Hi everyone!

This is my first stab at FanFiction in the Once Upon A Time realm, and Im just so happily surprised that anyone is here at all, quite honestly. This idea got into my head a while back, and my muse is just unable to let it go. I know that I will thoroughly regret this, because I am extremely busy with life right now, but I literally can't stop thinking about writing this, so here I am.

So.. See the end of the chapter for anything else I might think of saying… and enjoy Chapter 1!

Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time or any of it's characters… what a disappointment :'(

CHAPTER 1- The Impossible

"Not a day will go by that I won't go by that I won't think of you," Hook manages to get out, with none of his usual cocky cracks at flattery or flirtation. For the first time, there is no attempt at lightening the mood or at throwing out a coarse, barely disguised sexual innuendo.

"Good," I choke out, trying desperately to keep myself together. Come on, Emma, I think to myself, in a couple minutes you won't ever even remember that he existed. Soon, he'll be nothing, so there is no use trying to drag this on.

I turn away, trying to ignore his deep, blue-eyed gaze boring a hole into my back. For the first time in my whole life, I'm thankful for growing up an orphan, because it taught me how to keep my emotions in check. I manage to turn away before those damn traitor tears that are filling my eyes find their way out where everyone can see them.

I've never even really thought about what Hook really means to mean anyways. He's just there, and somehow, even with walls of steel, he found his way inside. Trying to apply any normal word- boyfriend, fling, crush, one-night stand, date- to the strange relationship we have just sounded downright weird. I decide not to worry about it though, because Hook was a part of my past, not my future.

How very wrong I turned out to be.

As Henry and I finally drive away, he is the last thing I see as the purple cloud envelopes them and hides them from my view forever.

Even from that distance, I don't miss the single tear falling from his eye, and his one good hand wiping it away before anyone around him notices.

(About two weeks later)

I'd been having such a good dream, and suddenly I bolt awake, not knowing what jolted me out of my sleep for a moment. And then I feel it, and bolt to the bathroom on the side of my room as quickly as humanly possible. I barely make it to the toilet before I start throwing up over the side. This is the third time this week that my first duty of the morning has been to, well, throw up.

Maybe I caught some sort of bug from Henry, I muse, after all, little school kids are always sick. Henry must have brought something home with him.

Satisfied with that rational conclusion, I begin to brush my teeth in a methodical fashion, going over every tooth several times. When the taste of vomit has been cleaned from my mouth, I jump in the shower and get ready for work.

As usual, it takes me thirty minutes to get ready, and I go downstairs to start breakfast. Eggs, pancakes, orange juice, and the preparation of breakfast soothes me, because patterns and normalcy allow me to forget the craziness from earlier.

"Morning, Mom," Henry calls out as he takes a seat at the table and starts stuffing his homework into his backpack.

"Morning, kid," I respond, and then frown at him. "Why didn't you get your backpack ready last night?"

Henry just stares at me. "Mom, I just got to Level 10 of my new video game last night. I couldn't just get up and pack my backpack."

I laugh. Henry has always been obsessed with video games, and I've learned not to mess with his Xbox. "Of course, Henry, how stupid of me to forget."

As we start on breakfast, I try to make myself seem as nonchalant and casual as possible as I try to covertly get some answers from Henry. "So, is the flu starting to go around your school yet?"

Henry stares at me, and it's moments like these that make me hate how perceptive he is. "Why?"

"I don't know, just wondering if we need to get our flu shots yet," I shrug, actually proud of my reasonable response, but Henry doesn't miss how my cheeks get red, and we finish breakfast in a rather awkward silence.

This is getting really lame and annoying, I think as I sit gasping for breath in front of the toilet. It's been another week of ritual-like morning dashes to the toilet as I empty the contents of my stomach- which isn't all that much really, because I've barely been eating. The smell of most foods has become revolting, especially when I walked into my usual coffee shop yesterday after work. The smell had made me gag, and I made for the bathroom at the back of the store. Thankfully, it was empty, so no one gave me weird looks as I heaved into the first open toilet.

Needless to say, I didn't get any coffee that day.

I passed a drugstore on my way home, and decided to go in and talk to one of the pharmacists inside and see if I could figure out what was wrong with me without a trip to the doctors. I hate doctors, in fact, I've been successful in evading them since Henry's birth, and I wasn't about to change that now.

