Family

Once upon a time, Emma Swan actually like nannying. She loved looking after children and helping them with their homework. Their excited faces when she made cookies or their favourite food for dinner. She loved helping them with their school posters and riding their bikes.

And this small family was no exception. Henry was a gorgeous child who loved stories and his imagination ran wild with them, branching into short dramas and large scale pictures, into Disney movies and karaoke competitions. And Emma was happy with the kid.

His father on the other hand, was an entirely different story.

Emma didn't see Killian Jones all that much. He tended to work long days, and Emma rarely worked weekends, so it was almost like being a part-time parent. Actually, it was basically being a full-time parent – and maid.

But Killian Jones was a rich bastard, so she was paid well for her time. Even if that meant that sometimes, on those rare weekends like this weekend, that she did work, it meant taking out the trash.

She walked out of Killian Jones' room wearing a rumpled shirt, her hair a mess with a vast array of red bruises along her neck. Emma rolled her eyes as the woman looked at her in surprise, "Are you his girlfriend?"

"Nanny, actually," Emma answered, as she put her empty hot chocolate mug in the sink, "Although, circumstances like this tend to make me more of a housekeeper. He likes you gone by ten so that he has twelve hours to get rid of his hangover before he goes out an finds a duplicate of you tonight."

The girl scoffed, "Are you jealous?"

"Not at all," Emma answered, pouring water into the sink. "But I doubt he knows your name, so I'd probably get dressed and leave. You can leave your number, but the harsh truth is, he won't call. Sorry."

"Do you talk from experience?" the girl raised an eyebrow.

"Yep," Emma said, turning to her, "Every weekend I've ever worked. He doesn't change his patterns. So, I'd save yourself the pain and just get out."

It was another five minutes before Emma saw her again, trekking out of Killian's room, with her skanky dress from last night and her heels swinging from her hand. With an apologetic smile, Emma said goodbye and the girl simply said, "I don't know, but if this is his pattern, maybe he needs help."

"He does," Emma answered honestly before the door shut behind her. It was then that Emma heard the sound of a door opening down the corridor and heavy footfalls heading towards the kitchen. A wide-eyed Killian Jones wearing a set of flannelette pajama pants walked hesitantly into the kitchen.

"Did you seriously pull the 'hide-in-the-spare-room-until-she-leaves'?"

"What's it to you, Swan?" Jones frowned, reaching for his coffee mug. "It's not like you had to deal with her high pitched squealing last night."

"No, thank God I gave Henry a massive glass of warm milk so he would sleep like the dead and not have to deal with it. And for your information, since you weren't home last night when Henry went to sleep, I did have to deal with her high pitched squealing because I stayed in the spare room and I only got five hours sleep because of it. So an apology, might be nice."

"I apologise, Swan," he began, before trailing off down his usual path, "That it wasn't you in my bed last night."

"Seriously Jones," she said, putting down the plates she was washing with an unnecessarily loud clang. She was frustrated in many more ways than one, and he wasn't helping any of them. "This is why you can't keep a nanny."

"You have lasted the longest, I will admit," Killian said, in almost appreciation, pouring himself a coffee. He held it up to her in mock appreciation. "Here's to another three months."

Yeah. If she could hold out that long.

Because despite her loathing, seeing him standing there half naked with his hair mussed from sleep and sex, his stubble lining his jaw and his taut body on display, was doing incredible things for her vivid imagination.

Damn him for being so sexy.

Emma stayed in watching a Disney movie with Henry that night. She tried to get him to stay awake late enough that when he dropped, he was out like a light, but he barely made it halfway through Peter Pan and he was dead to the world. Emma sighed, there was no way she was carrying a ten year old kid to bed. She may be strong, but she wasn't giving herself a back injury. Instead, she covered him up with a blanket just as she heard keys unlocking the door.

Glancing at the clock, she spotted that it was barely 9 o'clock. Was he really bringing someone home this early?!

Although, as the key's jangled, she didn't hear a second voice or any other coital sounds, all she heard was the soft sigh of relief as Killian locked the door and placed his keys on the table.

"You're home early," Emma said in surprise, walking out into the hallway.

"I wasn't feeling the nightlife, to be honest," Killian answered, with a shrug, walking into the kitchen behind her and shrugging out of his coat. The shirt he was wearing pulled with the stretch, tightening across his muscles and Emma gulped before turning around and setting to work on her Hot Chocolate.

Killian on the other hand, went straight to the fridge, taking out the chocolate ice-cream he stashed behind the frozen peas. As he grabbed a spoon and began to eat straight from the tub, Emma almost laughed.

"Do you have your period, Jones?"

He looked at her with his brow raised, spoon sticking out from between his lips.

