Emma stands at the massive window, enjoying the view of the New York skyline from the 22nd floor. She doesn't have a lot of time to waste on reflecting how far she has come. Her days are filled with meetings, corporate events, strategy discussions, and then some more meetings to round it off. She's working 16-hour days most days, barely having the time to wolf down some food before she drops exhausted into her bed, just to get back to work early the next morning.
She's not complaining, though. She loves her job. Loves the challenges, loves making the tough decisions, loves leading. She became the company's youngest CEO at only 31 years old. The first female CEO as well. It's a world dominated by men, but she likes that, too. It's just another challenge. To proof that she can do the job just as well as any of them, hell better than any of them. Her career is one for the text books, she started as a junior associate and made her journey all the way to the very top.
It wasn't easy and it didn't happen overnight. She worked hard for it, giving up any semblance of a personal life in the process. She lives and breathes her job. There is no room for anything else. If you want to be the best, you have to put in the time. Being an orphan, she doesn't have any family obligations tying her down. She works on weekends, holidays, you name it. Her PA had once offered the unsolicited advice that maybe she should consider taking a step back and reducing her hours. She had given him a glare that could have killed a lesser man on the spot and the topic had never been brought up again.
Sure, she felt the exhaustion sometimes. The toll the hours took on her. But she always managed to get her energy levels back up, looking forward to the next challenge, the next hurdle to overcome.
She smiles and turns back to her desk. She needs to finish looking at the quarterly numbers before the board meeting tomorrow morning. She tries to open the sheet, but her laptop freezes. She glares at, but the machine is unimpressed. She tries restarting it, but it doesn't come back to life. Goddammit. This was just her luck. She checks the clock. It's already past 11 pm. She vaguely remembers seeing some document about an IT helpdesk late shift flying past her desk the other day.
She picks up the phone and calls their hotline.
"Hello." Well, she would have to have a word with the IT department on how to properly pick up the phone.
"Hi, this is Emma. I need somebody up here right now."
"Um. We -uh- usually don't do that. If you can just tell me what the problem is, I'm sure I can help you from here." He sounds a little panicked. They probably stick the nerdiest of the nerds on the late shift. Just her luck again.
"Listen, this is Emma Swan, your CEO, and you have exactly five minutes to get up here and help me." She hangs up the phone without waiting for a reply. Maybe her phone etiquette could also use a little work.
She glares at her laptop some more. She really doesn't have time for this nonsense.
Four minutes later the door to her office opens hesitantly. Emma looks up. The voice on the phone had an intriguing accent, something British. She tried to imagine which of the IT guys it belonged to. She has not seen this one before. He definitely fits the nerd stereotype, with large glasses and a beard. He's wearing a shirt with a logo of some metal band or other.
He shuffles into her office, looking anywhere but at her. He's a little out of breath, probably from running up here to make it within her deadline. He stops in front of her desk and starts staring at his feet. He starts scratching behind his ear, clearly nervous. Apparently, her reputation precedes her. Or he's just nervous because she's his bosses' bosses' boss.
"Well, I doubt you're going to fix it from over there", she says, trying to keep the amusement out of her voice. Something about the way he stands in front of her desk like a deer caught in the headlights is just adorable.
"Right", he says, shaking himself out of his stupor and finally getting behind the desk to have a look at her computer.
"It just froze on me", she informs him.
"Hmm", he hums distractedly, already focussed on his task.
He starts doing some of the magic they hired him for, and Emma takes the opportunity to have a closer look at him. Up close, he's actually quite good-looking, all well-defined muscles and a nice face, the glasses adding to the whole picture rather than taking away from it. Hot nerds have always been somewhat of an Achilles heel of hers.
"Ah, there's your problem." He goes on with some technical explanation, but Emma gets lost for a moment watching his lips and doesn't catch most of it. Get it together, woman, she tells herself. It's probably just the lack of sleep talking. Or, more likely, the lack of other activities that she didn't really make room for in the half year since she got this job.
Emma forces her eyes back up and catches his eyes. Which means that he was looking at her and knows exactly where her attention was focussed previously. He looks like he's waiting for something and Emma tries to recall the last thing he said. Something along the lines of it should work fine now.
"Thank you", she says and means it. A small smile appears on his face and Oh God is he blushing? This guy is too adorable by far. She needs to get him out of here this very second.
"You can go now", she says a little harsher than intended. He quickly stands up and all but flees from the room. Emma stares at the door for a few more moments, before she shakes her head and gets back to the quarterly figures.
