This is for Lena (lenfaz on tumblr, go follow her!), who left a songbird prompt in my inbox. I'm sorry it took so long and that it's literally SO LONG. I swear, it was supposed to be short and sweet but I didn't have a lot of time and idk? IT TURNED INTO 8K WORDS OF DOMESTIC FLUFF. Yup, this is where the muse took me.
The song my playlist gave me was North by Sleeping At Last where the title and the lyrics and the inspiration for this fic came from.
Anyway, Lena. Again, sorry it took FOREVER but here it is, and I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for the request!
We'll tell our stories on these walls
Every year, measure how tall
And just like a work of art,
We'll tell our stories on these walls
It's barely light out when he slowly stirs from slumber.
While Emma has convinced him many a time over the years to lay in bed a while longer, sleep in a little later, not much can override, literally centuries of routine.
But, it's not routine that rouses him from sleep this time.
It's the curious, incomprehensible yet undeniably alert babbling emanating from the room down the hall.
Killian chuckles quietly to himself, mindful of his still slumbering lover, as he gently disentangles himself from her warm embrace. He takes a moment to stare at her, relaxed and peaceful in repose in a way that she rarely is when awake, and counts his lucky stars as he marvels how blessed he is that in all the lifetimes and in all the realms, they found each other – that she is his and he is irrevocably hers.
His gaze is drawn from her when the babbling starts up again. With an amused shake of his head, he switches off the monitor at their bedside table before leaning down to press a soft kiss to Emma's forehead, whispering "I love you," as he weaves his fingers into her golden curls. Her lips blossom to a lazy smirk as she burrows deeper into the covers, oh so responsive even in sleep, and he leaves with his own content smile curling about his lips.
Before he makes his way towards the room from which the bubbly sounds lay, he pads quietly to the room across his and Emma's, his feet nor his movements nary making a sound even as he opens the door and peaks his head in.
His smile is fond and wide when he spots Henry – sheets tousled about at the foot of his bed, his upper body dangling precariously over the edge of the mattress and his mouth hanging open, indicative of his deep slumber. Slowly, he crosses over to him and gently sets his boy to rights.
(His boy, not in blood for that will always be Bae's right, but his in every other way that matters, his to love for as long as Henry and Emma allow him to be in their lives which, he hopes dearly, is for the rest of their days.)
For all their adventures, Henry still manages to be all long, awkward limbs and teenage angst and at 16, already too old and independent to be tucked in and read to at night.
So he's grateful that his body has grown too used to rising with the sun, as it allows for moments like this between him and Henry, who seems aware as one can be whence they precariously straddle the line between blissful sleep and airy consciousness and either way, everything feels like a dream.
Except... except Henry nuzzles into his palm when he runs his lone hand through his brown locks before resting it against his cheek, murmurs "I love you, Killian," before nestling deeper beneath the sheets he'd tucked all the way to Henry's chin and Killian's heart feels just so full... full and warm and overflowing with the love he has for this boy that he's afraid it might spontaneously burst from the pores of his skin, like rough waves over a broken down dam.
He leans down then, breathing him in, laying a kiss to his forehead before pressing his own against his and waiting for his breathing to deepen and even out. Satisfied that Henry has slipped back into the land of dreams, he in turn, slips from his room, as quietly as he entered it.
He shivers when he steps back into the hall, regretting that he's dressed in naught but his pajamas. He thinks about returning to his room and retrieving a shirt, but he also thinks about the awful squeaking noise his drawer makes, a small nuisance in the daylight when he and Emma bustle about their morning routine but, no doubt, absolutely thunderous in the barely dawn. Not wanting to wake his love, he braves the cold, forgoes a detour to his room and goes straight for the one further down the hall, next to his and Emma's.
A chuckle escapes him at the sight that greets him when he opens the door.
There, stood proud and tall (or, as tall as his chubby legs will allow him) against his crib, is his toddler – bouncing and lively as if it were right in the middle of the day instead of hours yet away before sunrise. Upon seeing his father, his little lad's babbles double in excitement and Killian quickly shuts the door even when he knows Emma and Henry will not hear the noises from their rooms with their walls so thick. Still, he does not risk it, for his son's squeals pierce the night's silence loud enough that his ears ring with it.
But Killian laughs again, even as he creeps silently along the carpeted floor of the nursery and tries to quiet his boy.
"Hush, Charles," he whispers with a grin despite tickling his son under the chin, causing him to erupt in a fit of giggles, "you'll wake the entire neighborhood with that laugh of yours."
"Dada!" Charles exclaims, ignoring the demands of his father in favor of his own as Killian draws closer, "up!"
"I shouldn't, little lad," he tries for a firm voice. "In fact, I ought to lay you down and put you right back to sleep."
But then Charles holds his perpetually opening and closing hands up, his entire face alight at the sight of Killian, reaching for him and once more, he feels his heart swell as his already dwindling resolve (if he ever had one at all) weakens.
