DISCLAIMER: I do not own Once Upon A Time or any of the characters used in this story.

Emma looked down at her tan jumpsuit. Her protruding stomach was forcing the itchy fabric to rub against her skin and, as she looked in the tiny, plastic mirror in her cell, she couldn't help the tear that was running down her face.

"Who's the baby daddy?" her new cellmate sneered. She was lying upon the top bunk of their bed, clearly fighting a grin at the misfortune of the young girl. They had just been assigned together after Emma got transferred to the new division, and she (along with the rest of the division) was unaware of Emma's situation. She was a few years older than Emma – probably around 25 – and had been in jail for about a year already.

"It doesn't matter. He doesn't know," Emma said sadly, turning to the woman and looking up at her. "Do you know where I can get a bigger jumpsuit?"

"Oh, so you don't actually know who the guy is," her cellmate replied, shifting on the bed to face the ceiling, her arms spread out behind her head as she looked above her, seemingly bored with the conversation. "You're so young. How many men could you have slept with already?"

"Of course I know who the father is! I'm not some worthless slut!" Emma snapped, walking over to her bottom bunk and plopping down. "God, I'm hungry, and this freaking kid is making me fat."

The other woman sighed. "That's what having sex does to you."

"We used protection, you know."

"Good for you."

"You don't believe me," Emma let out a frustrated breath.

"Well, it's kind of hard to get knocked up if you did. What did you do, put the condom on wrong?"

"Shut up," Emma said, crossing her arms and lying back. "I'm not stupid. I know how everything works."

"Clearly," she laughed. "Why didn't you tell him?"

"Why do you care so much?" Emma asked, turning her head to the left as her cellmate popped her head over the bunk.

"We're going to be cellmates for the next eight months, Emma. You're going to get bigger and bigger, and I'm going to be the one who you're going to lash out at when you have mood swings and who you cry to when you reminisce about the damn guy. Just tell me the basic information and then we can move on with our lives."

Emma blinked, swallowing the knot tightening in her throat. "His name is Killian, and he will never find out about this kid because I will not have him betray it like he did me."

Emma shot up in bed, her heart pounding and her body sweating. She looked around the room, only to discover that she was not 17, she was not in prison, and Killian was sleeping right next to her, his face scrunching a little at the sudden movement of the bed. She reached her hand down to touch the baby bump that was forming, using her other to wipe the water off her forehead then sweep it through her hair.

"Go to sleep, love," Killian mumbled into the pillow. "It's not time to be up yet."

Emma's breathing slowed down, lying back down. "Sorry, Killian," she whispered, her voice unsteady to do anything louder.

Killian opened up one eye to look at his wife. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice louder this time.

"What makes you think something's wrong?" she deflected. Sometimes it was nice that he could always read her, but this was not one of those times.

Killian opened both his eyes now, shifting until he was sitting with his back against the headboard. "Just tell me, Swan. I'm tired and you have a long day at work tomorrow."

"It was a nightmare. I barely remember what it was about, anyway," Emma lied.

Killian focused on Emma's face, but lied down in defeat as he reached his stump over and pulled her closer to him. "You'll tell me when you're ready," he said, closing his eyes and kissing the back of her head. "Until then, let me protect you from all unwarranted dreams."

Emma was silent as she felt the warm breaths coming from Killian's nose even out until she knew he was sleeping. Only then did she close her eyes again.

"Was it at least good?"

"What?" Emma asked, confused by her question. She was just complaining about how her back was hurting, so the sudden change of topic threw Emma off guard.

"Well, clearly the outcome was a disaster. At least tell me the sex was good," her cellmate demanded. Emma's silence made her turn around to look at her. "You don't know if it was good, do you?"

"I think it was," Emma admitted. Even with her cellmate's sinister appearance, she had been quite kind to Emma through the process so far, almost motherly, and it had only been a month together. She had to have one person she could confide in, and Emma decided she was as good as she was going to get in this place. She shrugged. "I mean, I don't have anyone else to compare him to, but it seemed good at the time. He told me I was good, so I guess I believe him."

"After sending you to jail pregnant, you're going to believe him?" Her cellmate stifled a laugh before cocking her head. "How many times did you sleep with him, exactly?"

"Is this funny to you?"

"Don't be so dramatic. There's nothing else to talk about here," her cellmate said. "Did you get pregnant on your first time? Your only time?"

Emma balled her hands into fists. "I'm not a prude," she muttered. "And I don't know which time I got pregnant."

"Well, if you had sex more than once, you can figure out which time it was. You seem like a smart girl – well, as smart as someone who got pregnant as a teen is. Just do the math."

Emma's mind started turning, her eyes furrowing as she tried to decide which time it was that she got pregnant. She eventually gave up. "It's a moot point," she finally settled on. "I'm pregnant, that's all that matters."

"God, he was a lucky guy. He must have loved how much you put out."

"It wasn't just sex with us!" Emma stood up, walking up and standing in her face. "I love him." Her cellmate's eyebrows shot up. "What now?"

"Nothing."

"No, if you have something to say, say it."

"You still care about the guy."

Emma's mouth opened. "What? No I don't! How could I care about someone who did this to me." She gestured to the room, followed by her body. "If anything, he is the person I like least in the world."

"You just did one of those slip things psychologists talk about. You didn't say 'I loved him', you said 'I love him'. You still want to be with him."

"Absolutely not."

"Really? So if he walked into this prison right now, kissed you, proposed, and said he wanted to raise the kid with you, you'd say go away? You'd tell him you didn't want him anymore?"

Emma swallowed, her eyes opening briefly before returning to their regular size. "Yes." She looked away, knowing she was caught in a lie. "I'd tell him to take a hike."

"Keep telling yourself that, toots."

Emma pouted. "Believe me, I will never let Killian Jones back into my life. "

Emma opened her eyes. For the third night in a row, she had had dreams about conversations she had in prison with her old cellmate, real conversations she had, but had been replacing Neal's name with Killian's. Emma rolled out of bed, walking out of the room and going to the kitchen and getting a glass of water.

She sat down on the couch, doing the calming exercises her mother claims she did with baby Neal. "What a bunch of bull," Emma said to her stomach. "Breathing isn't going to make anything better."

"The books say otherwise." Killian had his arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe. "Mind if I join you?" Emma pointed at the couch next to her, and Killian slowly made his way over. He sat down next to her, bringing his stump over her head and letting her lean on him. "Bad dream?"

"I must have eaten something weird again." Emma replied.

"Or you're just scared for the baby," Killian suggested, looking out the window at a sleeping Storybrooke from within their dark room.

"I'm already a mother, I know how to take care of a kid," she replied.

"That doesn't mean you can't be nervous," Killian said. "It's okay to be scared."

Emma looked at him in the dark room, even if he wasn't watching her. "I'm not scared. I just shouldn't have eaten that burrito for lunch today."

"I'm frightened," Killian admitted, trying to get Emma to let out her insecurities.

"Really? What are you afraid of?" she asked.

"Everything of what it means to be a father. It's not something you can really prepare for," Killian said. "I can read all the books out there or attend all the classes offered and I still don't know if I'll ever be ready."

"You're going to make a wonderful dad, I know it," Emma nodded, rubbing her hand up and down his leg. "Let's go back to bed."

Killian studied Emma's face, unsatisfied with her lack of participation in the conversation, but stood up and held his arm out to his pregnant wife, pulling her up and walking together back to their room.

Emma and her cellmate hadn't talked all day. Emma was fatigued from the baby, and her cellmate knew better than to bother her when pregnant Emma was tired.

But her cellmate must have been bored, because she began talking. "I don't think I could do it."

"Huh?"

"Raise the baby on my own. If I was in your position, I don't think I could do it." Her cellmate said, hopping off her bunk and sitting in a bolted chair across from Emma. "I'm in awe of your determination."

Emma had just been thinking of baby names before being interrupted. "Why couldn't you?" she asked, her hesitation obvious in her voice.