It's three weeks later and another late night at the office when her laptop suddenly shuts down without warning and, more importantly, without giving her a chance to save what she was working on. Crap. Wait, isn't there some sort of auto-save? She boots the thing back up, but before she even gets a chance to find out if she indeed needs to redo the work of the last two hours, the damn thing shuts down again.
She curses under her breath and picks up the phone. Of course, she had to send her PA home half an hour earlier and now has to deal with this herself.
"IT helpdesk, Killian speaking." Emma smiles to herself. He sounds decidedly apprehensive, as if he has an inkling who might be calling this late.
"This is Emma again. I require your services in my office." Well, that just didn't come out right. She should pay more attention to her phrasing.
"Any chance it is something I can resolve via remote connect?" He sounds hopeful and maybe a little scared that she will take his head off for the mere suggestion. He has a lot more nerve than she gave him credit for, that's for sure.
"Unless you want me to connect to your TL, no." She hangs up the phone on him again. She knows she's being unnecessarily rude to the poor guy, but she has a reputation to uphold and this guy gets under her skin for some reason. Better to keep her well-worn office persona firmly in place.
Three minutes later he bursts through the door to her office. He comes to stand in front of her desk, trying to get his breathing back under control. That must have been quite the sprint. This time, his shirt shows some weird design with a blue phone box at the centre. She doesn't have the faintest idea what that's about.
"My laptop keeps shutting down", she tells him, her tone only slightly hostile.
He nods and comes around the desk, leaning down to have a look. It's part of Emma's job description to be able to read people and she doesn't like the frown that appears on his face one bit.
"What's going on?" Now her tone is decidedly icy.
He looks straight ahead at the screen when he replies. "There's a virus going around that fits the description you just gave me." He turns to face her and actually flinches when he meets her stare. Still got it, Emma thinks smugly, but doesn't let it show on her face. He hastens to add, "Doesn't mean it -um- has to be that th- though. Give me a minute."
Emma leans back in her chair and watches him work. He's clearly in his element, completely focussed on his task. His fingers fly over the keyboard and his face is adorably scrunched up in concentration. In spite of the beard, he looks incredibly young. If Emma had to guess, her bet would be 22. Definitely not older than 25. Nothing more than a kid, really.
He stands up straight again, smiling. "There. That should do it." He turns to her. "But you really should be more careful."
Her eyebrow shoots up. "Are you saying this is my fault?"
He's immediately flustered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, a blush creeping up his neck. Emma suppresses the grin threatening to spread over her face.
"Um- no, of course not. It's -uh- probably just a problem with the settings of your virus detection software." He flees to the relative safety of the other side of the room, putting the desk in between them. Emma thinks he's going to make a run for it again, and she can't really blame him, when he turns around to face her again.
Emma doesn't need her people reading skills to be able to tell that he's nervous. He looks about a second away from having a heart attack. He opens and closes his mouth several times, then begins to scratch behind his ear.
"Out with it", Emma says, not unkindly, allowing her façade of cool indifference to crack slightly.
"I -um- was wondering -it's fine if you don't want to, you know- but I thought maybe -if you're not too busy- I mean I know, of course, that you're always busy- but I was wondering if you wanted to have a drink with me sometime."
Now that, people skills and all, she did not see coming. She stares at him in shock.
"Excuse me?"
Emma cringes. She sounds shocked and flustered. She should keep her emotions better in check.
He clears his throat and she's certain the next thing out of his mouth will be never mind and he will be making a run for it for real. He surprises her yet again.
"I said I would like to go out for drinks with you sometime." It's far from flirtatious, but there is a certainty to his voice that wasn't there before. Clearly there is more to this guy than the shy introvert she's seen so far.
Emma considers for a second to reject his offer venomously, as is her policy when being approached by colleagues. It certainly helps to reduce the chances of further advances from anybody else. But in this case, she feels it would be like kicking a puppy and she cannot bring herself to do it. She takes the easy way out instead.
"I'm afraid, ethics and compliance guidelines being what they are, it is quite difficult, if not to say impossible, for me to get involved with another employee. It comes with the position."
There's a flash of disappointment, but it's gone quickly. She can see that he was very prepared for a rejection, probably unable to imagine any other outcome. And yet he asked her out anyway. She's not sure what to make of that.
"Of course", he says, nods and slowly makes his way over to the door. Before he vanishes, he gives her a sad half-smile, which, to her complete and utter shock, creates a feeling akin to butterflies in her stomach. What the hell.