"No," he said slowly, a smile growing to life in his eyes.

"I didn't know you had a secret stash," Emma grinned, reaching for his tea bags on the top shelf as she set about making his tea, "Of my favourite, no less."

"Is that your not-so-subtle way of telling me that you want some, Swan?"

"Maybe," she answered, slipping past him to get to the fridge. Just as she was getting the milk, he got her a spoon and passed her the cinnamon on her way back over to finish their drinks.

It was only once they were sitting at the table, sharing a tub of ice-cream, Killian Jones drinking his Chamomile tea and Emma, her cinnamon hot chocolate, that she realized how easy the last five minutes had been. Or at least, how well they had worked in the kitchen.

It surprised her actually. No doubt, him as well, that she knew what tea he took before sleeping and that he knew she liked cinnamon in her hot chocolate. And that bowls were a waste of time when it came to ice-cream.

"So, you broke the pattern," Emma said suddenly. Killian looked at her inquisitively.

"What?"

"You know. Every third week when I'm here, you have a different girl on Friday and Saturday nights. Tonight you didn't."

"Guess I didn't feel like it," he shrugged, getting another scoop of ice-cream. Emma however, could read between the lines.

"Milah was there, wasn't she."

Killian nodded, and he didn't need to say anything else. Emma knew the tale of Milah. Of the woman who was married and had Killian Jones on the side, fleeing the minute she found out he had a son he'd adopted years ago, by telling him in abrupt words that she'd been married to another man the entire time.

They sat in silence until, between the two of them they reached the last spoonful at the bottom of the tub.

"Are you on your period, Swan?" Killian finally asked, with a weary smile as she eyed the last mouthful longingly. She chuckled and stood up, taking his mug with hers to the sink.

"I'm okay," she grinned, "You need it more."

She heard the scraping sound of his hitting the edge of the bowl and his soft footsteps creeping up behind her. His hand touched her waste and she spun around to find him holding the last spoon up to her. It was dripping onto the floor, and Emma noticed, but with the dark look in his eyes, couldn't bring herself to care too much.

"I hope you're cleaning that up," she whispered breathlessly as he raised the spoon to her lips and she opened the tiniest bit, the chocolate exploding in her mouth due to the fire in his gaze. He pulled away and licked the spoon clean, and Emma swallowed the ice-cream to avoid showing him the shiver that sent through her body.

She spun around quickly, back to the sink, reaching to turn the hot water on the tap. But his arms came around her as she reached for the first mug. He placed his hands around hers, his breath warm on her ear.

"Let me," he breathed, sinking their hands into the warm water. Emma gasped as he grabbed the sponge and began to wash the mug, scrubbing at the mug as well as over her hands and it was the weirdest experience she'd ever had. Especially when he began to kiss her neck, his breath sending her shivering in the limited light from the lounge room.

"You never wash up," she whispered as his teeth bit lightly into her skin and she gasped.

"Maybe I have an ulterior motive," Killian mumbled pressing himself tighter against her. Emma moaned lowly as she felt his hardness pressing against her backside.

"Jones," she breathed, "we can't."

"It's Killian, love," he breathed and Emma made a conscious effort to remove her hands from his and calm her breathing, pushing him off her and slipping out from his cage.

"I won't be another notch on your headboard, Mr. Jones."

By the time she'd gone into the guest bedroom and packed everything back into her bag, Killian had drained the sink and was carrying his son to his bedroom.

"I'll spend the day with him tomorrow, Miss. Swan," he said softly, as to not wake Henry up. She nodded. He was giving her a day off. That was kind.

It was nice that he was spending time with Henry too.

"I'll see you on Monday," she answered in response, before heading out the door, and back to her apartment.

Emma Swan was surprised to find Killian Jones walking in the door at six o'clock on Monday night. Henry bounded towards him, distracted from setting the table, and he scooped him up in a big hug. Emma simply said from the kitchen island, where she was serving dinner, "You're home early."

"My last few clients didn't show up," he answered with a hesitant smile. Emma simply nodded, trying to keep her face clean of emotion as she pulled an extra plate from the cupboard and put away the container that she usually left his dinner in.

When they sat at the table, Emma couldn't help but smile. Henry animatedly talked to his father about his day and Killian too, seemed to be enjoying himself. For as long as Emma had looked after Henry, Killian had never come home when Henry was still awake, so she wasn't too sure if it had ever happened.

Nevertheless, he went to have a shower after dinner, and Henry helped Emma back up before he packed his bag for school. Killian came back out in his pjs, looking, quite frankly, adorable. Emma smiled at him softly with an, "I'm going to head off."

