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let-it-raines · 5 years

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Rising from the Ashes (12/?)

When her husband died, Emma wasn’t sure that she could ever move on. He left her with a broken heart and a baby who was only three-months old. It’s enough to take most people down, to make them not want to keep going, but Emma Swan isn’t most people. She’s stronger than she has any right to be. And after years of heartache, she’s found ways to move on…one of those being in Neal’s best friend, Killian Jones.

As she’s always known, however, things are more complicated than they ever seem to be.

Rating: Mature

A/N: I’m sorry for the wonky formatting. I’m on vacation and can’t sleep and am doing this off of my phone. I thought it would be easier, but Tumblr can be dumb sometimes. I hope you enjoy regardless 💕

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @jamif @artistic-writer @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @resident-of-storybrooke @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook @ekr032-blog-blog @mayquita @bmbbcs4evr @wellhellotragic @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @shady-swan-jones @snowbellewells @snow-into-ash @andiirivera @mariakov81 @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @kristi555 @facesiousbutton82 @superchocovian @jonirobinson64

-/-

“Killian, I’m really not sure if this is a good idea,” Emma whispers as they move forward in line, his fingers intertwined with hers as he tugs her forward to stand next to him so they don’t get lost in the crowd.

“Darling, I know you’re not big on the touristy activities, but we have to do it for Henry’s list.”

She tugs on his hand again, and he twists to the side to look down at her. He can’t see her eyes because of her sunglasses, the black frames covering the green, but he can see that her lips are pressed together in a firm line while her cheeks flush in a way that he knows has nothing to do with her blush.

“I mean the eye, babe. I don’t…I know it goes slowly, but I’m really worried that I’m going to throw up because of the movement.”

Oh.

He didn’t even think about that. He should have thought about it, but this is all still kind of new to him. It’s only been three days since they suspected Emma was pregnant, two since they’ve known officially, and they haven’t had much time to revel in it and celebrate with them constantly being around Liam, Belle, and Henry. It’s a bit ridiculous, really. Every time he gets Emma in a private corner simply to kiss her and tell her how goddamn happy he is that she’s in his life and is carrying their child, someone interrupts them.

Hiding Emma’s sickness is the most difficult thing, but trying to find some private time simply so they can talk is beginning to be even more difficult.

It’s likely a close tie.

He cannot believe he’s going to be a father.

Again.

He’s learning that it’s an odd disconnect, one that he’s struggling to understand, one that he really wants to talk to Emma about. Henry is his, undoubtedly. He loves that kid more than life itself. It hurts sometimes, physically aches, for him to think about his son and the light that he brings him after a life that has not necessarily been easy. He’s gotten to be a father to a little lad who he never thought would be such a major part in his life, and for someone whose greatest father figure was his brother and not his actual father, that’s not a responsibility he’s taken lightly.

He owes it to Emma and Henry, and even Liam and Neal, to be the man his father never was. Brennan was a fucked up man, but he helped shape Killian, whether he likes it or not.

But this is – this baby…she’s different. He’s got no clue if the baby is a boy or a girl, but he’s been calling her a girl in his head simply because it’s easier that way than dancing around pronouns and weird terms. She’s his little lady bug, and if she turns out to be a he, he’ll still be his bug. He doesn’t really have the words to describe how he’s feeling, and he likes to think of himself as a verbose man. It’s odd because he knows all of the science behind pregnancy and childbirth (Emma is a wonder woman), but he never could have imagined feeling how he feels. He didn’t always want children, his fear of being his father overwhelming him. It wasn’t something that he actively thought about, but then there was Milah and his love for her. They never got to that kind of future before things fell apart, but he realized that with the right partner, sometimes things shift and change.

And then he met Emma.

He met Emma, and even though they don’t have a traditional or straightforward relationship, she has changed absolutely everything in his life.

Now they’re having this child together, this child who he gets to be around from the beginning, and he doesn’t think he’s ever loved Emma more.

It’s not a second chance. No, that would be…wrong. It’s more like an old experience framed in a new light. There are similarities and differences, but everything is just as wonderful.

Except for Emma’s morning sickness, which seems to happen all day.