She doesn't see him for a couple of months after that. They don't inhibit the same circles, after all, and her laptop decides to behave itself. She's not sure if she's happy or disappointed about that. She sees him at the year end event though (there had been a huge discussion around the rebranding of the Christmas party, to the point where Emma had been of half a mind to cancel the whole affair). She has never been a big fan of corporate events, but given her position, she really has no choice but to at least make an appearance.
She spots him across the room, standing off to the side in a group of men who don't really look happy to be there. She can certainly relate. He looks in her direction and their eyes lock, and the strange sensation in her stomach returns, intensified tenfold. A veteran of many a negotiation, she manages to hide her shock. She's pretty sure none if it is showing on her face. She steadfastly avoids any further eye contact with him for the remainder of the evening.
Emma looks up from her screen and sighs. There's no point in delaying the inevitable any longer. She has to accept what the board told her weeks ago. If they want to have a shot at surviving this crisis, they need to let at least half of their staff go. She has crunched the numbers several times herself now, trying to come up with any alternative solution, but there is nothing she can do.
Most of her colleagues would probably be surprised that she cared. She's well aware of the nickname whispered behind her back. She has never been bothered by it, accepting it with pride. It served it's purpose well, letting people think that there really is nothing more to her than a ruthless, emotionless leader. It's not entirely true though. Yes, she might have built up an armour that was almost impenetrable, but beneath that she does, indeed, care about the fate of the company. And about the fate of it's employees.
She stands up and looks out the window. It's one of the very rare instances in her life when she regrets never making any close friends. She has a couple of acquaintances, sure, but there is nobody in her life she could talk to about the situation she finds herself in at the moment. Most days, she considers her lack of a family an advantage, there is nobody tying her down, nobody taking up her time. Right now, she allows herself for a moment to imagine if things were different, if she could talk about her dilemma with a sibling or a father. Would that make the decision easier?
She shakes herself out of her daydreaming. She's been doing quite fine on her own so far, this is just one more hurdle for her to take, to show that she doesn't need anybody else to fight her battles for her. She's quite capable of doing that on her own. She calls her PA in to arrange a meeting with the board members. They'll do what needs to be done to keep the company afloat.
Emma stares at the movie playing on her laptop, not taking in anything that happens on the screen. She has a glass of red wine in her hand and takes an absent-minded sip once in a while. She normally doesn't drink, but after the day she's had, she needs something alcoholic.
The encounter from an hour previously keeps replaying in her head. She was on her way home from the office, when she'd looked up and met the eyes of another passerby. She saw his eyes widen in recognition and she thought he looked vaguely familiar. She had seen him around the office a couple of times. Well, before the downsizing. Crap. She sped up her steps, but he caught up to her anyway.
"Hey." She was many things, but never a coward. She turned around to face the man. What was his name again? She remembered that he was a senior account manager, but apart from that she drew a blank.
"Do you know how difficult it is to find a job at the moment?", he almost spat in her face. He goes on before she has a chance to respond. "I worked my ass off for years! And what's the thanks I get? Laid off as soon as things get a little shaky."
Her tone was cold, her features schooled into a neutral expression. "I think the severance packages were more than-"
He interrupted her, cold fury dancing behind his eyes. "That won't help me find another job now, will it? How am I supposed to support my family? Did you ever stop to think about the lives you are ruining?"
She didn't have a reply to that and he sneered at her. "Yeah, I didn't think so." With that, he stormed off, having said his piece.
She stood there for a couple of minutes, strangely shaken by the encounter.
Hence, the wine. And the late night Netflix marathon. She resolves to try to pay at least a little attention to what's playing when her screen suddenly goes black. Because it appears to be one of those days. She curses and almost throws the laptop off the table in frustration. She gets her cool back just in time and tries rebooting instead, which just provides her with some unintelligible error message.
She tries it a couple more times for good measure before she's ready to admit that she needs help. She vaguely remembers using this rent-a-nerd service a while back. She manages to retrieve the number from her phone and sends a call for help.
There's a call from the doorman of her building not 30 minutes later and she tells him to let the guy in. She opens her apartment door and comes face to face with another former employee. Because apparently some deity or other decided that today is her day of atonement. She mentally prepares for another verbal assault, already thinking about her rebuttal, when he takes her completely by surprise by giving her a bright smile.
"Hello", he says, sounding genuinely happy to see her.