"Oh, you aren't going to stay?" he seemed surprised.

"I usually only stay because Henry needs someone with him," Emma answered. "But you're here."

"Oh." Emma could swear there was disappointment in his voice, but she shrugged it off. Maybe she could have a nice bath before she headed to bed with a good book. "Okay. I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Goodnight, Mr. Jones," she answered with a smile in her voice, already heading out the door.

"'Night Swan," he said to the closed door.

Hi Miss. Swan,

It's Tuesday. I'll pick up dinner tonight from the Chinese place down the road so you don't have to go down to get it. See you at six!

KJ

To say that Emma was surprised when Killian Jones was home at six for the second day in a row, was an understatement. The fact that he actually brought home dinner was almost like an electric shock to her heart. That he got her sweet and sour pork and vegetable dumplings astonished her beyond belief. What did he do normally, sniff through the garbage to see what was left in the containers?

"You knew what to get," she mentioned in surprise as he unloaded everything onto the table.

"We have Chinese every week," Killian said in response, looking up at her with his too blue eyes.

"And you just so happened to get today off at six too?" she retorted suspiciously.

"Yeah," he answered, with a smile, "Chopsticks?"

Emma didn't let go of her suspicions, glaring at him as she tore the chopsticks from his hand and sat down at her usual spot. Henry was animated as usual, digging in with the skills of chopstick use that Emma had taught him. After dinner, Killian packed away the containers into the bin and Emma quickly grabbed her bag, said goodbye to Henry and headed for the door.

"Bye Jones!"

"Wait, Swan –"

But once again, he was left with a closed door.

It became a habit. Emma would cook some nights and Killian would pick dinner up other nights. Because he was always rushing out the door when she arrived in the mornings, they never got out more than niceties before he ran off, but she'd, without a doubt, find a letter taped to the fridge each morning. Sometimes it would be because he'd be home at seven rather than six, but that was rare. Or he'd write something about Henry not having slept well.

So when she turned up four weeks later, to find that there was no note on the fridge, it was disconcerting to say the least. She headed down the corridor in the dark of the early morning and noticed that Killian's door was open. His bed was rumpled, and a terrible sound was coming through the door of his open ensuite.

"Mr. Jones?" Emma enquired worriedly as another horrible retching sound echoed towards her.

"Emma," she heard him say her name wearily. "I'm sorry, lass, don't mind me. I'll be at home today. If you could just get Henry off to school that was be great…"

He coughed again before vomiting once more.

Emma didn't hesitate to cross the expanse of his room – noting the luxurious décor, large bed and silk sheets as she did so, and realizing that Killian hadn't had anyone in his bed since their…incident…

"Jones, what have you done to yourself?" she murmured, leaning against the doorway. He had his head leaning against the cool sink, pale and sickly as he reached up to flush the toilet.

Kneeling down next to him, he tried to shuffle away.

"You're not my carer, Swan," he answered with a grumble. "It's your job to look after Henry."

"And sometimes, looking after Henry requires looking after Henry's father too," Emma answered stubbornly, placing her cool hand against his burning forehead. "Do you feel like you're going to puke again?"

"No," Killian groaned as she took her cold hand away. He tried to follow it, but was a little unsteady, and Emma ended up being his crutch as she practically dragged him back to his bed. She hadn't been paying attention to his state of undress, but as she found some wet washers, got him some aspirin and grabbed him a bowl in case he did decide to let go of his insides again, she realized that he was clad in only boxers, almost his entire body on display for her.

But in his sickly state, it didn't have the effect it would normally.

"Emma," Killian groaned as she came and sat beside him, sliding the thermometer under his arm, "Please. You shouldn't have to see me like this."

"Shut it, Jones," she answered briskly, "You need looking after." The thermometer came in warm but not terrible. The fever was probably already breaking judging by the beads of sweat coating his brow.

"You're not too hot," Emma said finally.

"Just what every man wants to hear," Killian answered, before groaning in pain. Emma chuckled and pulled his sheets up over him, heading out to get Henry ready to go to school. She checked in on Killian periodically throughout the day, but he slept until noon, and when he finally surfaced from his bedroom, he was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt and looking a much more natural colour than he had earlier.

"How are you feeling?" Emma enquired as he grabbed a glass of water.

"Much better," he answered honestly, standing next to her at the sink. "Thank you," he continued with a genuine smile. "You didn't have to do all that."

"It's okay," Emma shrugged, walking over to the fridge. "You probably shouldn't eat anything too extreme. Cheese sandwich?"

"No," Killian answered suddenly, "I'll make grilled cheese."

"Oh, so he suddenly knows how to cook?" Emma teased before he laughed, "You'd be surprised, Swan."