“If you don’t want to go, love, we can let Liam and Belle take Henry up there. They can tell him all about everything. They likely know it better than I do since it’s been so long since I’ve lived anywhere remotely near here.”

“Let’s,” she gulps, her cheeks puffing up for a moment, “ask Henry if he’d be okay for us to sit in the park while they go. I don’t think it’ll really mess with me since it’s not so much motion but…height. I’m not really sure. I just feel nauseous all the damn time.”

“It’s fine, Swan,” he tells her as he dips his head down and kisses her temple. “Liam,” he calls, reaching forward to grab his brother’s shoulder while Belle entertains Henry as he shows her the same toy ninja turtle that he’s been showing her for the entire trip.

“Yeah?”

“I think Emma and I are going to go sit down while you all ride, okay? She’s still not feeling well, and the height may make it worse.”

Liam’s brows furrow together, the lines on his face all concentrating in the center of his forehead, as his lips only slightly turn up into a sympathetic smile. “You okay, lass?”

“I’m fine,” Emma promises, even though he knows she’s lying. “You don’t mind taking Henry with you without us?”

“I don’t mind at all. I promise to point out everything that interests him. Henry,” Liam calls, and Henry stops talking to Belle as they both turn around to look at everyone, “your mum is still feeling a bit sick, so are you okay going on the ride with just me and Belle?”

Henry shrugs, holding up his ninja turtle doll. “Can I still take Leonardo?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’m good. Bye Momma.”

“Well don’t I feel special,” Emma laughs as she squats down to kiss Henry’s cheek. “Be good, okay?”

“Okay. Can we get something to eat when we come back down? Being in the air makes me hungry.”

Well that’s a new one.

“Yeah, kid, we can.”

He guides Emma over to the Jubilee Gardens. It’s crowded as any tourist attraction will be, but he manages to find them a place to sit in the shade under a canopy of trees, the August sun not shining nearly as brightly. They don’t have a sweater or blanket to spread out like most of the other people here, so he lays down on his back, hands crossed under his head, and let’s Emma rest her head on his stomach as she looks back over at the London Eye as if she can see Henry go up in the carriages.

“Still feeling sick?” he asks her as he moves his hands from behind his head so that he can mess with her hair, running his fingers through the strands of her hair while she closes her eyes, lashes landing against her freckle covered cheeks.

She’s so beautiful.

“Yeah, this kid of yours is going to be a killer. I can tell.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s great. Killian, this is a good thing. It’s what we wanted, and as much as I wish we could, we can’t change biology.”

“Aye,” he chuckles, working out a particularly nasty knot, “that’d be nice. I wish I could make it easier for you, especially since you’re having such a rough time right now. I mean, we can’t even tell anyone right now.”

“I’m kind of okay with that. It’s like our own little secret. It’s only us who know, and I don’t know – I like it. I like sharing something with you. I like not being bombarded with everything because you know the moment we tell everyone, they’ll never leave us alone. My mom, Marg David – ”

“Liam and Belle.”

“They’ll all go insane. Hell, even Ruby at work will be crazy.”

“Aye,” he laughs, beginning to twist her hair into a braid. “I imagine it’ll be quite the ordeal. Do you think Henry will take it well?”

“I don’t know. He’s been an only child for awhile, but he’s a good kid. I think he might be excited until he goes through the jealousy phase or whatever. We’ll have to make sure to look out for that.”

He hums in agreement and looks twists his head to the right to work out some of the kinks in his neck. There are people everywhere, conversations happening and laughter filling the air as much as the sounds of birds chirping, and he wonders how many of the people here are actually from London and how many are tourists. It doesn’t matter in the slightest, but it’s something he’s been noticing the past few days as his accent becomes heavier than it has been in years. He’s home, even if his home is both Brighton and Portland, and he finds a sense of comfort in all of this.

There’s a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, and he looks to see two men arguing, their hands quickly moving around as they talk. They’re both in tailored suits similar to what he wears to work, but he can tell that one of the men is uncomfortable in it. There’s something oddly familiar about the man whose back is facing him, and when he turns to the side, Killian’s stomach drops at the similar profile. He looks just like Neal, but it’s not. It can’t be. Neal is dead, and this is simply another man who shares his profile. It’s not as if there aren’t a lot of dark-headed men out there.