"Come in", she replies, stepping aside to let him enter. He looks around curiously. There's really not much to see, she's a bit of a Spartan when it comes to interior design. She points to the laptop on the table. "It just died on me and now I get weird error messages every time I reboot." He gives her a look, one eyebrow raised. She glares him down. "And yes, the virus software is up to date."
He raises his hands, smiling. "Hey, I didn't say anything." He seems a lot more at ease in this setting than in her office.
He goes to work and she tries not to stare at him too much. It proves difficult when he starts biting his bottom lip while apparently concentrating on some complicated task. Emma's eyes get glued to his lips. She looks up guiltily when he clears his throat, aware that he said something but not having the faintest idea what it was.
"Huh?"
He grins at her wickedly, obviously having caught her staring at his lips. Crap, crap, crap.
"I said I think I fixed the problem. Give us a call in case it happens again."
He gets up to leave and he's almost at the door, when she blurts out, "Do you want to stay for coffee?", surprising them both. He turns around and starts scratching behind his ear. She barely knows the guy, but the gesture is already quite familiar.
"Um- I actually don't really like coffee." Emma gives him a look. Does he actually think she wants to drink coffee? Well, she's never been one for beating around the bush, so she clarifies that one for him.
"Okay then. Would you like to stay for sex?"
He coughs, clearly taken by surprise. An adorable blush creeps up his neck and over his face.
"Um", he says. Emma raises an eyebrow and gives him a half-smile. For all his earlier bravado, he seems to be quite taken aback by her bluntness.
"Well?"
"Um- shouldn't we - I don't know- go out first?", he says, sounding confused and maybe a little scared.
Seriously? Which century is this guy from?
"I don't date. So, what's it going to be?" She gives him her best seductive smile. He hops from one foot to the other, clearly torn. She advances on him slowly, giving him ample opportunity to back away if that's what he wants. He doesn't move, standing frozen in place. He looks at her as if she's some carnivore going after it's prey. She quite enjoys the expression.
When she reaches him, she puts her hand on his cheek and draws her thumb over his beard. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch. I'll take that as a yes, then. She leans in and softly brushes her lips against his. He flinches slightly, but quickly catches himself. She traces her tongue along his lip and he opens his mouth willingly, granting her entrance. They spend some minutes like this, just exploring each other.
He's delightfully responsive, moaning into her mouth when she carefully nibs at his bottom lip. The sound brings Emma out of her trance and she pulls back, frowning. What the hell is she doing? She doesn't normally engage in prolonged make out sessions with her one night stands.
"Bedroom. Now", she growls at him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and guiding him to her bedroom. He follows along dazedly.
Once inside, he just stands there, looking at her with wonder in his eyes, as if he can't quite believe that this is really happening. Emma uses the opportunity to get rid of her clothes. She steps back in front of him and he tentatively reaches out a hand to touch her breast. Before he does so, his hand stops and his gaze flickers back up to her eyes, clearly asking for permission. She gives him an exasperated look.
He takes it as affirmation and softly grazes his fingers along her breast. It's feather-light, a ghost of a touch, really, but it sends a bolt of electricity straight down her spine. She kisses him again, unbuttoning his fly while she does so. She runs her hand along the rock hard length of him through his boxers and he jerks at the touch. The hand which is not touching her breast suddenly snakes around her hip and draws her closer to him. He rocks his hips into her touch and moans again, a desperate, pleading note to his voice that does things to her. Good things.
She thinks it's high time he lost his shirt, so she lifts it up and he helps her to get it over his head. She runs her hand over his well-defined chest muscles. He clearly works out in some form or other. She guides her hands lower, moving them over his abs in slow circles. He closes his eyes again and freezes in place. His incredible responsiveness to everything she does acts like fuel on the blazing fire of her arousal.
She lets one of her hands travel down, sneaking under the waistband of his boxers and stroking along his shaft. He jerks into the touch again, lost in the sensation. Emma grins, then helps him get out of his boxers.
Their eyes roam over each other's bodies until Emma takes him by the shoulders, turns him around and playfully shoves him unto her bed. He leans back on his elbows, looking at her again as if she were some magical creature fresh out of a fairytale and he can't believe his eyes.
She lies down on top of him, grinding her hips down and resuming the kissing. He shudders, then stills against her, clearly fighting for his self control. Emma leans over to retrieve a condom from the bedside table and rolls it on him. Then she takes him in hand and lines him up. Once he's fully inside, she sits up and starts a slow rhythm. She can tell by the way his breaths come in short gasps that he isn't going to last long. He writhes beneath her, abandoning any remaining illusion of control.