Two days later, she most definitely was.

Killian had been home when she'd brought back Henry, which was a surprise in itself, but he was also, in the kitchen, wearing an apron, and creating something which was sending delicious aromas throughout the house.

"Dad's cooking?" Henry's eyes widened as Emma's shuffled him in the door. "He hasn't done that since…I can't even remember…"

"Well, let's hope it's edible," Emma said to him as he went and dumped his stuff in his room. Unwrapping her scarf from her neck, Emma walked towards him cautiously. "When you said you were doing dinner, I was expecting Pizza not…is that salmon risotto?"

"Yeah," he grinned. "I thought I owed you for the other day."

"You don't but," she bit down on her lip. "Thank you, Killian."

He continued to add spices as he spoke, "That's the first time you used my name."

"Well, the first time you used mine, aside from the interview, was when you were projectile vomiting into a toilet bowl. So…"

"Touché," he laughed. "Emma."

"It's my name," she answered with a wide grin, "Don't wear it out."

And she knew he could have said so many comments following that, but he didn't. For some reason, that sent a warm and fuzzy feeling throughout her that she didn't mind. Not at all.

After dinner, she washed up, and despite her protests, he helped. Killian dried up the dishes and put them away as she washed, chatting about his work to fill up the time. Emma found herself laughing at his antics. For a lawyer, he was surprisingly light hearted when he wanted to be. Emma liked him like this.

"Henry, bed time!" Emma called out at eight-thirty.

"Emma!" he whined.

"I don't wanna have to drag you from bed tomorrow morning. You can stay up tomorrow cause it's Friday. You know the rules."

"Fine," he groaned. "But since you're making me miss X-Men, you have to take me to see the new movie this weekend."

Killian chuckled and Emma turned, "Hush! He's too much like you already." Killian sobered up, but a smile still lingered. "I'll think about it," Emma said reasonably. "Now, bed."

"Night Dad," Henry said, running over to give his father a hug. Killian kissed his head before Henry ran off to bed – or probably to read. She'd tell him off about it later. Right now, Killian was staring at her. Staring intently.

"We work so well," Killian commented suddenly, leaning against the kitchen island. "You, me and Henry."

"We work well now," Emma pointed out as he moved to make their drinks. She pulled herself to sit up on the counter, tapping her fingers on the marble absentmindedly. "We didn't a month ago."

"I know," he answered, back turned to her, "I was a douche."

"I'm glad you can see that," Emma nodded as he walked past her to get the milk. On his way back to the mugs, he stopped in front of her. He didn't bother asking her to move, simply opening the cupboard between her legs and slipping the cinnamon into his palm. If she was shocked, she didn't let it show.

"Thanks," she said finally, when he passed her the mug of hot cocoa. She tried not to notice the way his eyes followed her over his tea. He could barely tear his eyes away and it made her feel strange; desired. She hadn't felt that way in many years.

She was so absorbed in her own thoughts, she barely realized when he was standing between her thighs, far too close for what would usually be deemed comfortable, searching her face.

"I know this might seem taboo to you, Emma," he said slowly, "I know you think if we end badly you'll lose your job. But, we've proven we can live together when we're at odds, and when we're not. And I…you know you'll always have a place in Henry's life, even if something happens between us…"

"Killian…"

"No," he shushed her with his finger on her lips. "Let me finish. I like you, okay? I like you a lot. And I want to give us a go. Whatever that entails right now."

As he brought his hand up to trace her jawline, she knew that she had to let him. She had to give him a chance. All this time, it couldn't have just been leading up to nothing, right? This had to be fate giving her a gentle nudge – or a kick in the pants, she wasn't quite sure.

Either way, when she latched her hands onto his collar and pulled him in to kiss her, she wasn't sure it ever really mattered in the first place.

What they were entailed a lot of things.

It entailed him throwing her onto his bed when Henry went to his friends' house, and making passionate love to her.

It involved dates on Sunday afternoons in restaurants and having picnics that made her smile and giggle.

It entailed accompanying him to work functions, and him now accompanying her to his son's parent/teacher interviews.

It involved him grinding suggestively against her as she cooked, leading to some questionable activities in the kitchen and a very thorough cleaning of the kitchen island.

It entailed lazy morning's in bed when he would bring her pancakes, soft kisses in front of the TV and their son's protestations at their PDAs.

It involved a massive amount of fuss about moving in a few months later, massive fights about things moving too quickly and amazing make up sex.

It entailed love.

A lot of it.

And sex.

There was a lot of that too.

But most importantly, it was family.

And in the end, when they were all curled up on the couch watching a marathon of X-Men movies, it didn't feel like it could have ever been anything else.