A short drabble-ish one shot of cuteness. Enjoy!
She sets the timer for two minutes, gingerly balancing the plastic stick on the sink and trying not to hold her breath.
Two minutes. She's waited much longer for important news before.
Emma closes her eyes, leaning back against the bathroom wall. The tile is cool under her palms, and she's grateful, because she's been feeling a little too hot (a little nauseous) all day.
Twelve years ago, she leaned back against a different cold wall, painted cinder blocks keeping her company on her wait. She had prayed, begged, desperately wished for an outcome that didn't result in a little plus sign.
Fate hadn't been with her that day.
But today is different. She's anxious, sure. A little nervous. But behind that, she can't help but relish in a certain giddiness. She's not eighteen this time. And yes, this is a consequence of not being very careful (she thinks about that night on the Jolly Roger and smiles to herself because she doesn't regret one second no matter how this ends) but she's also in such a different place in her life.
She's not in jail, for starters.
She's also with Killian. This isn't a secret she's going to have to swallow like a ball of lead – if she is…well, if she is she's going to tell him the second he gets home. There's a twinge of uncertainty, because they haven't talked about this, but she's nearly positive those deep blue eyes of his are going to light up with joy and love.
She's not the only one who's dreamt of family her entire life.
She checks the timer. It's been forty-five second.
This is the longest two minutes of her life. She's nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet as she watches the second tick down, one slow moment after another.
"Emma?" His voice echoes through the empty apartment, the sound of the front door closing making her jump. He's early, and dammit, she's not ready.
"Just a minute!" she calls from the bathroom, hoping he won't hear it in her voice, but of course he does, because he's jiggling the door handle before another fifteen seconds has gone by on the timer.
"Are you all right, love?" He raises an eyebrow at her in concern as he eases open the door, because her face has gone red and she's standing awkwardly in front of the sink, her eyes darting around the room anywhere but at him.
"We've talked about you just walking into the bathroom," she chides, but her heart isn't in it. He's staring at her intently, and she sees his suspicion, the faint narrowing of his eyes that she recognizes as his certainty she's hiding something.
"Swan." He's about to say more, his hand reaching for her, but the timer starts beeping and she sighs, because the jig is up.
"What on earth is that noise?" he demands, craning his neck to look over her shoulder at the flashing digital screen on the sink. "Why do you need a clock in here?"
He's so hopelessly confused, and he must have seen the test sitting on the counter, but it occurs to Emma belatedly he has no idea what it is. It makes her smile, that smile bordering on a smirk she gets when some new modern marvel has him baffled, and she slides her palm along his cheek with a twinge of nervousness.
"I was taking a test," she says softly, reaching blindly behind her for the slim plastic stick that holds the answer she was once afraid of and now is eager for.
"In here?"
She laughs, because his brows are knit together and he's so damn confused, especially when he sees when she's holding. Emma's eyes follow his, and her stomach flips at the tiny lines now visible. She holds it up for him, but he only glares at her in frustration.
"Swan, you know I haven't any idea what this is about."
"I'm pregnant," she whispers it, awe in her words as she stares at this man, this man who has brought so much love and hope to her life. His eyes widen, and the confusion disappears, his joy radiant and pure.
"That's the test? You can just take a test and…"
She nods, and she doesn't even realize her eyes have filled with tears until his thumb is lightly brushing them away. She can feel the curve of his hook at her back, his arm snug at her waist as his fingers slide into her hair. She knows the kiss that's coming – that reverent, delicate, pure kiss he gives her sometimes when he's emotional and love is practically radiating from him.
"You're happy?" she asks as he releases her with a sigh, his arms tucking her against his chest even as he kisses her hair.
It takes him a moment to respond, and a flutter of anxiety rises in her throat. But when he speaks, she realizes he needed the silence, needed to steady himself, because his voice is hoarse, thick with emotion when he says, "Emma, there is not a man in this realm happier than you've made me."
She smiles into his chest, breathing him in and letting her eyes close as she lets herself float along in this moment of pure, blissful happiness.
It's been twelve years since the last time she was here, but it only took two minutes to change everything.