.”

“I’m the savior,” she said, “it’s what I do.”

“I know. I know, love. I just don’t think you—”

“We.”

"We, then.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I don't think we should make any hasty decisions. Especially not out of fear."

Emma snorted.

"Don't deny it, Emma," he said.

"I'm not," she shot back. "On a scale of one to ten, I've been a twelve all week."

"Yes, I know." One of his knees popped as he pushed back up onto the couch, though if it hurt, he didn't show it. "Which is why I think this needs careful consideration. As far as we know, this is permanent."

"So is having a kid." She shoved off the couch. Their moment had passed and the same restless energy that had consumed her since she first started seeing the visions returned. "So is me dying."

Killian didn't move, but his eyes blazed. "I'd find a way to bring you back."

"Killian..."

He shrugged. "Don't tell me it can't be done."

Emma bowed her head, fingers massaging her temples. Soft footsteps came up behind her and his hand ghosted over the back of her neck for a moment before he started digging into the tension there.

"This is me being selfish," she said softly.

A long pause followed her words, tense with the weight of his thoughts.

"You'll find very few people that think a mother wanting to protect her child is selfish." His lips brushed against her ear with every word, sending chills down her spine.

She shook her head, turning to face him. "If this was just about that, it would be easy. I'd only have to postpone my fate for what..." She closed her eyes as she did the mental math. "Seven months."

"I thought..."

"By the time you realize you're pregnant, you're usually past the first month," Emma said with a shrug. "And I've been distracted, so I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have been." She held up her hand when he started to ask something else. "The point is, if protecting this—our kid was the point, I'm pretty sure it'd be fine as soon as it was born." She took a moment to appreciate the flicker of a smile that crossed his face at the word 'our'. She wanted nothing more than to go back to that happy, little bubble with him and live there forever. "I want more than that, Killian. More than a few months or even years. I want decades. I want this..." She gestured between them. "I want to grow old with you and watch our kid or kids grow up and have families of their own. And as long as I'm the savior that isn't going to happen."

The muscle in his jaw jumped and she knew he was dying to say something, but he knew she wasn't finished, so he kept his lips pressed tight. She loved him a little more just for that.

"So yeah," she said. "Wanting to use the shears is selfish. It means I'm giving up my ability to help people for something I want. All those people who might need me one day are going to be left in the lurch and that kills me, but I am not letting another one of my kids grow up without me." She pressed a hand to her still flat stomach, glad she no longer had to suppress the urge.

"You won't," he said, low and serious. "Emma, I swear you won't." He held her close, his hand moving to cover hers. “You’re forgetting one very important fact though, love.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t need magic to help people.”

“So you agree with me,” she said, pulling back to look him in the eye.

Killian smiled. “It’s an option. And I don’t think it’s the end of the world, but Emma…” He pursed his lips, brow drawing low as he carefully considered his words. “While I think we should hold onto them until we find an alternative, if there is one thing I’ve learned from you heroes—” He cut off, glancing away from her intense glare. “From becoming a hero, it’s that there is almost always an alternative. As a former villain myself, I find it hard to trust the word of other villains.”

Emma took a slow breath. “So…you don’t think I should use the shears?”

“I think we should go to bed,” he said, “and think on it in the morning when we have clearer heads.” He kissed her softly again. “I’m with you whatever you want to do, Emma. I told you I’d never stop fighting and I meant it. We’ll find a way to keep you safe.” He grinned. “Both of you.”

She couldn’t help it, those eyes and that smile were too much, so she stretch up on her tiptoes and kissed him. It wasn’t a particularly spectacular kiss, neither of them could stop grinning long enough for that.

“Okay,” she said.

He followed her upstairs and they fell into their usual nighttime routine. As they were brushing their teeth, their skin still damp and tacky from an extended shower, Killian remembered the test and they lost a few minutes as he stared at the little bit of plastic, asking questions about its mechanics that Emma couldn’t answer for the life of her.

Finally, she coaxed him out of the bathroom—convincing him to leave the test behind was no small feat—and into bed. The warmth of the blankets and soft pillows accepted her exhausted body as one of their own and she hadn’t been curled up with her pirate more than five minutes before her eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. She dozed, the gentle motion of Killian’s fingers tracing looping patterns across her stomach the only thing anchoring her to consciousness.

“You’re sure you’re alright with this,” he said, his voice feather light.

Emma hummed in agreement.

“Hard to believe that there is a child in there.” Killian’s hand pressed flat against her stomach.

“Give it a couple of weeks.”

Silence blanketed them again and Emma was almost asleep when Killian sucked in a sharp breath.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

Emma lifted her head, trying to make out his features in the darkness. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Your father is going to kill me. Again.”