"Oh, you don't fight fair," he pouts even when he picks him up, cradling his bottom with his right hand while using the length of his left arm to support his upper body – a move that took some time to master.
But now he executes the maneuver with perfect ease and if the way Charles wraps his legs firmly around his father's torso is any indication, he too has found the best way to make it easier for his father to hold him.
(He used to be so afraid of holding his baby – that he wouldn't be able to support him with just the one hand. Then–
"Trust me and trust him, Killian," Emma had assured him when she could no longer take his brooding, finally urging him to hold Charles by thrusting the infant into his arms, leaving him with no choice but to hold him. "But most importantly, trust yourself. He's our soon and by blood, he's pretty perceptive. I'm positive you two will figure it out."
–He didn't think he could love her anymore than he did in that moment and yet, he did.
And by gods, did the both of them figure it out, indeed. They made quite the team, father and son.
The first time he ever held Charles, he couldn't imagine how anyone could ever hurt something so precious, least of all him.
The first time Emma sees them, she makes no comment. Just gives them a near imperceptive smile that he discerns anyway because, open book, and he hears the unspoken "I told you so" loud and clear.)
"Then again, what else should I expect from the son of a Charming and a pirate, aye?"
Charles merely gives him a toothy smile as he grabs his father's nose with inquisitive fingers. Killian nuzzles his palm cause he knows how his beard tickles at the babe's soft skin and without surprise, Charles bursts into chortles while trying to grab at his father's lips.
He presses a kiss into his palm.
"Though at this hour, I suppose your mother would agree with me when I say, you're more pirate than you are Charming," he tells him as he swings him soothingly back and forth in a futile effort to lull him back to sleep, "only a sailor would rise so naturally with the sun, and you lad, are a sailor through and through."
And he wants to sound stern, he really does. Yet there's nothing but pride in his tone and love shining in his eyes, knowing that the sea runs strong and powerful in his son's blood as it does in his.
However, Charles' sleep schedule is sporadic enough as it is. His mother will certainly not be pleased if she's found that he'd awoken at this hour. Again.
What am I going to do with you? He thinks to himself as he pouts at his son, like he himself will grace him with the solution to his sleeping habits. But his bottom lip protruding just gives Charles the entrance he needs to pull at his father's mouth. Killian retaliates by swiftly raising his son in the air and delivering a raspberry to his stomach, making Charles squeal even louder, he fears they have woken up the neighborhood.
But Killian brings Charles back into the cradle of his arms and he listens for any movement beyond the door that indicates they woke the calmly sleeping inhabitants of their home. When none arrive, he buries his face in Charles' neck, relieved that the thickness of the walls hold so he breathes him in, enjoying the sweet, powdery smell that seems inherent in all small children, before blowing one final raspberry into the skin of his neck.
When his son's laughter calms, he shakes his head as he stares into the boy's blue eyes (the same ones he got from him and Liam and their father before them).
This time, he asks out loud, "Oh my lad," with a shake of his head, his expression one part exasperation, two parts fondness. "What in Neptune's name am I going to do with you?"
Killian casts his eyes about the nursery, looking for any means to put Charles to sleep when he spots the smatter of toys by his toy chest that he hadn't gotten around to cleaning up yesterday.
"Shall we play then, my little love?"
He makes his way to the blocks and stuffed animals but when he moves to bring Charles down, his son draws his arms tight around his neck and does not budge. Charles shakes his head with a small whimper and Killian takes the hint.
"Alright, we shan't play. What do you want to do then?" Killian straightens up and lifts him higher on his hip while he brings his stump up to brush the stray, jet-black tendrils that have fallen across his son's eyes. Charles latches onto the limb and brings it to his mouth to nip at the rounded end and Killian laughs, even as saliva drips down his arm.
"Would you like daddy to make you a bottle?"
Charles coos and Killian nods, all faux seriousness as he says, "a bottle it is."
They walk to the door of the nursery, where Killian sets his one-year old down so he can open the door. Then he crouches till he's at the boy's eye level and lifts a finger to his lips as he says, "We mustn't be noisy, Charles. Mummy and Henry are still asleep and it would be bad form to wake them now, wouldn't it?"
Charles brings a finger to his own lips in imitation of his father and Killian smiles.
"That's my good lad."
Together, and as stealthily as Killian can manage with a toddler, they make their way to the staircase without delay. Slowly, they descend the steps, Killian mindful of his boy, silently delighted when his small legs cautiously but bravely make its way down each step. Killian allows his stump to trace the wall by the staircase, taking in the evidence of the life he's built with Emma in the form of the pictures proudly displayed there, all achingly joyous moments and tender smiles – Henry and him on the Jolly, Emma and him in Granny's, Charles' birth, Henry moving up to high school, Emma with her parents and all the family events he's long been privy to but no more used to even after all this time – effectively erasing any trace that darkness ever once filled this abode.
They hit the penultimate staircase with the loose floorboard causing it to creak and Killian to cringe at the way the noise seems to echo throughout the house. He makes a mental note to go to the hardware store and get the necessary tools to fix it. Before they reach the bottom landing, Killian urges his boy to jump and he does, Killian catching him so he can carry him the last few steps to the kitchen where he deposits him onto his highchair.