His hands shoot up and he grabs a hold of her waist, supporting her movements and trying to speed them up. She let's him. His head rolls back and he bites his bottom lip. He looks like a Greek sculptor's wet dream come to live. Somebody really should eternize him like this in marble.
He starts moaning again and babbling nonsense and Emma hopes that he has a few more minutes in him, because she can feel her orgasm building, building. She's so close.
They come at the same time and with an intensity that knocks the air out of her. She can't remember the last time she experienced that, if ever.
She moves over to sit on the corner of the bed, taking a look at him. He seems to be pretty out of it, his eyes still closed and his breathing ragged. It's a magnificent sight and it twists something inside her. She quickly looks away.
"I'll go have a quick shower", she informs him, practically running off to the bathroom. She turns the water painfully hot, enjoying the feeling of cleansing her body from the sweat. It's all good. It was just great sex. Spectacular sex. But that was all it was.
She comes back to her bedroom, a towel around her head, and stops short when she sees the sleeping form on the bed. Shit. She did tell him to get out, didn't she? Normally, they get the message and are gone by the time she returns from the bathroom.
She sighs and puts on her pyjamas. Then she slips into the bed next to him, fully intending to wake him up and kick him out. He looks peaceful in his sleep, even younger. She can clearly imagine the hurt puppy dog expression he would give her if she threw him out now and can't bring herself to do it. She can always get rid of him in the morning.
She deeply regrets her late night decision the next morning, when she wakes up to find their legs entangled and his arms around her, his head resting on her shoulder. Emma is most definitely not a cuddler. She wonders how people enjoy this. It's so suffocating.
She untangles their legs and lifts his arm off her. He grumbles in his sleep, but doesn't wake up. Emma groans, then gives him a slight shove on the shoulder.
He opens his eyes and they are all puffy from sleep, his hair an adorable mess, and she needs him to leave now.
"I have to get to work", she informs him, get the hell out heavily implied in her tone. He does give her the hurt puppy dog eyes she was dreading last night, then gets up to collect his clothes.
She shows him to the door and before he leaves, he turns around to give her a kiss and she stops him with her hands on his chest.
"Whoa. What do you think you're doing?"
He gives her such a confused and hurt look that she almost kisses him after all. She catches herself in the last second and throws him out instead.
She doesn't see him again for several weeks. She wouldn't mind a repeat performance of the night, but there was something dangerous about him. Not in the usual sense, but dangerous for her. The fact that she let him stay the night for some unfathomable reason is a clear red flag. No, it's better not to see him anymore.
She picks up a guy at a bar about two months after their encounter. He's decent, but she has all but forgotten his name and face the next day. Maybe she has indulged her fantasies a little during their time together and imagined somebody else beneath her. So what? It had been great sex, nice fuel for fantasies.
It's three months after their night together when she's wolfing down a pre-made dinner and her doorman calls, saying she has a visitor. He gives her the description and she almost tells him to send the guy packing, but something changes her mind.
She opens her door a few minutes later to find the man which has featured heavily in her fantasies over last couple of weeks. His hair is messed up, as if he's been running his hand through it several times. As if to prove her assessment, he runs his hand through his hair nervously.
"Can we talk?"
Emma leans against the door frame. "No."
His eyebrows knit together and he looks visibly surprised. He clearly did not expect that.
"Um", he says, at a loss for words now.
"But you can come in if you want", she tells him, raising an eyebrow. He looks at her, a torn expression on his face. This is obviously not what he had in mind when he came here.
He finally makes up his mind and nearly jumps in, crashing his lips against hers. As far as kisses go, it is quite spectacular. After a few minutes of this, Emma moves him backwards against the wall and leans over to close the door. Both of them are already breathing heavily. Much like the first time, she grabs him by the shirt again and he follows willingly.
The sex is even more mind-blowing than their first time.
Emma makes sure to kick him out right after. She's learned from past mistakes.
The next time they 'meet', they do exchange phone numbers. It becomes a routine, whenever she's had a bad day at work and needs a pick-me-up or when she's had a great day and wants to celebrate, she gives him a call. He contacts her as well, but those instances are few and far between. It's like he senses that there is some sort of boundary and he's scared to cross it.
Months go by like this, and somehow he does end up staying over the odd night here and there. At some point, he starts bringing take away with him, since she almost never makes time for a proper meal otherwise. They don't go out together and neither of them brings it up. That would be dangerously like dating and Emma doesn't do that.