I made for the pharmacy, and waited for the line to die down. When it was finally my turn, I realized that my throat had dried and my palms were sweaty. Emma, calm down.

"Hi, I've been feeling nauseous and tired for a while, is there any over the counter medicines that I could take that might help?"

The pharmacist, a middle-aged woman named Cathy, just stares at me. "How long has this been going on?" There is a knowing glint in her eyes, and I'm feeling a little nervous now.

"A week, maybe two…" I say, realizing just how bad that sounds. Typical stubborn Emma, only going for help after evading it for as long as possible.

"Having any sensitivity to foods, or certain smells?"

"Yes. Coffee, about twenty minutes ago, actually." I wonder how she could have possibly known.

"When was your last period?"

"What?" I blanch. Nobody has ever asked about my period so upfrontly. "What does that have to do with..Oh..no, I don't think..."

The lady looks amused, and I curse myself for not connecting the dots. It's been 5 weeks since my last period, maybe even longer. I squint, trying to remember, but for the life of me, I can't, and everything seems really hazy.

"I can't be, ma'am," I say confidently. "I haven't slept with anyone for years."

She puts a comforting hand on my arm. "Honey, we all do things we might regret. You might have been so drunk that it's all blacked out from your memory."

I jerk my arm away from this rather upfront and rude woman and give her a glare before I storm off. But, just to prove her wrong, I grab a pregnancy kit on the way out, and ignore the cashier's pointed stare at me as she checks me out.

The first thing I did when I got home was go inside my bathroom and lock the door. Thankfully, Henry wasn't home yet, so I didn't have any explaining to do. I honestly don't even know what I would have said.

The five minute wait proves to be so stressful that my hands start shaking and I have to sit on the edge of the bathtub while I wait.

There is absolutely no way. I haven't slept with anyone for years, and haven't been to a bar or club for months. The words sound so confident and reassuring in my head that I begin to relax, and by the time the beeper goes off five minutes after I take the test I'm feeling back to normal.

"There, nothing to be worried about, Emma," I comfort myself as I grab the stick, already thinking of what I should make for dinner.

And then I choke as I stare at the small screen, clearly adorned with a "plus" sign.

Everything seems to be happening in slow motion but really fast all at the same time. I don't remember dashing to my phone, but I'm already flipping through my contacts list and trying to find the number for the family doctor that Henry goes to every year.

As I wait for someone to pick up on the other end, I just stare at the stick that I'm still holding in my hand. It's impossible for me to be pregnant, but I can't think of anything else that could be wrong with me. Flu season was long over, and I usually never got sick. But, even while it was the only rational explanation, it was also the only impossible one.

"Hello, my name is Emma Swan," I say as a woman finally picks up on the other end. "Can I get an appointment with Dr. Rebecca Leach as soon as possible?"

I get an appointment for that Thursday, and I'm sure the woman was wondering why I seemed so harried and rushed on the phone. I just wanted to prove to myself that there was nothing seriously wrong with me, and just get back to a normal life with Henry.

Three days later, I found myself in a pristine white office, surrounded my magazines and children running around while their mothers tried to get them to sit down. I was slowly starting to accept the fact that there was actually a baby growing inside my body, because there was no other explanation. Morning sickness. Sensitivity to certain smells. And I caught myself eating pickles out of a jar yesterday, even though I absolutely hate pickles. I had no idea who the father was, or if there even was a father. For all I knew, I could be pregnant with the next Jesus, and I wasn't even a really religious person.

"Emma Swan?"

A lady with a clipboard ushers me into the hallway, and bids me to step on a scale. I've never been self-conscious about my weight, I've been 125 pounds since I gave birth to Henry a decade ago, and it had never really changed.

"130 pounds," The nurse announces, and I get off the scale, feeling shocked. No, I internally scream, this can't be happening!

"You can wait for Dr. Leach here," The nurse says, and she closes the door and I settle down on the thin white paper covering the seat.

Unconsciously, my hands stray to my still flat belly. I try to explain away the weight gain with the pizza Henry and I had ordered for dinner last night, and the nausea and throwing up to some weird bug in my immune system. When the door opened ten minutes later, I jerked my hands off of my belly and forced a weak smile.

"Hey, Emma, how's Henry doing?" Dr. Leach smiles at me as she slips on a pair of gloves and sits on a black stool.

