Henry was grown by then. There were laughter lines at the corners of his eyes and a sprinkling of grey in his hair. He was married with two children who had his eyes and their mother's smile.
Emma stood in his living room that morning, seeing but not seen, watching as gifts were hastily unwrapped and paper strewn in bits across the floor. She gazed fondly her at son, bespectacled and just a little bit frazzled as he handed another gift to his young daughter.
Emma sighed longingly, wishing that they had bothered to turn the twinkling lights on for the occasion. The Christmas tree looked startlingly incomplete without them though it was full of ornaments. She could make out a homemade ornament that Henry's eldest, a brave and empowered son, had created last year; a Christmas tree made out of green tongue depressors and decorated with sequins.
She had missed many Christmases, it seemed; the car accident that had taken her life ten years previous had been extremely inconvenient in that regard. It also denied her the ability to see the births of her grandchildren, to watch them grow and to know them first hand.
It had been a drunk driver that had caused it. It was ironic that Emma had been on duty that evening and was in the process of pulling them over when they had lost control of the car and ploughed head on into Emma's vehicle. She had died on impact, and her family had had to pick up the pieces.
Emma had watched from the sidelines as the paramedics had tried to revive her, thought it would prove to be all to no avail. Her chest cavity had filled with blood; there was nothing that they could have done.
The blonde had fled the scene to be at Killian's side, at Henry's. She had wanted to apologize to them for leaving them, for not staying home with them when she could have spared her own life. She wanted to hold them, to brace them for what news was to come.
Killian was the first to get the call; he was Emma's emergency contact as well as her husband. Emma had watched as his face had crumpled, as his voice had risen to uncontainable fury, swearing that it couldn't be true and that whoever decided to play this joke on him would pay with their life. He had called David to report the prank, to reassure himself that it had all been a ruse. His mate had answered in a solemn tone that he was sorry, that he had had to identify the body on the crime scene and it was indeed Emma. Emma could tell that David had been on the verge of tears, could hear Mary Margaret wailing in the background, and was filled with such abrupt guilt that it brought her to her knees.
For Killian, fury had been followed by numbness, a drunken daze that had lasted for the remainder of the evening and well into the next day. Later Emma had held him while he tossed and turned in his sleep with fitful nightmares. He had screamed for her, grasping in the empty sheets for a warm body that wasn't there, would never again be there. This had brought Emma to tears, though before her death Emma had been sure that ghosts could not cry.
The next night, the night of the funeral, he had slept on the couch, and Emma had stroked his hair until he had fallen into a restless sleep. He hadn't shed a single tear at her funeral, but they had run freely down his cheeks during slumber, hot and continuous streams of grief.
Henry had visited him the next day, previously deciding to stay with his grandparents to make sure that his grandmother would be alright. The two men had embraced for the first time in days, since Emma's passing, and they found a solace in each other that neither could find on their own.
Years passed, and her men trudged on without her. They visited her grave often, leaving flowers and kind words. Emma knew that they thought their gestures were meaningless in the long run, but Emma admired the strength that her boys possessed for simply being, for going on and living as they should.
It was the year Henry turned twenty one that Killian had been diagnosed with stage four leukaemia. It had come out of nowhere, two hundred years of the cancer's development suddenly catching up with the pirate once he was ageing again.
He had given up the fight three months later, Henry sitting faithfully by his bedside and holding his ring laden hand. "It's time for me to be with my swan, lad. I'm so weary, and I'm tired of aching for her. I love you. Forgive me."
The doctors told Henry that it was the cancer that took his father's life; Henry suspected the cause had really been a broken heart.
Curiously enough, Emma hadn't seen Killian since he had passed over. She assumed that he had gone one way, and she the other. She may have been an angel (Emma thought that was purely through luck of the draw) but a Heaven without her love was hell anyway. She missed him with a ferociousness that left room for nothing else most days.
Today, however, was different. Today was about her son and his family. She rejoiced in his happiness, his uninhibited love for his wife and children. She had always wanted that for him.
"You've done well, love. He's a strong lad, an admirable one." A voice murmured from over her shoulder, the same voice that had made her ache with grief for oh so many nights.
Tears pooling at the corners of her eyes, Emma turned to the man she loved.
Killian was just as she had left him, vibrant and strong. He was clad in his pirate garb, the only clothing that he had ever felt truly comfortable in. His eyes were just as striking as they had been the day on that damned beanstalk; unruly, hellfire blue. His hair was just as mussed as it had always been, pitch black and sexy as sin.
"I had little to do with it. Henry grew up largely on his own. He's good because he willed himself to be." Emma murmured, her voice wavering with tears and emotion. The tears were spilling like a fountain now, warm streaks down her cheeks.
She couldn't say anymore before she was in his arms, clasped tight against his chest. Emma buried her face in his neck, muffling her sobs in his warm skin.
He smelled just the same, that intoxicating mixture of sea and spice and musk. It was a balm over Emma's nerves, giving her the comfort she had been lacking for so long.
"Killian." A curse, a prayer, a blessing.
"Swan." Killian rasped, his voice gruff with relief.
She stepped back to take his face in her hands. Oh, how she had missed that face with his sharp jaw and fallen angel mouth. She had never seen one so handsome.
"What happened? Why didn't you...?" Emma pointed upwards, not needing any further explanation.
Killian sighed, threading his fingers in her long blonde hair before answering. "When I died, the archangels told me that I had to repent for all of my sins before I could join you in Heaven. Naturally, they cast me down to Hell. Now, before you freak out, it's really not as bad as everyone makes it out to be. There's no fire and brimstone and the Devil isn't red horned and terrifying. It's just full of a lot of lonely people."
"So what changed? Why are we together now when we weren't before?" Emma was on the verge of losing her mind with hope but she could sooner stop her own heart than contain it.
"I've done my time. Those years were purgatory without you, though I suppose that's the point, and I'm a free man now; a man who finally deserves a place at your side. I can finally choose for myself." The relief in his voice was astounding and Emma had the urge to grab him and hold on so tight that nothing could take him from her again. "I choose to never part from you, and wherever you go I will follow."
Sniffling, Emma kissed him for the first time in a decade. It was sloppy and wet and hasty. It was perfect. "Then I guess it's the pearly gates for you too, pirate. But for now, it's Christmas. Let's watch our family enjoy the festivities and you can kiss me under the mistletoe just like you used to."
Killian smiled and wrapped an arm around her, holding her near his heart. "I would love nothing more."
Hours later, when the Mills family was sound asleep, Killian and Emma made way to leave the corporal plane, knowing that they could come back but found themselves content to leave their family as they were.
"Love? It's not a sin to make love in Heaven is it?" Killian asked, drawing her to a stop.
At Emma's confused and quite frankly, surprised look, Killian shrugged and muttered, "Pirate."
Emma laughed and kissed his scruffy cheek, completely in love. "I doubt that it would be, but even so, I wouldn't have it any other way."