“You okay, babe?” Emma asks, twisting her head on his stomach to look up at him. “You just went silent.”

“I’m fine,” he promises, flashing her a smile and shaking his head from the sense of deja vu that just happened. “I was simply thinking about you and our little bug. I can’t even express how unbelievably happy that I am.”

Emma’s lips tug up into a grin, her eyes radiating softness. “I can’t either. I – ” Her eyes go wide, and she has to cover her mouth. “Oh shit. I’ve got to vomit.”

-/-

“You really don’t have to take that long to wrap presents,” Liam laughs, sitting down on the window seat while Killian carefully folds the wrapping paper into small corners so that Emma’s new yoga pants are all wrapped up.

“I like things a certain way,” he protests, placing a piece of tape on the package. “Emma uses far too much tape when she wraps things, so unless the presents are for me, and sometimes not even then, I wrap our gifts.”

“It also makes it easy for you to know if Henry has unwrapped them, aye?”

He chuckles at that, twisting his head to look at his brother so that he can smile at him. He doesn’t have that many more presents to wrap today, but he does still need to put ribbons on them. “He usually shakes them, which is not a good thing when there’s something breakable.”

“He sounds like a kid.”

“That he is.” He reaches down and picks up a box from the floor, quickly opening it to see that it’s a few pairs of shoes for Ada that are far too big for her now. He rather likes the little sneakers with the lady bugs on them, but he doesn’t want to imagine her running around in them yet. She’s just about to start crawling. He can’t think about running. “Do you and Belle ever think about it anymore? I know it’s an awkward subject but – ”

“But we talk,” Liam finishes for him, getting up from the seat and walking toward the wrapped packages, stringing out the ribbon. “I’m fine with you asking me. It’s a bit of a sensitive subject for Belle because we tried for so long and nothing happened. It’s been…heartbreaking, but we’ve been looking into adopting, not as some kind of consolation. We just…we want to be parents.”

His heart breaks and soars all at once, the mixture of emotions like a tennis ball being hit back and forth over the clay covered courts of Roland Garros. He knows of all of the sorrow and emotions that Liam and Belle have been through in trying to have a kid. It was something his brother kept private until he confessed it one night when Killian was talking about the struggles he and Emma were having, and in a bit of a melancholy way, it’s bonded them more.

In truth, a hell of a lot of their bonding has occurred because of situations that he wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

“That’s bloody wonderful,” he sighs, a happy smile on his face as he watches Liam tie a ribbon around a package. “How is it going?”

“Well. We have a – there’s a young lad, Caleb. He’s about two, and Belle is absolutely besotted with him. I am too, but Belle is terrified to talk about it for fear of something falling through. We have a few more meetings about it in January.”

He stops wrapping the shoes and takes a step toward his brother, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and holding on as tightly as he possibly can. He only gets his brother here, in person, for two more days, and he wants to savor these moments. He wants to savor getting to have every person he loves in one place. He wants to savor celebrating and comforting his brother in the steps of life that he’s taking.

“I am so damn happy for you guys.”

“Thank you,” Liam murmurs, rubbing his hand up and down Killian’s back. “I am too. I want to be this boy’s father so badly. I want Belle to get to be the mum she deserves to be. I…want.”

He understands that completely. He understands every bit of it, every word. And when he pulls back, he can see all of the understanding in Liam’s eyes too, especially when he squeezes his shoulder.

“It’s not the same because of the age difference, but when it’s right for you guys, you could likely talk to Emma. She was adopted. She understands what it’s like to be the kid on the other side of it. Or you could talk to Ruth.”

“I could also talk to you.”

He quirks his brow and sits down on the bed, all of the presents shifting with him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re Henry’s father, but you haven’t always been. You took him on when he was about Caleb’s age. You know what it’s like.”

“Henry is different,” he sighs, shaking his head back and forth while he tries to figure out how to articulate his thoughts. “It’s…I had Emma. Emma knew all of the ropes, had given Henry a fantastic life, and I came in when it was easier. What you’re doing is different.”

“In a way, but I think we’re both men who are trying to be fathers to kids who had their fathers taken from them. It doesn’t make us more honorable or better, but it is a different challenge.”

