"Alright. Liam, say pirate."
"Oh, seriously, he's not going to—"
"Hush, love. Liam, do as papa says."
"Killian, he's one. And his first word is not going to be pirate, okay buddy?"
Sighing noisily, Killian jerks upright, but not before tucking a tuft of dark hair behind his son's ear. "Must you ruin my fun?"
Emma grins, striding up to him and licking her thumb. She runs it across her husband's cheek where he's gotten flour on himself. "Yes," she says, sighing into a smile.
"Blast damn," he murmurs, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around her waist. He gives her a gentle kiss, nibbling on her bottom lip when she tries to untangle herself.
"Killian," Emma laughs, wriggling in his grip, "Killian! My parents are on their way and we've got to get Liam into the shirt David got him or we'll never hear the end of it."
"Oh, as you wish," the pirate laughs, releasing Emma. He scoops up his son, giving him a quick bounce in his arms.
"You get him changed, I'll deal with the teenager. He's supposed to be bringing Neal and the others and he's late."
"The others," Killian scoffs, curling his lip. "You say as if I don't know who you're speaking of."
Emma stares on flatly. "Henry thinks it's a good idea."
"Henry—"
"—Says Gold is going to be civil. He's coming for Neal, who's coming for Henry. Dealing with people we don't always like because we're related to them is what being in a family means." Emma pauses, wrinkling her nose. "I think."
Killian looks like he'd love nothing more to protest, but Liam has begun squirming in his arms, so he merely sighs and trots upstairs while Emma pulls her cell phone from her back pocket, dialing Henry's number.
"Hi, hi Mom! Sorry we're late, Roland hid the keys!" Henry says as soon as he picks up, sounding winded. A cackle of childish giggles sounds distantly in the background. "I just talked to Dad, he and are gonna get Mr. Gold and Belle now! And we're on our way, I promise. And—wait, Roland, no, Roland that's not—"
The line suddenly goes dead, much to Emma's amusement. "Alright then," she murmurs to herself, staring at the phone.
As if on cue from a sitcom, a knock suddenly sounds at the front door. Emma throws a worried glance up the stairs, hoping Killian actually is doing what he says he is and getting Liam into David's shirt instead of hovering over their son repeating the word "pirate" in different voices as usual.
Emma throws open the door to a squealing Mary Margaret, who brushes past her daughter and beelines straight for the kitchen, where she immediately begins pulling pink boxes out of a paper bag. Closing the door, she exchanges an amused glance with David, who rubs his hands together, glancing around the room.
"Does Liam like the shirt? Has he seen it?"
She rolls her eyes. "Dad, he's one. He'd rather be naked."
"Yeah, but if he had to pick a favorite—"
Emma strides past him, joining her mother at the kitchen island. "Mom, Killian made a cake, you didn't need to bring all…" She stares down at the five pink pastry boxes, eyes wide. "…this."
"Oh, I know!" Mary Margaret says quickly. Lowering her voice, she adds, "but remember the last time he tried to bake."
Emma tries to frown, but can't help but smile at the memory. "That was different." Her mother shoots her a disbelieving look. "It was!"
Just as Mary Margaret opens her mouth to reply, Killian comes sweeping down the stairs, carrying Liam in front of his chest. "It's the birthday boy!" David cries, his voice suddenly very high. He tugs on Liam's shirt, which reads Grandpa Loves Me in big red letters. "Oh, this looks awesome. I knew he'd like it. Hey, Liam. Say prince."
"Oy! Mate, I can assure you my son's first word is not going to be prince," Killian sniffs, cradling his son closer, "it's going to be pirate."
"What? No way, prince is better. He is a prince, after all, technically."
"Well he is also a pirate, after all—technically," Killian jerks back.
"Uh, I don't think it works like that," Emma inserts, rolling her eyes. "And anyway, I'm pretty sure his first word is going to be savior."
Henry inhales deeply, looking around the room. The lights are warm and low in Emma's apartment, quiet music floating loftily about. In the corner, Regina laughs into Robin's ear, his hand at the small of her back. She raises her wine glass to her lips, catching her son's eye and giving him a beaming smile.
He grins back, eyes roaming to Neal and Tink, coloring with Roland on the couch. Rumple and Belle hover nearby, exchanging quiet words and watching Neal excitedly pass Roland a blue crayon.
On the other side of the room, David and Killian have launched into another debate over who humiliated their respective corrupt kings more. Not far off, Mary Margaret cradles her grandson and laughs at something Emma murmurs, none too subtly glancing over at Killian.
He can't lie and say that he was expecting all this when he boarded that bus to Boston all those years ago. That's to say, he wasn't expecting to end up with two sets of grandparents, two moms, a dad, two stepdads, a stepbrother, and now a half-brother.
They might not always like each other—in fact on any given day he can expect to find at least one family scuffle—but they always come together when they needed to. And that's all he can really ask for.
"Okay guys," he calls loudly, grinning broadly. "Let's do the cake! And I wanna take a photo, so everyone come over."
"You're so sentimental, kid," Emma snorts, taking baby Liam from her mother and bringing him over.
"Yeah, wonder where he gets that," Neal laughs, standing up from the couch.
"Whatever." Emma rolls her eyes good-naturedly, settling Liam into his high chair. She gestures for Killian to get the lights while David readies the birthday cake.
The room erupts in a tentative and very off-key chorus of happy birthday—Rumple noticeably purses his lips together rather than sing—but it somehow works all the same. Liam squeals with delight, clearly enjoying the attention on him.
Wordlessly exchanging smiles, Emma and Killian lean down together, blowing out their son's first birthday candle, it's little blue star bright against the darkness.
/IM NOT SENTIMENTAL DONT LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT?