The call came just as she and David were arresting some drunk-and-disorderlies who had been black knights according to her father- not particularly bothersome, but still egotistical even drunk. "Hey," she grunted into the phone as she wrangled the last one into the backseat of the police car. "It might be a little while-"

"Emma," Killian interrupted. She pulled up short. "I believe Henry might be ill."

A single distressed glance and David was already waving her off with slumped shoulders. "Go," he ordered, sparing a scowl for the noisiest of their passengers. "I've got it."

Killian was waiting downstairs when she rushed inside, and he appeared to be trying to drill a hole into the granite kitchen countertop with his stare. "Swan," he breathed as she turned the deadbolt. "I think he's sleeping."

"Did you take his temperature?" Emma pulled off her jacket and dropped it on the back of a chair before opening the fridge to pull out the orange juice.

"One hundred and two degrees," Killian recited grimly, "which the Internet tells me isn't good." He opened the cabinet with the edge of his hook and handed her a glass unprompted.

"Yeah, no." Emma sighed, checking her watch. It was barely nine fifteen, far earlier than Henry usually consented to go to bed. "How long?"

"He told me that he's been feeling dizzy since he left for school this morning. Should we call Whale?"

"Nah," Emma said, and returned the carton to the fridge. "We'll just keep an eye on him."

Killian made an unhappy sound in the back of his throat. "He almost passed out, Emma!"

"I bet you used to drink too much and pass out all the time, and you didn't worry about it one bit."

Now he just looked affronted. "Not after I met you, love. Besides, your lad hasn't been drinking. I would know."

That, she didn't doubt. "Whatever, pirate." Emma ducked into the bathroom for an Advil. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm going to check on Henry and then I'm going to bed."

"If you say so, love."

Henry was snoring in a mess of gangly teenage limbs, having kicked the covers off to one side of the floor. Killian bent over to pull them back on the bed and folded them neatly at the foot of the mattress.

When Emma kissed his forehead his skin felt a bit warm, but Emma wasn't worried; her New York memories had given her a sense for when her son was badly sick, and the mom sense wasn't tingling too much. In all likelihood, he'd just gotten a bit dehydrated. It had happened to her all the time as a kid.

Killian was a different story. He was picking at his hook again and staring at Henry in the light of the bedside lamp with a wrinkled brow. If Emma had to guess, she'd say his newfound dad senses were going into overdrive. She couldn't even be surprised that Killian would turn out to be the overprotective parent, even for a teenager with mood swings who never called him Dad.

"He'll feel better in the morning," she reassured him with a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Killian. I'm tired."

As soon as the sound of Henry's coughing made it across the house to their bedroom, Killian stiffened. They hadn't been tucked together beneath the sheet for half an hour before Killian gave up on his tossing and turning and slid out of bed. Emma smiled to herself and rolled over into the warm spot he had left, but the warmth faded along with his padding footsteps.

Sighing, Emma grabbed the socks Henry had put in her Christmas stocking before following down the hallway and up the stairs. Halfway up, she heard Henry's voice: "-but I'm not tired anymore." Emma smiled, leaning against the railing. She had memories, fake memories maybe, but memories nonetheless of those same words whined dozens of times before. Henry's voice was deeper now, but the pouting inflection was the same.

"Then talk to me." Killian's voice was soft. "Let's see- oh, I know. Tell me about the young lady I saw you talking to the other day."

"What?" Henry sounded suddenly far more awake. "No, no. I'm not doing this."

"What was her name?" Killian continued airily. "I can't remember."

"Killian."

"No, that wasn't it." Emma was still only listening from the stairs, but the smirk couldn't have been more evident. "Oh, yes, I remember- Grace, was it?"

Grace? Emma glared up the stairs to her son's doorway, feeling a bit left out of the loop. If Jefferson was a prospective father-in-law for Henry, she wanted to be kept appraised of all developments, not to mention fully armed whenever she went for a walk in the woods.

"Killian, stop. It's not like that."

"Your tone indicates otherwise, lad. You're a worse liar than your mother." He was clearly enjoying the conversation too much.

"Look at it this way." Emma had long since pointed out to Killian Henry's 'negotiator' voice, used for talking down villainous relatives and bargaining for more Xbox time: the negotiator was out in full force now. "When you were my age- a very long time ago, I know- how much did you hate this conversation?"

"When I was your age," Killian answered smugly, and paused when Henry coughed- Emma could only assume he was handing him the orange juice she'd left on his nightstand- "As I was saying, when I was your age," he repeated, quieter, "I was fresh out of naval academy, which I was only able to attend through a wealthy benefactor and my brother's honors, and I was on my way to becoming one of the youngest lieutenants in the history of the kingdom."

"Leftenant?" Henry echoed, still hoarse.

"Don't mock the proper pronunciation, lad." There was a soft rustling, as if Killian was adjusting his position against the wall. "In fact, I-"

"Stop," Henry interrupted, and Emma smiled. "I know what you're doing. Did you or did you not appreciate being asked about girls when you were my age?"

"I hated nothing more," Killian said easily. "Not to mention I didn't even have the courage to speak to the lasses in question. I was the shyest wallflower you'd ever meet."

Henry was silent for a moment, then "You are terrible," he choked out amid giggles. "I can totally imagine it, too."

"I suppose I must also mention that I was a staunch advocate for sobriety and wore a pigtail."

Henry almost screeched with laughter. "Are you serious?"

"Extremely." Killian lowered his voice. "If you tell your grandfather, they will never find your body."

Henry started wheezing, and Emma found herself biting the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning to herself in the dark. "You," Henry panted, "are awesome."

Emma sat at the top of the stairs for twenty minutes before Killian whispered a soft goodnight and left Henry's room with the empty glass. He wasn't surprised to see her there, but he did look down to hide the smile that wouldn't leave his face.

"How's our kid doing?" Emma asked, trying to discretely wipe a tear away.

"He'll be okay," Killian whispered. "Have I mentioned lately that I love you Swans?"

Emma laced her fingers in his and started down the stairs in the dark. "We love you, too."