“Aye,” he agrees, looking up at Liam. He looks startlingly like their father, but he never has those dark memories when he looks at them. “Though we have bloody wonderful women who do everything much better than us.”

“Well, at least Emma with you, but that’s not too hard.” “Shut up, you wanker,” he chuckles, getting up from the bed. “Here we are having a nice moment and you have to ruin it.”

“What else are older brothers for?”

“A hell of a lot more than that.”

“Daddy,” Henry whines from outside the door, his little voice muffled because of the wood, “are you finished wrapping presents yet?”

“No, my boy,” he chuckles, waggling his brows across his forehead at Liam who has an absolute smirk on his face, “I’m not. What are you doing outside the door?”

“Waiting for presents.”

“You get to open them tomorrow.” “That is too long,” he groans, and Killian has to contain the belly laugh that is threatening to escape him. Henry can be patient but not when it comes to Santa getting to come and opening presents. It’s all far too exciting for him to contain himself.

He glances at Liam once more before walking toward the bedroom door and unlocking it, quickly opening the door as that Henry falls back with it, his arms barely stopping his head from hitting the ground. It wasn’t the most mature thing to do, but Henry’s laugh is worth it.

“Where is your mum?” he asks, lifting Henry up from the ground and practically dragging him away from the door. “Isn’t she supposed to be keeping you entertained?”

“She’s changing Ada’s diaper, and it smelled like fish.”

“Oi,” he grunts, using the muscles in his arms to throw Henry over his shoulder. He’s almost too big for this now. “It did not. You only say this because you don’t like fish.”

“I like the ones like Nemo. The others smell.”

“Mackerel doesn’t smell when I cook it.”

“Yes it does.”

“Liam,” he calls, swinging Henry around as he moves to the staircase, his brother coming into view from the bedroom, “do you like eating mackerel?”

“Every morning for breakfast so I don’t get scurvy.”

“Ewww,” Henry groans, squirming even though Killian now knows that Henry is seriously considering eating fish since Liam does it. “That’s gross.”

“It’s yummy.”

Henry continues to protest, and even though his bony limbs are hitting Killian, he carries him down the stairs and turns right into the kitchen where Emma and Belle are chatting while the gentle hum of Christmas carols play in the background. There are a few discarded ingredients for the breakfast they’re serving for everyone in the morning, a grilled cheese on the stove instead, and he makes the assumption that Emma must have gotten hungry now. Or that they’re waiting for he and Liam to come help cook.

“Hello, beautiful ladies,” he greets as he walks in with Henry. Emma rolls her eyes. Belle blushes. It’s all as usual. “I have found someone trying to sneak his way into looking at presents before tomorrow.”

Emma whistles low under her breath, the smallest of smirks forming at her lips. “Oh no, babe. Do you know what happens when people try to find out what their presents are early?”

“I do not,” he sing-songs, plopping Henry down on the floor next to Ada’s playmat.

“They have to eat fish for dinner.”

Henry squeals at the same time that he and Liam bark out nearly identical laughs, the room suddenly a loud mess of him, and he watches as Emma winks before turning back to the stove and moving her grilled cheese off of the pan. The cunning lass obviously heard their talk. She’s always been the greatest at thinking on her feet when it comes to Henry, whether it be trying to explain something in a way that he understands or simply doing something funny to make him laugh. Once she managed to explain not wasting water by comparing it to Henry’s baseball games, and he’s still never quite figured out that one. Or at least, how she made the comparison. But Henry doesn’t waste water now.

Bloody miracle worker, the woman.

“I promise I won’t look. I promise.”

“It’s okay,” Belle laughs, reaching over the counter and taking Henry’s hand in hers. “Santa knows that you’re a good boy.”

“What’s all this screaming?” Neal questions as he walks in the room, his voice filled with laughter even though the jovial feeling in the air dies a little in his presence. It’s not his fault. He’s an outsider looking in no matter how comfortable they try to make him. It’ll get better for him when Liam and Belle go home, but he thinks that Neal’s been stepping back a bit to give them all some time this week. It’s nice, but he doesn’t have to step back. This is his family too.