"He's great," I say. "Still playing video games and eating pizza." I grin as I remember how heated Henry had gotten when I joined in his game last night and "messed it up."

"So, what brought you in today?"

"I think I might be going crazy, Doctor," I blurt out, and then wince. That was not what I'd been planning on saying.

She arches an eyebrow at me in concern and I suddenly start spilling everything- the throwing up, the incident at the coffee shop, the exhaustion in my bones when I get home from work, the pickles. Finally, I take a deep breath and realize that she was the first person I'd admitted my fears to. I'm a loner, and for the first time, I wish I did have some kind of friend to talk with.

"But I haven't had sex for years," I whisper in desperation. "I think I'm literally pregnant with the next baby Jesus."

"Emma, lets not jump to any conclusions." Dr. Leach tries to smile. "But I think you are pregnant, honestly. I'm going to take some blood work, and then if you want, we can use the ultrasound machine in the other room to check right now."

"Okay," I whisper, feeling the thickness in my throat that heralded a full-out mental breakdown.

"Emma," Dr. Leach senses my agitation. "Someone might have taken advantage of you while you were in a very drunk stupor."

She thought I'd been raped. I don't know how to feel about that, but I know it's impossible. I've been so busy with the move after our apartment in Boston burned down that I hadn't been anywhere remotely fun for nearly a month and a half. I don't try to contradict her, though, because I know she wouldn't believe me. Nobody would. I hardly believed myself.

"It doesn't matter who the father is," She tells me fiercely. "The father is in the past, and you probably won't see him ever again. What matters is that your baby is healthy."

As her firm words echo around my brain, I know some memory is associated them, but I can't remember what it could be. So I just nod and follow Dr. Leach out of the room we were in, across a hallway, and into a room with a big machine with a screen inside.

I stare silently as she wipes a cool gel over my bare stomach. Vividly, memories of being taken for ultrasounds while pregnant with Henry come to mind, and I feel tears starting to ooze out. I hadn't dared look at the monitor with Henry, for fear of bonding with him. It was only after he was born that I weakened my resolve, asked the doctor to let me hold him, and fallen in love.

"Emma." Dr. Leach speaks steadily. "There it is." She points to a darker blob on the screen of the monitor. "Emma, you're pregnant."

I just stare at the blob in shock. I'd never looked with Henry, and now I realized I was entranced. I already loved this little thing growing inside of me with all of my heart.

In reality, I'd known. Some deeper part of my subconsciousness had already accepted this reality from the very first morning I'd thrown up, but I hadn't dared admit it to myself until now. I'd been so scared, so worried about how this impossible event had happened, but now I hardly cared how or why. All I knew was that I was getting a second chance, and no one was going to come and mess it up.

"How many weeks?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

"Eight weeks." She says. "Do you want me to print a picture out?"

Somehow, I'd gotten pregnant just before our apartment in Boston had burned down, and Henry and I had moved out here to New York. I try to think to myself if there was anything or anyone, but I was positive that there was no sleeping with any man at all.

"Yes." I reply, surprising myself."Thank you."

I put the newly printed picture carefully into my purse and let Dr. Leach wipe the gel off.

"You can schedule a follow up at the front desk." She adds. "And Emma- congratulations."

I just nod, and when I walk out onto the sidewalk a couple minutes later, I come to the conclusion that the identity of the father hardly matters. I raised Henry without a father, and I could do it again for this baby. Also, sometimes I wish I could completely forget that Neal was Henry's father. I was getting a clean slate with this baby, and I was actually thankful. I rub my belly and quietly whisper to it, as if expecting an answer, "Who is your daddy, little baby?"

I get none, and I realize I don't really want one either.

Hi again! So… what do you think? Boring? Should I just stop now or do you want to see how this plays out?

Thank you so much for actually reading this! I'm so honored.

Also…

I decided that I will update on Sundays. I know today is Saturday, but I had a relaxing weekend so I managed to finish early. I won't follow the Sunday update like it is a commandment or anything, but it's just a way for me to make sure you get at least one chapter a week, but probably, you'll end up getting more. :)

Thanks again, and bye for now. Review maybe? Even if it's criticism, as long as it's CONSTRUCTIVE AND NOT EXTREMELY MEAN. I don't really do well with that. :)