She shrugged. "I'd want to give my baby its best chance." Emma was silent, unsure of what her cellmate meant, and it led her to continue. "It would have to live in the foster care system until I was out of jail. I'd never get hired at a real place with benefits since I'm an ex-convict, so medical bills would be through the roof. Plus, I'd never make enough money to give my kid everything he or she wants and needs. I'd never know if we'd have enough food or even if there would be a roof over our head. No one is going to want to date a single mother. I am clearly not a good example for it. How could I punish it if I was sent to jail myself? No. I'd give him or her up for adoption the first chance I could to make sure my kid would succeed in life."

"You don't think he'd succeed with you?"

"Oh, no. And without a father? Every child needs a father figure in their life, and even with every ounce of my being working towards being both, I'd never be enough." Her cellmate reached up and brushed her black hair out of her eye, making her look much younger than before.

"I… I didn't think of those things…" Emma stuttered.

"And every single time I'd look into my kid's face, every time it smiled or cried or laughed, I would see the bastard that left me. Left me in prison, left me pregnant, left me alone. I don't think I'd ever be able to truly love my kid knowing who the dad was."

Emma was staring at her hands and unconsciously rubbing her belly back and forth over where her child was growing. "You're right…" she mumbled. "I'm never going to look at my baby and not see Killian." Emma looked up at her cellmate with tears in her eyes. "What was I thinking? I can't be a single mother! I don't know what that means!"

Her cellmate placed a hand on Emma's shoulder to comfort her. "I never meant you—"

"No! You're right. I don't know what I was thinking, believing I could do it all. I don't want this kid anymore. Just the sight of my stomach makes me sick."

"What are you going to do?" Her cellmate asked, genuine curiosity and concern outlining her voice.

Emma gulped before taking her hands off of her stomach for good. "Well, I can tell you one thing. Emma Swan and Killian Jones will not be the parents raising this child."

Emma didn't open her eyes this time, feeling the tears seep out of them. She reached her hand over, finding Killian's hand, and threading her fingers in his. She squeezed tight, holding on to his hand, letting her face drip with tears.

Suddenly, she felt a pair of lips kissing her cheek, trying to dry the water that was pooling onto her face, She turned her head to it, keeping her eyes shut tight, and allowed him to kiss her forehead. She felt a handless arm brush her hair out of her face, outlining her jaw line before settling upon her stomach. "I hate seeing you cry," Killian said, softly. "It breaks my heart."

Emma finally opened her eyes, staring at her pirate. His eyes were wide, despite the time, and filled with their own sadness. "I've been dreaming about prison," Emma whispered into the bedroom.

"Tell me about these dreams," Killian answered.

"They're not really dreams, but more like memories. They're conversations I had with my cellmate when I was pregnant as a 17-year-old, but every time I would have used Neal's name, it's been replaced by yours." Emma's lip began to tremble as she admitted everything, her words becoming more and more difficult to understand as her sadness was taking over. "I don't want you to leave me, I don't think I could handle it a second time."

"Don't worry, love. I'm not going anywhere any time soon. You're stuck with me for as long as you'll have me," Killian began. "Please know that, Swan. Please know that you will never have to raise this baby, or any future babies, alone. Please know that our son will have a loving mother and a loving father, neither of which are going to abandon him."

"Why do I keep dreaming this?"

Killian kissed her forehead. "I don't know."

"How do I get them to stop?"

"I don't know," he repeated. "But I do know that our son is going to be loved more than any child in this world or the next. Now…" Killian shifted until his hand was stroking Emma's face. "Do you need a drink or anything?"

Emma shook her head. "No, I just want to go back to bed."

"Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight, Killian."

Emma's legs were shaking as she walked back to her cell, her jumpsuit drowning her with the loss of the baby in her stomach. Her eyes were red from water pooling in it, her body aching, and she couldn't breath correctly.

When she reached her room, she couldn't even look at her cellmate. The matron pushed her in and locked the cell, leaving Emma to stand in the middle of the cemented area. Her cellmate jumped off the top of the bunk bed and grabbed Emma, pulling her into a deep hug and standing with her. Emma wrapped her arms around the woman, finally letting herself go for the first time since the birth.