Pre-dawn light leaks over the horizon and bleeds through the windows in the kitchen and the living room and though it's faint, Killian knows his way enough (along with three hundred years of living without electricity) and the motions of making a bottle to maneuver about without the added benefit of the Land Without Magic's own brand of magic (Science, as Emma and Henry refer to it). Charles occupies himself with the rubber toys on the highchair table, to Killian's relief, allowing him to boil water and prepare a bottle without much fuss.
(Sometimes, it amazes him that Charles is even his, given his calm and sunny disposition. If Liam's stories were anything to go by, Killian was quite the little rascal.)
(If he thinks about it, perhaps being a pirate was an inevitable path for him.)
"Ready to go little man?" He says to Charles, once everything is put away.
"Up, dada! Up!"
He grins. "I'll take that as a yes."
Toddler secured at the hip, they make their way up the stairs, Killian softly singing the remnants of an old lullaby Liam used to sing to him.
(He tries not to remember why Liam had to sing to him in the first place, tries not to flinch at the trickles of memories that surface to his mind – the faint smell of his mother's perfume, citrusy and soft about his nostrils, Liam's hand, heavy and firm in his as they fell asleep to her melodic voice, his father's booming laughter, the crackling of the fireplace and the shadows that played across the hardwood floors of their modest cottage as his mother and father danced to music only they heard.
–His mother's pale and fragile skin as she took her final breaths.
–The violent rocking of the ship and the darkness that fell across his eyes as he learned of his father's abandonment.
The memories hit him hard, especially on the staircase landing, where the light doesn't reach him and there's nothing but night.
But his boy, his precious, beautiful boy, brings both his hands to his father's face and gives him a toothy smile and he feels the darkness within him settle once more.)
When they approach the hall leading to their rooms, Killian's voice dwindles to a hum. He brings his stump into the cradle of his son's palm when they enter his nursery and he sways them to the tune of the lullaby. He then lays Charles into the crook of his left arm as he uncaps the bottle with one hand, testing the warmth onto the skin of his wrist and deeming it fine, and feeds it gently to Charles.
The boy is much too big to be cradled like an infant, he knows, but he can't bring himself to mind the cramp in his arm at his son's weight when it means he gets to feel the warmth of him against his bare chest and his heartbeat, small but strong.
His eyes draw onto the wooden rocking chair then, something gifted to them by Marco who had lovingly crafted images of waves and ships and castles and beanstalks amongst the lines of wood at the start of Emma's pregnancy and an idea forms in his mind.
(He wonders how it didn't come to him sooner, how he could have thought of anything else.)
"Charles, my boy," he says, capturing his son's attention as they make their way towards the rocking chair, picking up his favorite stuffed duckling toy along the way when the toddler has a firm grip on his bottle. "How would you like to hear a tale?"
He takes a seat and settles Charles, who has had enough of his bottle, atop him with his back to his chest. "I know you hear enough stories from your older brother, but I promise you, son. This one you'll want to hear. It's about your dear old dad, and how, with his devastatingly good looks and infallible charm, he won the heart of a fair maiden with hair like spun gold and eyes like a restless sea during a storm." He smirks. "Of course, she put a knife to my throat and tied me to a tree then left me chained at the lair of a giant for ten hours first..." Charles claps his hands like the thought of his father in questionably life-threatening situations brings him great joy, causing him to drop his duckling to the floor. With a grumble, Killian hugs Charles to his chest as he bends to pick it up. When they're comfortably situated once more, Charles duckling safely tucked in his arms, Killian gives his son a feigned offended look. "You like that, do you? Figures, you may have my good looks, little love, but you definitely have your mother's fiery spirit." He sighs like he's put out, when really, he feels nothing but love and gratitude for the woman who gave him everything even when he felt like he deserved none. He bites his lip to contain his smile but the corners of his mouth lift up anyway. "But I'm getting ahead of myself."
With a gentle push of the chair, as gentle as waves lapping against a shore on a perfect summer day, he paints his son a story.
"For you to truly understand," then he pauses as a thought strikes him, "well, as much as your one-year-old self can comprehend at least which, now that I think about it, probably won't be much. But you should know now lad, your father loves a challenge." He waggles his eyebrows and it prompts Charles to laugh. "Anyway, for you to, y'know, really get into the story, we must go all the way to the start. Now," he boops Charles on his nose, "let's begin, shall we? Pay attention now, little love." He takes a deep breath. Then, "Once upon a time, as all stories are wont to begin, there lived a brave and beautiful princess. But unlike most stories, this princess did not grow in a castle, surrounded by magic and jewels and knights and the love of her parents, the king and the queen, as she was supposed to."
Charles lifts his head up at his pause, as if asking him why not and to please, do go on. And he does with a chuckle.
"Alright, alright. There's no rush though, lad. It's quite a long story, you know?"
Charles babbles in response.