“I have to eat fish if I look at my presents early.”

“I’d say don’t look at your presents early then,” Neal laughs, pulling out the barstool next to Henry and sitting down. “Ems, what time is your family coming over?”

“Tonight? At six.”

He watches as Emma cuts her grilled cheese into four slices, popping one in her mouth and sliding the plate to Henry, letting him eat the meal she very obviously was preparing for herself but is instead giving to Henry. While she’s chewing her food, she squats down and picks Ada up from her play mat, blowing a loud kiss into Ada’s cheek that causes Ada to scream out a giggle. He doesn’t know how he ever stepped back from her, from this. He remembers life before Emma, remembers how everything was, but he doesn’t really want to remember a world where he didn’t love her. Where she didn’t love him.

He doesn’t want to remember a world where she isn’t the center of his life.

Maybe it’s the joyous atmosphere in the room that’s making him think about all of this. Maybe it’s that Neal is now talking to Henry and making him laugh while Henry eats his good, Belle and Liam joining in on their conversation. Maybe it’s that everything finally feels right.

He’s not sure if he’s ever loved Emma more than he does right now. He’s thought it before, said it before, and he’s sure he’ll say it again.

Every time it is said, it’s meant.

He’s infinitely glad that they’re getting things right again, that they’re trying again. He doesn’t know what he would do without Emma.

“You look like you’re thinking,” Emma mumbles as she walks over to him, handing him Ada when she stretches her chubby hands toward him, her fingers already trying to mess with his ears.

“Always, love,” he winks, smiling down at her.

“About what, though?” Emma prods, her hand resting on the middle of his back while she makes faces at Ada, her cheeks puffing up as she inhales air.

“You.”

“Oh, your daddy is trying to be a charmer,” she whispers to their daughter, her eyes only glancing up to him for the briefest of moments.

“Who says I was thinking good things?”

Emma scoffs, like what he’s said is the most unbelievable thing in the world. It kind of is.

He adjusts Ada in his arms, wondering again how she can be this big now or if he’ll ever get used to her growing. He most likely won’t. “I’ll tell you later, love,” he promises, leaning down to kiss the apple of her cheek and whispers in her ear, “I’m afraid I’ll scar the lot of them if I tell you what I was thinking just now.”

Emma’s cheeks immediately flush red, and she shakes her head back and forth, gently slapping his back. He wasn’t thinking anything dirty, but she doesn’t have to know that. He’ll tell her everything later. maybe he’ll even throw in some dirty thoughts.

“Alright,” Emma starts, clapping her hands together, “who wants to make some cookies for Santa?”

-/-

“Now that we’re alone,” he mumbles before he drags his teeth across her collarbone, her skin tasting of the slightest bit of salt, and he hears the gentle thud of Emma’s head hitting their bedroom door. He’s not particularly interested in that when he can hear her whimpers as he bites down on her skin. Her hips arch into his, and she deliciously brushes against where he’s beginning to strain. The slight friction is pleasurable, but it’s not enough. So he steps closer, caging her in, their hips rolling against each other while Emma is fully pressed up into the door, his hands above her while hers explore his back under his shirt, likely leaving red lines on his back.

“Ah, fuck,” she moans when he licks a slow stripe up her neck, and he can feel just how much she loves it with the way her nails dig into his skin.

“Such dirty words from such a pretty mouth,” he mumbles, making sure that his lips cover every inch of her skin that he has access to.”

“I’ve always had a bit of a sailor’s mouth on me.”

“Technically, you do have a sailor’s mouth on you. Quite literally”

She laughs, something deep and throaty, but it’s cancelled out by her own moan again when he gets to the spot on her ear that she likes. Her hips keep moving against his, rolling and teasing, and he can feel the pleasure and the tension build inch by wonderful inch.

“You’re an evil woman,” he continues, moving his hands down from the door so that the slide down her arms, landing at her body so that he can move them up under her shirt, not at all caring for propriety or patience as he feels the heavy weight of her breasts in her hands. “We have had family with us all evening,” he pants, not sure how much longer he can hold back. “They’re here to celebrate Christmas with us, with our children, and you spend the entire night with your hand far too high on my thigh.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she sighs innocently, and he would pull back to look at her with a raised brow, but he’s particularly interested in working his way back down her neck, making sure to rub his scruff into her.