"It was a boy," Emma whispered into the girl's ear. "I had a boy." The woman, still holding onto her tight, started brushing her hair, but didn't respond. She waited to allow Emma to say everything she wanted to say. "I didn't even peek at the kid, and now I'll never know what he looks like."

"You are a strong woman, Emma Swan," she said. "You just made an impossible decision."

Emma leaned back, looking straight into her eyes. "What if he goes to someone mean? What if he ends up in a place where he's mistreated?"

"That won't happen," she soothed, still continuing to hold Emma.

"But what if—"

"Emma, you have given that child the best gift of all: the opportunity to live." She gave a sad smile, stepping back from Emma. "He's going to go to a loving family that can offer him the world, and it's all thanks to you."

Emma sat down on her bed, resting her head on her palms. She sat like that for a while before something snapped within her. "I don't want to be here anymore." She looked up, grabbed her pillow, and threw it across the small room. "I hate this place," she stood up and kicked the bed. "I hate my life," Emma hit the cool steel of the top bunk. "I don't know what I did to deserve this." Emma whipped the blanket off the bed and bundled it into a ball, holding it up to her mouth and screamed, refusing to stop until her throat was throbbing.

"Emma…"

"No, I can't do this anymore. I can't, I just can't."

Emma's cellmates gently took the blanket out of Emma's hands and threw it on the chair, placing one hand on each side of her shoulder. "You're going to get out of here in two months, and you're going to go live your life. You're going to forget about me, you're going to forget about this place, and you're going to become a happy person. And someday, you're going to realize that this," she gestured around the room, "isn't going to be what defines you. The only thing that will ever be able to define you is you." She took her hand and pointed at Emma's heart.

"But…"

"Don't let him define you. Don't let him control you. He doesn't deserve it."

"I…"

"You are a bright, smart, determined woman. Killian is not worth a second thought."

Emma shot out of bed, running to the bathroom. She emptied everything she had ate the previous week into the toilet before flushing it, sitting back on the cool tile and resting her back against the counter. Her body was shaking, her throat tightening, and her shirt was drenched with tears.

Killian turned on the light, and she looked up at him with guilty eyes before hurling into the toilet again. He came behind her and sat on the edge of the bath, pulling her hair back to keep it from hitting the water. Emma placed her arms across the toilet and rested her head against it. Her shoulders were lifting and falling in silent cries.

"It's okay, Swan. I'm here," he said, a kindness in his voice that Emma heart very rarely. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Emma shook her head and turned around, throwing her body at Killian's and holding him as he steadied himself from the sheer force of her hug. She didn't talk, and he didn't push it, only holding her in the bathroom as she wept in his arms.

The pair eventually stood up and walked back into their bedroom, holding hands on the way there. He sat Emma on the bed before kneeling right before her. "Look at me," Killian murmured before grabbing her hand in his single one and squeezing it. She brought her eyes up to his and blinked, getting her husband into focus. "Are you looking at me?" Emma nodded. "I need you to listen to every single word I'm about to say."

Emma's bottom lip trembled, but nodded again as a sign that she was ready to listen.

"You didn't abandon Henry," he said, and Emma took in a sharp breath. Of course he knew exactly what was bothering her. It shouldn't come as a surprise to her anymore. "Henry had a good childhood because of you, and he thanks you every single day of his life for the chance you gave him."

"I…"

"You don't deserve the life that has been dealt to you. But I will do every damn thing I can do to make sure that your future is better than your past. Your baby…" he placed a hand on her stomach, "Our baby is going to be loved by you, by me, by Henry, by your parents, by every single person he meets. Emma, you don't have to be afraid anymore; you don't have to feel guilty anymore."

Emma was frowning, but leaned forward and kissed his lips. "I think I know what I need to do to make the nightmares stop."

"And what's that?"

"We need to go to Arizona and visit my old cellmate."

Review?