He grins.
"Now... where was I?"
It's the light in his eyes that stirs him from slumber this time.
Judging from the position of the sun, it's midmorning. He's still on the rocking chair and Charles is on his chest, soundly asleep, facing him and lying on his stomach with his fists curled into his chest hair. No doubt his duckling lurking about on the floor at his feet somewhere. There's a blanket over Charles he doesn't remember being there before he drifted off and it prompts him to survey the room.
That's when he sees her.
Emma smiles, something serene and beatific and dazzling that it (and the 21-pound baby on his chest) takes his breath away when their eyes lock.
"Hey, pirate," she whispers as she rises from her cross-legged position on the floor by the door of the nursery where she was quietly contemplating her two boys, and makes her way towards him.
"What time is it, love?" he asks a little dazedly, as Emma runs her fingers through his hair, his voice equally soft and raspy still from sleep.
"Just a little over nine."
He yawns and Emma chuckles at the way he nuzzles her palm when they land on his cheek. "Henry?" He asks.
"Oh, you know. Being the parent of the house. He's got pancakes cooking over the stove as we speak since he's, well, the only one in this house who can muster up a meal without burning anything."
"That makes one of us, then."
Emma's teasing looks melt into something tender, as she brings her other hand up to run along the tufts of hair on their son's head.
"I think you're plenty parent right now."
He feels the tips of his ears redden at the compliment, still unused to the confidence Emma constantly bestows upon him but by the way her smile widens, he's sure she doesn't mind.
Neither does he, honestly, as long as Emma continues to look at him like it was his hand who orchestrated the arrangement of the moon, the sun, the planets and the stars.
No, he doesn't mind at all.
(And it's ridiculous to him that she could hold him in such high esteem, not when he's certain that all the light in all the realms, come from her.
The entire world could crumble but he knows, by the strength of her soul and the power of her love, she would remain.)
He doesn't reply. Just tugs her down till their lips are a hairsbreadth from each other, then he's closing the distance between them, pouring all of his gratitude into the kiss.
When they part, Emma rests her forehead atop his, a hum at the back of her throat as she pecks one last kiss to his lips.
"Mm, what was that for?"
He grins. "Not what, who."
He pulls back just a fraction, to tuck a stray curl behind her ear and shrug. "It's just... I love you like this. You're beautiful in the morning light, my love."
It's Emma's turn to redden and he smiles, his fingers following the trail of her blush as it travels down to her collarbone, then he brings his hand to rest over her heart.
He grins. "Good morning."
Emma shakes her head amusedly, "It is, it really is."
Charles takes the moment to rouse, eyes bleary but open when he whispers, "Mama?"
Emma bends down and kisses his cheek. "Hey little man."
Charles gives his signature toothy grin. "Hi!"
"Were you up at the crack of dawn again?"
Killian gives a helpless shrug when Emma turns to him. "What can I say? He's got the sea in his blood, just like his dad. Isn't that right, my lad?"
Charles coos happily as Killian lightly tickles him under his armpit.
Emma laughs along with him. "How'd you get him to sleep this time?"
"I told him a story." His smirk is sly. "Something about a flaxen-haired princess and the debonair pirate who chose to remain at her side through every adventure, wherever it may take them, no matter how dire the circumstance." He waggles his eyebrows when a thought occurs to him and he turns to their son with a pout. "But we didn't exactly get to the ending. Did you enjoy it nonetheless, Charles?"
Charles launches into a seemingly endless conversation composed of baby chatter with Emma nodding along in the right moments and managing to reign her laughter but not the breadth of her smile, crooked in barely concealed mirth, for the rest. Her eyes shine knowingly when she remarks, "It sounds like a happy story."
Killian's smile is tender when he says, "The happiest."
He stands then. "Now, son, are you ready for another adventure? One that involves batter and butter and maple syrup?"
"Yes! Mama!" Charles reaches for Emma and happily, she bounces him in the air before settling him at her hip.
They all head down to the kitchen with Emma and Killian's fingers entwined, but not before Killian grabs a shirt from their room. Charles fills the still morning air by making the most conversation.
When Charles is secured at his highchair, Henry places a plate of 10 perfectly stacked pancakes in the middle of the table before swooping down and giving his brother a sloppy kiss on the cheek and greeting everyone with a cheery, "Morning!"
As everyone finds their places and Emma and Killian reach for a pancake, Henry stops them with a, "What are you doing?"
Confused, fork halfway to her plate and a pancake dangling from it, Emma replies, "Um, eating?"
"But that's my plate of pancakes."
Killian blanches and immediately brings his pancake back to the stack, apologies spilling from his and Emma's lips till Henry bursts into laughter.
When it's established that Henry was merely pulling their legs and pancakes are equally distributed, Killian points a fork in Henry's direction and utters, "Bad form, there," even when he's trying his damnedest to hide a smile.
(And failing, spectacularly.)
Henry merely shrugs, his smirk mischievous when he replies, "Pirate."