“You do,” he says simply, his voice strained even to his own ears. “You’re a minx and a tease, and don’t think I didn’t notice the way you made sure to stand with your ass just in front of my view as we put out the presents.”

“I was trying to speed up the progression of the song about Mommy kissing Santa Clause.”

It’s a bad joke, but he can’t help but laugh at it before hungrily slanting his lips over Emma’s, capturing her mouth in his as their teeth clank together and their tongues battle, a harshness that is not always there with them present tonight. She nips at his bottom lip, hard, before soothing it, and it’s that which has him moving his hands from her breasts and up under her ass, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist so that he can carry her. She does, their cores pressed together, and he doesn’t break the kiss if only so Emma won’t say anything about him hurting his back. He’s not going to, not tonight.

He wants to take things slow tonight, to let them savor things, to let Emma know of his thoughts earlier of just how much he loves her, but Emma’s in a mood that has them shredding their clothes and him taking her from behind, his pleasure far outweighing hers until he reaches between them and finds the slick flesh where they’re joined. Emma’s gasp comes from the back of her throat, is similar to what must be pure sin, and he wants to hear it over and over again.

They’re hurried the first time, the need for each other too much, but when Emma wakes him in the middle of the night, he deliberately paces them slowly, holding onto Emma’s hips as she moves above him, only the sound of skin against skin and the occasional odd sound outside filling the room. The pleasure builds slowly, steadily, and this time he tells her just how much he loves her and how much she means to him. This time he tells her that his entire world has revolved around her, that it wouldn’t work without her, and he has to grit his teeth to hold back his release all the while wiping his thumb underneath her eye to push away the stray tears.

And for the few hours that they do actually get to sleep the night, their bodies are so tightly pressed together that he’s barely sure which limbs belong to him.

They wake when there’s a knock on their door, the beats fast and lacking enough rhythm for him to know that it’s Henry. He laughs into Emma’s neck before kissing down her bare back, enjoying this last little moment before the chaos of the day begins. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, the moonlight still filtering through the curtains, but Christmas has officially begun.

“Happy Christmas, my love.”

“Merry Christmas,” she whispers back, twisting her head and kissing the corner of his lips. “We have about thirty seconds before he breaks that door down.”

“Mom,” Henry groans from outside, his knocks quieting, “you have to come outside so we can see what Santa brought me.”

“Just a minute, kid,” she laughs as the two of them quickly get up out of bed. He doesn’t know about Emma, but the headache forming in his right temple is going to kill him if he doesn’t get a nap today.

They make quick work of dressing in pajamas, Emma deftly pulling her hair into a braid so that it looks less like he spent the night fucking her, and even though they both definitely need to brush their teeth and wash their faces, they get to the door and open it to Henry standing outside practically vibrating out of his skin.

“Hey, Merry Christmas,” Emma greets, dipping down and pulling Henry into a tight hug.

“Merry Christmas,” Henry murmurs, pushing Emma back and practically running toward the staircase.

“Henry,” he calls out, and the kid comes to a complete stop, nearly slipping in his socks. “Have you noticed that anyone is missing?”

“Ada?” he shrugs, yanking at his shirt sleeve.

“What about your dad?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Why don’t you go wake him up?” Emma says calmly while tightening the string on her pants. “Gently. We don’t jump on his bed, okay?”

“I know. Don’t go downstairs without me.”

“Scout’s honor.” He reaches up to salute Henry as he runs off before turning to look at Emma who is still working on adjusting her pants, messing with the drawstring. For awhile he was worried about how slim she was getting with the stress of giving birth and Neal, and despite her still being a bit smaller than usual, she’s getting back to how she usually is. Her being less stressed is definitely helping. “Do you want to get the other kid or shall I?”

“Will you get her? I’ve got to pee.”

“Sure, love.”

Ada is already awake when he walks into the nursery, so he quickly picks her up, kissing her cheek before stepping over to the changing table and changing her diaper before snapping back her onesie. It makes her look like a reindeer, and he’ll never quite understand where Ruth finds these outfits. And he is sure that it’s Ruth that bought it. It practically has her name written all over it.