After a while, he starts bringing groceries and making dinner at her place. He's quite a good cook, so Emma can't really argue against it. It's the first time fresh ingredients find their way into her kitchen in years.
One day she's walking home on her usual route when she hears a commotion behind her and turns around. When she thinks about it later, she will always remember it as if it happened in slow motion. A car swerved from the street and is heading right at her. Much later, she will be informed that the driver had a heart attack. They won't be able to save him.
Without hesitating, Emma jumps to the side. She can feel the heat of the car as it passes by inches from where she's lying on the ground. It crashes into other pedestrians and there are the thuds of several impacts and loud screams behind her. To Emma, it sounds as if everything is happening far away, the noises muffled in her perception. Emma turns around and stares at the blood on the sidewalk. For some reason, it brings her out of her trance. She gets up and goes over to help the injured person closest to her.
Later, one of the paramedics tells her that she's in shock and she nods. At some point, they let her go home, focussed on the other victims.
Emma makes her way home in a daze. She sits on the couch and stares at nothing for a long time. She looks down and realizes that there is blood on her hands. It's not hers. She's still staring at it when the doorbell rings. She had completely forgotten that Killian was coming over tonight.
She opens the door and sees the grin on his face morph into worry. He carefully sets the grocery bags down and before he's even fully entered the apartment she's already in his arms. He somehow manages to manoeuvre them to the couch. Emma has no idea how he does it. She realizes with horror that she is sobbing. It takes a long time, but at some point she starts telling him in between sobs what happened. The words just flow out of her. He takes it all in, stroking her hair, mumbling soothing words.
She's never been more glad to have him. He spends the night and Emma calls in sick the next day for the first time since starting her job.
Something in their dynamic changes, after. She tells him a lot more about herself. About her childhood, the foster homes. About what drives her and what scares her. He, in turn, shares the story of how he came to the States and what he loves about his home town. How he misses his family terribly, but from the first moment he saw the New York skyline in a movie, he knew he wanted to live here some day. He's quite the romantic in many ways.
It's months later when Emma stands in her bathroom and stares at his toothbrush and realizes that at some point during the past few weeks, he's moved in to her apartment. She feels like the thought should scare her, but for some reason it doesn't.
He starts introducing her to his friends. Most of them work in IT as well. One evening, she bleeds them dry at a round of Texas Hold 'Em. They've got the maths down, but none of them can compete with her when it comes to bluffing.
She's still busy, her job demanding the majority of her focus, but she makes time for him whenever she can and he seems to be okay with it, on most days.
They are sitting at the breakfast table one morning when Emma tells him something that has been on her mind for a while.
"We should have kids."
He spits out his coffee in surprise, looking at her in complete and utter shock. It's quite priceless. She should have kept a camera ready.
"Excuse me?", he chokes out.
"Kids. We should have them. I'm 34. That's well past the ideal age already."
"No offence, love, but you're not really the motherly type."
"Indeed. But you make up for my shortcomings by being the fatherly type." He smiles at that. "It's true, I've never really given it much thought before."
"So what has changed?", he asks, actually curious.
She looks at him and his eyes widen when he gets it. She'll be damned though before telling him out loud that he has, personally, changed her life-long held opinion that offspring is nothing more than a nuisance.
"Things", she evades instead, vaguely gesturing with her hand to indicate God knows what.
He nods as if that explains everything.
"Shouldn't we get married first? Or, at the very least, shouldn't I introduce you to my parents? I think they would be quite cross with me if I had a child with a woman they've never met."
"You're so old-fashioned", Emma sighs, "Marriage is an outdated institution. I could come along when you go home for Christmas this year."
"You actually want to meet my parents?" He sounds completely shocked, as if he had never considered for such a thing to be possible.
Emma searches her soul. For some unfathomable reason, she does, indeed, want to meet his parents.
He swallows, trying to keep up with the crazy conversation they're having. "What about your job? You wouldn't be able to continue your career in the same way."
Emma nods. She has given that a lot of thought. "I think I'm ready for a new challenge." She gets up and kneels down next to him. "So, what do you say, Jones, want to make a baby with me?"
"You're impossible." He chuckles, then leans down to kiss her softly.
They name their son Henry, after Killian's grandfather. Killian's mother comes to stay with them for the first couple of weeks after the birth. Emma is opposed to the idea at first, but agrees to it in the end and never regrets her decision. She's one of the friendliest, warmest people Emma has ever met. The polar opposite of herself, really. Much like her son in many ways.
Looking from her, to Killian, into the eyes of her newborn son, she realizes she's finally home.