(Suffice to say, Killian gives up all pretense and allows the grin to stretch proudly across his face.)
Throughout breakfast, the family makes plans as to what to do for the day.
It is Henry who points out the sunny weather and the decision to take advantage of it by bringing the Jolly out seems the natural course.
"Can we, Killian?" Henry implores around a mouthful of pancakes. He swallows before continuing, "It's been a while since we've been on the Jolly Roger, and I miss her."
Killian smiles. "As do I. I don't see why not. Emma?"
He turns to her when she doesn't immediately answer, her face blank as she chews. But then she swallows and her face crinkles in delight when she says, "A day out on the Jolly it is!"
And before he's even placed his fork on his plate, Henry is collecting the dirty dishes and Emma is muttering about making sandwiches and digging out the cooler and the picnic basket from one of their cabinets. He grins crookedly at them from his place at the table, watching Charles add to the noise by picking up on his family's excitement with his cheerful babbles as they bustle about and he revels in the normalcy of mornings for the Mills-Swan-Jones household, grateful for these moments when there was a time he didn't think they would reach this point.
He stares at the love of his life and to whom he owes this beautiful second chance at life to, as he wraps her in his arms, suddenly overcome with emotion.
Emma melts into his embrace with a sigh, one arm wrapped around his waist and the other playing with the tendrils at the nape of his neck when she asks, "Hey, you okay?"
"Aye, love." He swallows the lump in his throat, chuckling out loud at himself as he gives her a light squeeze, "I'm very glad. Truly."
She pulls back to look at him, eyebrow quirked in a way he's certain she picked up from him and her eyes roving his face to discern if he's being truthful. But then she smiles, like she knows what he's thinking (she does) and she brings her hands to his face, her thumbs caressing his cheeks before kissing him chastely but no less passionately.
"I love you," she sighs against his lips.
He smiles, eyes still closed in content when he murmurs. "I love you, too."
He gives one peck to her lips then says, "I'll take care of the wee one," before picking Charles up and taking him to the nursery to pack for the stuff he might need out in the water, stopping to ruffle Henry's hair fondly and thank him for his suggestion when he passes him in the hallway upstairs.
Everyone gets ready with fervor, Killian grabbing his prosthetic hand last minute, and within the hour, they're on the Jolly and out on open water.
The sun is high and the sky speckled with few clouds but the wind is cool. As he ties the wheel and Henry weighs anchor, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breathe in, basking in the warmth of the rays, the wind washing over him and the sea spray against his skin.
Nothing warms his more than the sight before him though, Henry and his brother by the railing on the port side of the ship, Henry pointing out the dolphins to his little brother to Charles' delighted claps and Emma at the bow, head thrown back not in a dissimilar fashion as him and the sun framing her silhouette, setting her all aglow. He takes a moment to appreciate the view, every inch of her wrapped in sunlight, before he can't help himself and he's joining her, arms wrapping around her waist and his chin resting on her shoulder.
Emma sighs when he presses a kiss to the curve of her neck and she leans into him like she wants to melt into him and he can't say he wouldn't like to do the same.
She tilts her head towards him and places small kisses along his jaw as she lightly scratches at his scalp in the way she knows he likes. But just before she can place a kiss to the corner of his mouth, he turns his head and captures her lips instead.
Just as he deepens the kiss, there's a groan and Henry makes his presence known by shouting, "We're not blind, you know. There are young eyes, young and sensitive eyes on board. And while the other one present may not remember this, I sure will and I don't think Regina's going to appreciate another round of paid therapy sessions from Archie!"
Killian retaliates by placing sloppy kisses all over Emma's face and making exaggerated kissing sounds as he does while Emma bursts into laughter.
Henry groans again then mutters to his brother under his breath, "It's like we're not even here," then a little louder, "You two are disgusting! Charles and I are grossly offended!"
Killian manages to pull away from Emma with a grin, calling to Henry, "You find your true love, and then we'll talk!"
Henry rolls his eyes even as he fights a grin.
"How is lady Violet?"
Henry's face turns beet red but his grin remains, even taking on a dreamy quality as he sighs blithely, "She's perfect." Then he turns contemplative as he says, "But I see your point, old man. Truce?"
Killian's face is twisted into a sour look when he says, "Take back the old man comment and we have ourselves an accord."
Henry grins. "Deal!"
Emma laughs as she kisses his cheek. "Don't worry, babe." She says, entwining their fingers, "I know you've still got that 'youthful glow' thing going for you. Especially when you..." Emma whispers something in his ear that makes Killian indeed glow red but grin salaciously. Henry face palms exasperatedly, "Oh my god."
"Fine," Killian says with a laugh. "The truce begins now!"
Henry huffs good-naturedly before turning his attention back to his brother where they marvel over the dolphins once more till Charles wriggles from Henry's grasp and runs towards his parents. Killian catches him and tosses him in the air, Charles laugh as tinkling and carefree as the cool, sea breeze. Emma stretches across a blanket she had laid out on deck earlier where Henry joins her, book in hand as he lays against his mother's stomach and Emma runs her fingers across his hair as she closes her eyes and loses herself to the smooth rocking of the ship.