“It’s Christmas, my little love,” he coos to her, tapping his fingers on her cheek. She’s going to need to be fed soon, but he hopes that she makes it through opening a few presents so Emma doesn’t have to miss that with Henry. “I think Santa came to visit you and your brother.”

“Come on, Dad,” he hears Henry plead, and when he walks out into the hallway, he sees Henry tugging Neal down the hallway.

“What time is it, kid?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

The chuckle that passes through his lips can’t be stopped, and he flashes Neal a bit of a sympathetic smile. They warned him about this last night, but it doesn’t really hit until you’ve gotten no sleep and have to be enthusiastic for an eight-year-old.

“Morning,” Neal mumbles, flashing him a sleepy smile. “Do you think Santa left coffee under the tree?”

“God I hope so.”

Santa didn’t, but he did leave Henry several movies and toys, the house now full of a spike ball set and several scientific kits that he’s sure will make a mess. He doesn’t know why he bought those now that he thinks about it. They should have found things less messy. But it’s a riot watching Henry tear through the few gifts, especially when he gets to some of the art kits and storybooks that Neal bought him. He’s so excited about them that he practically smothers his father in a hug, jumping up on him and telling him all about the pictures he’s going to draw and stories he’s going to write with them. The smile on Neal’s face is one of a proud dad, and something settles in Killian’s heart then while he sits on the floor next to Emma with the two of them letting Ada rip at wrapping paper and chew on some of the little toys she’s collected herself.

His son has an extra person to love him, truly love him, and even though Neal is not his favorite person in the world anymore, he could be for how he loves Henry.

“What’s this?” Henry asks, holding up a small piece of paper. “Why does it say to go outside?”

“Maybe there’s a present out there that we can’t bring inside?”

“Like a car?”

“No,” Emma laughs, rising from the ground, holding out her hand for him as he brings Ada up with him, “not a car, but maybe something with wheels.”

Henry’s already squealing by the time they get outside, his new bike on proud display with a giant bow on it, and the lad is going on and on about having to shovel the snow so that he can ride it. it’s an ambitious plan, one that’s not going to work, but they’re not going to bring down his high this morning. He can have this.

Liam and Belle show up at the front door around nine, and all of the Nolans come in just behind them, Leo immediately running toward Henry so they can talk about their haul this morning. He and Emma make a conscious effort not to give Henry too much and to make sure that he understands everyone isn’t as fortunate as him, and while Killian thinks that Henry gets that, he does get excited to talk about his things with his cousin.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Ruth sighs, hugging him with her small frame.

“Hello, beautiful,” he whispers as he kisses her cheek. “Are you ready for your grandchildren to wreak chaos on you?”

“This is every grandmother’s dream, don’t you know that?”

“I thought every grandmother’s dream was to make me gain ten pounds so that I don’t fit in my suits anymore,” David laughs, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Just because I make the food doesn’t mean you have to eat it, David.” “Mom, you know that it does. Emma,” David calls, looking over to Emma who’s just handed Ada off to Mary Margaret, “if Mom cooks, can we simply not eat the food?”

“We have to eat the food. Mostly because it’s good but really because Mom passive aggressively tortures us if we don’t eat all of her collards.”

“I do not.”

“You do, Ruth,” Mary Margaret starts. “One time I didn’t finish a panini you made me, and I swear you glared at me for weeks.”

“This is why I always finished everything you cooked me,” Neal says as he sips on his coffee.

“I cooked for you one time.”

“Yeah, don’t be a suck up, Cassidy,” Emma teases, winking over at him. “And I distinctly remember you complaining about the carrots when you never complain about anything.”

“Just throw me under the bus, why don’t you?”

“I try.”

“Belle, darling,” Liam laughs as Killian moves to start setting up breakfast for everyone, laying a sausage casserole onto the island, “are you terrified of eating anything Ruth has made now?”

“I’m shaking in my actual boots.”

“All I do is love all of you kids, and this is what I get in return,” Ruth huffs, sitting down on a barstool.

“I love you,” he tells her, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles, laying the charm on as thick as he can.

