This is NOT a happy cutesy baby fic. There's a lot more depth to Emma's miscarriage of her first baby (who would have been Henry) and pregnancy-related struggles, so be mindful if discussion of it bothers you. I'm anticipating about as many chapters as the original but I really can't say for sure. I can promise at the very least that there will be at the very least a positive ending.

Prologue

By now, Emma has this down to art, practically. Tear the box open, lose the plastic wrapping, and pee on the stick.

Then wait.

Seriously, an art. She's even got the perfect games downloaded to kill the time. It's not her first rodeo, and by now she's almost forgot the first time she did this, forgotten the way her hands shook when she sat back down again and couldn't look away from the tiny little marks.

That one positive has been a distinct contrast to the many, many negatives that have followed recently.

Sighing, she proceeds to pop a string of bubbles on her phone, a bright animation informing her of how many points she's won appears on screen, and she closes out the game. She's played most of the levels, and eventually it does get boring. But it's better than thinking about all the boxes full of negative tests that she's thrown away. Or, alternatively, thinking about Killian and how excited he'd been when she'd informed him that she'd finally taken the last of her birth control. He hadn't even been phased when she'd reminded him halfway to the bed that it often took months for the hormones to clear your system.

And months it had been. A lot more than she wanted to think about, and a lot of very enjoyable attempts followed by far less enjoyable tests.

At first he'd been there for every single one, insisting that he wanted to know when she did and ignoring her when she reminded him that it was her body and she would probably know before he did. It had been charming, but somewhere after the fifth or sixth box, she'd told him to not worry, that if and when she found out, she'd call him. It wasn't like he couldn't take the day off to come see her.

She tried not to think of all the horrible landfill waste she was contributing to, and checked the stick. Sighing, she leaned back. Still nothing. At this point it was just rote. In a few more seconds, the little bar would stay the same it had always been, and she would throw it away before putting the box back into the medicine cabinet to await the next time.

Honestly, she should have been happy. She and Killian were better than they'd ever been; not long after they'd remarried, his company had opened up a new office in Maine, and so off they'd gone. Boston had never felt like home, and he'd sworn up and down that home was wherever she was. Business continued to boom, and they'd built a house in a small town called Storybrooke, not far from the new headquarters. It was nice. She had even made friends with the people in the small town. It had felt like an obnoxious time capsule at first, full of fake cheer, but she had warmed to it. Now she worked at the sheriff's office, helping people get into their houses after being locked out and rescuing kittens. No more chasing down perps in six inch heels.

Sometimes she missed it, not so much the running in deadly shoes, but the adventure of it. The adventure of flying to Las Vegas to track down a rather gifted jumper only to find herself married. That kind of adventure.

Still, this was her life. And she was truly happy with it.

But she still felt like a failure.

They'd been trying so long, it was starting to wear on her. The one time she actually wanted a baby, and she couldn't just get pregnant. It wasn't from a lack of trying, it wasn't from anything the doctors could find. It just took time sometimes, they'd said.

Killian still looked at her like she hung the moon, still teased her about her cooking, and still took her to bed with a passion she'd never felt before.

But she also saw the way he eyed the tests in the trash can, his face sinking, the too-steady tone of voice every time she told him over the phone that it was another negative. All of her old insecurities were coming back; the fears and the worries. She knew better, knew that no matter what, he would stick with her until the end. Still, she knew he wanted a baby. He wanted a kid, and she couldn't give him that. She'd missed (lost) her shot at being a parent, and now it seemed the universe was punishing her for her mistakes.

She just wasn't sure why it was punishing him too, not when she knew he would make an incredible parent, that he deserved to have a family like he'd lost, like he'd always wanted.

God, she was depressing herself. She picked up her phone and brought up his contact. His goofily grinning face looked up at her from the screen, ready for one more call.

After this, she was going back to her doctor. There had to be something else they could do, even if it did involve a turkey baster.

She sighed and stood, looking at herself in the mirror. She looked relatively normal enough. Nobody could see what was really happening.

Finally, she huffed and dialed Killian, bringing the phone up to ear. Grabbing the test off the counter, she wrinkled her nose a bit. She really was getting tired of those damn sticks.

The phone clicked and she nearly dropped it.

"Hello?"

But she couldn't reply, couldn't even process what was in front of her.

There, as clear as day, were two pink lines, the diagram next to them proudly proclaiming the difference between one and two lines.

Pregnant, it said, right next to the oval with the two lines in it.

"Oh," she whispered.

Pregnant, it said.