Charles takes great pleasure in following his father around. Killian, quite literally, shows him the ropes – pointing out various parts of the ship and demonstrating to him the different kinds of knots. He gives his son a piece of rope and though Charles isn't old enough to skillfully follow, he knows it makes his son feel accomplished when he tinkers with it and so he leaves him to it, as Killian goes about tidying the ship.
They have sandwiches at noon, Henry having finished his book by then and the four gather on deck, trading stories and laughter. Killian reveals a pair of dice and rounds up a couple cups and he and Henry engage in a rather intense game of Liar's Dice in which they wager chore distribution.
After several rounds, Henry wins and Killian is saddled with dishes for the next week.
(Killian looks bewilderedly at Henry and with a shake of his head, asks, "How on earth did you get so good at Liar's Dice?"
He swears it was just yesterday he was teaching Henry about loaded dice and now he's beating him at his own game. That he's played. For centuries.
Henry shrugs nonchalantly but oozes smugness when he replies, "What can I say?" He grins at him as he waggles his eyebrows. "I learned from the best."
Killian tries not to take pride at that.
Fails. Monumentally.
Seeing Killian's poorly concealed puffed smile, Emma mutters, "Idiot," even as she's grinning.)
When Henry tires of the game, Emma takes his place and breaks out a deck of cards. They play Rummy (a name that greatly amused Killian given his affinity for rum though it, he found regretfully, had nothing to do with the card game) while Henry brings out the cooler loaded with ice and a fishing pole for him and Charles to share.
"Charles!" Henry gestures for his brother, who has long since abandoned his rope and had been running amok chasing the seagulls that would occasionally land across the deck, to come forward. Charles notices the pole leaning against his brother's hip and he enthusiastically cries, "Fiss!"
Henry smiles. "That's right, Charles, we're going fishing! You wanna help me out, baby bro?"
"He'wy! Fiss, fiss!" He shrieks Henry's name and the word fish as best as he can and so Henry laughs as he lifts him up to sit on the railing.
Emma reinforces a protection spell along the ship she had cast when they first boarded that morning that prevents Charles or any of them from going overboard. Henry leans Charles against his chest, allowing him to place the bait on the hook with his assistance. Then Henry encases Charles' small hands with his on the rod of the fishing pole and together, they cast out the line.
They wait for fiss to take the bait, Henry telling Charles stories of their family's history, weaving new ones when he feels it and tickling him occasionally to keep his attention. Charles claps his hands when they first reel in a trout, then another and another.
Emma and Killian watch on fondly, Emma settled between Killian's legs, her back to his front as they're perched against a barrel on the opposite side of the ship. They trade soothing touches and kisses, enjoying the rare, peaceful day and both thankful for the time they have now with their family.
As the sun approaches the horizon, Killian suggests dinner at Granny's with her parents and Neal, seeing no reason to exclude them on this fine day. Emma agrees heartily, just as Charles wriggles from his brother's grasp, evidently done with fishing and causing Killian to call it a day.
When they dock, they decide to drop their things off at their home as it's located closer to the docks than it is to Granny's. Upon arriving, Killian stores the fish while Emma puts away the cooler and the picnic basket as Henry grabs the things he might need for when they drop him off at Regina's.
It's still a tad earlier than their agreed meeting time with her parents, so they all decide to walk to Granny's, Henry in front of Emma, Killian and Charles, the little one walking happily with a hand in each of his parent's that he jauntily swings back and forth. They exchange a few words with some of the townspeople they encounter in their walk, stopping especially long to speak with Archie when Charles and Henry greet Pongo exuberantly.
By the time they arrive at Granny's, her parents and brother are seated in a booth, waiting for them with smiles.
Hugs are exchanged, amongst the family and with Ruby and Granny, before everyone finds their seat.
"What have you guys been up to?" Snow asks them with a smile, cooing at Charles who is seated on the outer edge of the rounded booth to make way for the highchair and next to his grandmother, and it prompts Henry to launch into all they've done on the Jolly that day. When he finishes, Neal pouts.
"Killiannnn," the nearly four-year old says with a whine. "When are you taking me sailing?"
Killian laughs, "Oh I'm ready to go any time, lad. I just assumed you'd been preoccupied with the sword-fighting and horse-riding lessons your father has been giving you."
"He's been doing so well," David says with a puff of pride. "He's a natural."
"Yeah, daddy says I'm a good and proper prince!" Neal says, his expression beaming with pride before turning miffed when he exclaims, "But I'm tired of those lessons. I want to be a pirate now!"
"What!" David exclaims just as Killian cheers, "Wahey!" and the two clamber to talk over each other in an effort to convince Neal to take a side.
"Absolutely not–"
"You've got the right idea there, little highness–"
"You–you... there's still so much for you to learn!"
"We'll need to start right away!"
"And you have responsibilities, what about your horse?"
"And I can never have too much crew, aye?"