“Look who’s a suck up now,” Emma announces, opening the oven to check on the biscuits. It’s a pity he missed out on those for the first twelve years of his life. “It’s almost like you’re trying to impress her so that you can date her daughter.”

“Well, I hate to break it to the sweet Miss Nolan, but I did already knock her daughter up.”

“You’re pregnant,” Mary Margaret squeals, and his stomach does some kind of unnatural twist.

“Uh, n-no,” Emma stutters, holding her hands up while he can tell that she’s trying to find her words and regulate her breathing, her chest moving up and down the slightest bit. “I’m definitely not pregnant.”

“Oh, but Killian said – ”

“It was a poor choice of words, love,” he promises, not sure where to look. He doesn’t want to look at Liam and Belle, knowing this must be an awkward situation for them that can’t be pleasant and not wanting to look at Neal either since Killian is technically talking about sleeping with the man’s ex-wife. Emma’s not a great option either, especially since she’s going to murder him later, so he settles on Ruth who is looking at him with her lips pressed together as she shakes her head from side to side. “Emma is not pregnant. The only baby I was referring to is Ada.”

“So you can calm down, hon,” David says to Mary Margaret, squeezing her shoulder and kissing the top of her head.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Marg,” Emma assures her, flashing her a tight smile and bopping Ada on the nose.

“It would have been some way to announce it, though,” Belle laughs, her features relaxed, “since you have actual buns in the oven.”

“Mom,” Leo yells from the living room, and practically everyone turns to look at him, “when are we going to eat?”

“After you wash your hands.”

“I already did.”

“You haven’t left that room.”

Leo huffs, dropping the ball he was holding, before he turns to Henry and very loudly whispers, “we don’t actually have to wash our hands. If we turn the water on, they think we do.”

“So no one touch anything that Leo touches,” David announces, and even though it’s a bit funny, he makes a note to make sure to check that Henry is washing his hands.

Even though he tries to catalog the entire morning, it goes by much quicker than he could possibly imagine as everyone spreads throughout the living room to eat far more than necessary, the sounds of the Polar Express on in the background to keep Leo and Henry entertained since they can’t open the presents Ruth brought them quite yet. But they do eventually get to open them, and of course, once everything starts to calm down, the chatter not quite as insistent, Ada has a meltdown. Her little face turns as red as a tomato, and she wails and wails with nothing soothing her but having him walk her back and forth down the upstairs hallway away from everyone else.

By the time it’s two in the afternoon, all of the Nolans have left, and Neal has gone to take a nap, grumbling about not being used to this early thing on his days off. Killian gets it, which is exactly why after having gotten Ada to sleep in her crib, he wanders downstairs and stretches out on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table while Emma leans into his side.

“I’m tired,” she laments, nuzzling her head a little further into his chest.

“Well, you are with child,” Liam jokes from his spot on the loveseat.

“I hate you.”

“You love me, birdie.”

“Possibly. I definitely love Belle, though.”

“Damn right,” Belle agrees, sitting up and crossing her legs underneath her.

“Darling,” he starts, resting his cheek against her temple while his fingers tap against the back of the couch, “don’t hurt Liam’s feelings. He doesn’t have many friends, so he really needs you.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Hey, language. Where’s Henry?”

“In his room, babe,” Emma laughs, patting his stomach, “so Belle and Liam can curse as much as they want to.”

“The walls are not that thick.”

“I would bloody hope that they are. Otherwise your children would be subjected to some noises that Killian makes that are not so pleasant.”

If he wasn’t too tired to move and didn’t have Emma resting on top of him, he’d…who is he kidding? He’s not going to get up and punch his brother or toss throw pillows at him for making a cheap joke about how Killian sounds during sex.

“You have the maturity of a fifteen-year-old.”

Liam shrugs. “It keeps me young.”

“If the wrinkles on your face are any indication, you need it.”

“Oh my gosh,” Emma laughs, slapping his stomach again. he grabs her hand and pulls it to his lips, kissing each knuckle before placing it on his chest with his hand resting over hers. “You two are ridiculous.”

“And yet the two of you chose to be with us.”

He watches Belle pat Liam on his cheek, a smirk painted on her face. “We married far below our level.”

#rising from the ashes #captain swan fic #cs fic #cs ff

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