"Hey Neal," Henry, who is directly seated next to Neal, whispers, "Storybrooke Elementary's having soccer try-outs this week. I'll be assisting the coach for the summer just to have something extra to do. You game?"
At that, Neal lights up, exclaiming "YEAH!" and it causes Killian and David to whip their heads to his direction.
"Yeah you take back what you said about being a pirate?"
"Yeah you're ready to start at your earliest disposal?"
They both say at the same time, once more. Neal stares at the two men like a deer caught in headlights and so turns his head to Henry. Henry takes pity on him and explains.
"Um, sorry guys. Neal's kinda occupied for the rest of the summer." He can see the two men are ready to burst and so he quickly barrels on with the explanation. "He's signed up for soccer. With me. So..."
"But, but... Snow?"
"Emma?"
They whine and the two women, who had been quietly observing the exchange and snickering at the ridiculousness of their men, hold their hands up defensively.
"I'm staying out of this. Mom?"
With a roll of her eyes, Snow directs a glare at both men. "I only see two children at this table and it most certainly isn't Charles and Henry. Now, grow up and get over this silly feud you have over who has the bigger sword that's been going on for who knows how long or I swear I'll stick an arrow in the two of you so deep you won't be holding a sword for the rest of your lives, got it?"
Killian had been growing progressively whiter as Snow went on with her speech and nods his acquiescence, muttering an "Of course, your majesty."
David, on the other hand, was steadily getting beet red during Snow's rant and the moment Killian utters his apology, he's on Snow – kissing her with great ardor and seemingly unaware (or most likely aware but uncaring) of the whole table staring at the pair of them in shock.
Snow's eyes widen in shock at first before eventually, she melts into it. The kiss though, lasts little more than ten seconds and when they separate, she starts dazedly, "Charming, what–?"
"I know I should be shaking in my boots but, seriously Snow?" Charming nuzzles her throat, "That was hot."
"WHOA!" Henry explodes and it's echoed with Killian's amused and suggestive, "Dave,"
Neal and Emma's repulsed, "DAD!"
And Snow's embarrassed but endeared, "David!"
"I cannot believe I'm in this situation, again." Henry mutters in ruffled annoyance.
"Dad, please, do not, for the love of all that is good and holy, talk TACOS ON THE TABLE."
"TACOS!" Charles exclaims.
There's a beat of silence, then everybody bursts into laughter and the much needed levity it brought back to the table.
"Let's... never. speak of this. Again." Emma reiterates, once the laughter dies down and the awkwardness blankets them.
Everybody fervently agrees.
Dinner continues without further, heavily laced suggestions, to everyone's relief – only more laughter.
As everybody's bundling up to brave the cold Maine night weather, Charles begins to nod off on his father's shoulder. Snow notices and offers to take Henry to Regina's so that they can take their youngest home. Emma checks with Henry, who nods with understanding. He gives her a hug, then kisses Charles before hugging as much of Killian as he can what with him carrying a toddler in his arms. Before Henry pulls away though, he whispers in Killian's ear, "Today was fun, Killian."
Killian nods, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. "Aye."
"Let's not wait so long before we do it again, 'kay?"
He smiles, outwardly gentle but inwardly giddy, feeling his heart grow two sizes the way it always does when Henry's compassion shines through. "As you wish, lad."
Henry returns the smile after pressing a kiss to his cheek. Then he joins his grandparents, Killian and Emma wishing him a goodnight and him calling a final goodbye over his shoulder when he goes.
They arrive home with full stomachs and even fuller hearts.
Charles is nearly dead on his feet that Killian has to carry him to his room. Emma follows him up and together, they dress him into his pajamas and tuck him into bed. They both kiss him on either cheek and just as they leave, they hear a whispered, "Mama? Dada?"
Though they're tired, they exchange a fond look and make their way back to Charles' crib where they stand on either side of him.
"Hi, baby," Emma says softly, her hand smoothing the collar of his paired pajamas, her favorite one on him as it's the one dotted with compasses and anchors and stars.
"Stowy?" He murmurs, even as his eyes are half-lidded.
"Oh, right! We never did get to finish our tale, did we, little love?"
"I think daddy has this one, doesn't he?" She says, looking at Killian with a smile.
Charles yawns. "Stowy," he repeats.
Killian chuckles but stops short when Emma stands. "Love, where–?"
"You've got this," she repeats before placing a kiss to his cheek and pulling away with a wink. "I'll... be in our room. Waiting. I'll see you there, okay?"
He smiles, slow and sexy in understanding. "You can count on it."
"Don't be too long," she whispers, before closing the door.
He glances at his son who's already half gone, head lolling to the side and mouth falling open in exhaustion yet still, he feels the need to continue.
He shakes his head. "Your mother sure is something, isn't she?" Charles' hand finds its way to his stump. He rubs at the skin there and it brings him to begin, or rather, end the story.
"Alright. Hmm, well when we last set off, the princess and the pirate had been separated by allegiances, realms, secrets, portals, darkness and even... death."
He swallows at the barrage of memories that his death brings. But then he remembers a flash of light, Zeus' promise to bring him back to where he belongs then leading him right to Emma – the warmth of her embrace, the saltiness of her tears and the love behind her kisses.
And then there's Henry and then Charles, this life they have together and how it's everything he never thought he'd ever have, not with everyone he loves seemingly doomed to leave him but–
"But... as time has proven over and over, the princess and the pirate's love for each other was stronger than any hurdle life could throw at them." He sighs reflectively. "I'll tell you, Charles, if your mum and dad were ever maps, we'd've been dead ends and closed roads. But as every good navigator will tell you, turns out all we needed was a compass to find our way. And if that fails, as every great sailor will tell you son, you will always have the stars." He turns his head towards the window of Charles' room with a smile. "The one you want to look for, the one guaranteed to always bring you home, would be the brightest star in the sky. In this realm, they call it Polaris, or more commonly, the North Star.
"I once told your mother she was my happy ending, you know, but I was wrong." He smiles crookedly at his son whose breaths have long since deepened and evened out. "Our story wasn't over then. It isn't over now. But this life... every challenge, every scar, every heartache... gods above but they were worth it, for it all lead to you."
He bends down, placing a lingering kiss on Charles' cheek before resting his forehead atop his, breathing him in and whispering, "It's you, little love."
A happy tear slips down his cheek.
"You're my happy ending."
When he slips into their room, Emma is in her favorite silk nighty, the champagne-colored one that makes her skin glow and slips like water through his fingers when he undresses her to unlock the secrets of her body. It always wants to make him take his time, love her long and slowly and well into the night and high into the morning.
He's frantic, feverish for her touch and it shows when he disrupts her nightly ritual of putting lotion on her body, an activity in which he's usually a very active participant.
But tonight, he doesn't let her finish, just tosses his prosthetic carelessly on their nightstand and throws the lotion bottle across the room. And then he's kneeling on the floor by their bed, between her legs, angling her head before capturing her lips in his in a heated kiss. His tongue traces the seam of her lips and though she's surprised, she opens eagerly for him, a moan escaping her.
"Killian," she breathes with bee-stung lips when he lets up, only to press kisses down the column of her throat. "Killian. Killian," she grasps the hair at his scalp, not hard enough to cause any damage but definitely not gently either. "Slow down, babe, we have the rest of the night."
"I love you," he suddenly blurts out, cheeks flushed and eyes wide and glistening.
"Killian, what–?"
"I love you, I love you and I almost lost you once and I was afraid. I was so afraid."
Emma cups his face, caressing his cheeks then brushing the stray tendrils from his forehead like she often does for Charles. "Was?"
He shakes his head, his smile beatific and blinding when he expresses, "Aye, love. Was. You loved me so wholly, so passionately and all-consumingly, I–I forgot how to be afraid.
"And that's why it was so easy, Emma. Crossing realms, battling villains, becoming the Dark One and even dying. In each of these devastating events, a part of me spiraled into a tunnel of darkness in which there was no light at the end."
"Oh, Killian,"
He cups her cheek then too, their foreheads pressed together when he says, "You were the light, Emma. My North Star. The reason I got through it all, the reason I'm here. You brought me home, always. And I don't think I've ever thanked you – for opening your heart to me, accepting me into your family and gods, our children... for this beautiful, crazy" here she laughs even with the tears streaming down her face, "devastating, wonderful, extraordinary life."
He wipes the tears from her face. "So, Swan. Thank you and, well, I love you."
"You're an idiot," she whispers and then they're laughing, laughing and crying and loving. "Of course, Killian. I'd do it again." She punctuates her every word with a kiss. "Every. damn. time."
She sighs, kissing the corner of his mouth lovingly. "You're worth it."
"Hmm," he hums as he blushes to the roots of his hair. "Yes well, I'd rather we not fall into a time portal and do it again."
She groans "Shut up and get over here," as he merely laughs charmingly.
She follows and they fall into bed in a fit of giggles until they aren't, noses the only thing touching as they lay on their sides.
And then... and then it's like gravity, how they fall into each other, perfectly aligning as they lean into each other's orbits.
There's an explosion of stars behind their eyelids as they kiss... as they peel layers of clothes from their bodies and come together. Somewhere inside them, a black hole opens, sucking all their remaining fears and their ghosts and releasing it into a void where nothing bad can ever touch them. Then it's a crescendo of asteroids that have left their belt and pelt across the universe in a masterful display of burning comets when they reach that golden peak of ecstasy and they're just lost in each other.
When their bodies cool down, everything in their entire world simply, stills, and the universe boils down to him and her and every part of their skin that is touching.
It's dark. The moon is new and in their rush they had forgotten to light their bedside lamps.
But they are unbothered. They have the light, the one that shines in their eyes and when those shut, the ones in their hearts.
It's where they keep their north stars, after all.
A little broken, a little new
We are the impact and the glue
Capable of more than we know,
We call this fixer upper home