A/N: Be aware that this is not a happy story, and if this will be at all triggering to you, please do not read it. It's pretty obvious from the summary what happens, so just be aware of that.

Emma had tried to write them off as Braxton Hicks contractions, but the longer they went on and the closer together they became, the more she realized that they were very, very real. The baby was coming, and she was barely at thirty weeks.

She'd been hiding in the bedroom, blowing it off as cramps to Killian because he was always ten times more worried about every little thing than she was, and she knew if she even mentioned that she might be having contractions, he would immediately tell her that he wanted to take her to the hospital. But she'd already gone in for Braxton Hicks before, and she thought she could get through them herself this time…until she realized that she was actually going into labor.

"Feeling better?" Killian asked when he saw Emma come out of the bedroom, but he stopped smiling when he noticed the look on her face. Something was wrong, he could feel it.

"Killian, I need you to take me to the hospital," she said as calmly as she could manage while she was in between contractions.

"What's wrong?" He was on his feet before he even finished the question, hands grasping hers, forehead creasing with worry. It was no secret that his worst fear was something being wrong with her and the baby, which is why he had a tendency to overreact at every little thing, but if it was Emma who was saying they needed to go the hospital, then it must be serious.

"I'm pretty sure I'm in labor."

"So the baby's coming? But-"

"Yeah, I know, it's too early. Way too early. But I'm definitely having…" Emma lost her train of thought as another contraction started, and she squeezed Killian's hand hard enough to make him wince.

"It's okay, darling. Everything will be fine." He put his arm around her, letting her continue to cut off all blood flow to his hand as he led her to the car.

Little did he know that everything would certainly not be fine.

It all felt surreal from that point on. The nurses explained that they couldn't delay the delivery, and as much as Emma was trying to be optimistic, she had the worst feeling in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with the pain of the contractions.

Killian's constant pacing didn't help much, but he was always right there at the side of her bed when she needed to hold his hand, telling her to breathe, how strong she was, that they'd get through this, kissing her forehead, anything to try and keep her mind off of the inevitable - their baby was in trouble.

When their little girl was born, it should have been the happiest moment of his life, but he'd never been more scared. She didn't cry, and the nurses took her away without either of them getting to hold her. Emma barely even got to look at her, and her tears from the labor pain turned into tears of pure emotional agony as her baby disappeared from the room.

Eventually, they were given an explanation. As with a lot of premature babies, their baby's lungs were not fully developed, and she couldn't breathe on her own. Even worse, they'd done all they could do. Either her lungs would begin to work or…they wouldn't. The machine helping her breathe could cause even more problems for her in the long run, so there wasn't a very large window of opportunity for her to show improvement.

Emma cried until she fell asleep that night with Killian sitting beside the bed, and in the middle of the night when the doctor came in to tell them that she passed away, he crawled into the hospital bed beside her and held her while they both broke down all over again.

It wasn't fair.

Nothing about it was fair.

But instead of taking comfort in each other like they should be, Emma resorted to shutting down completely, walking straight to her bedroom and locking the door behind her.

Killian stood outside the door for a long time with his forehead pressed to the wood, just waiting to see if she'd come back for him, but she never did. And maybe that was best because as much as he wanted to wrap his arms around her, he couldn't tell her it would be okay. Because he knew it wasn't okay and that it might never be okay again.

His eyes burned from trying to hold in tears, so he gave up and went to the only place in the apartment he could close himself off in - the nursery.

He leaned against the wall for a moment before slumping to the ground, his chest feeling like someone had dug a giant hole in it. It was an emptiness he'd never felt before. Killian Jones knew all about pain and heartbreak and loss, but this was a feeling even worse than he could have ever imagined. The tears fell freely now, and he reached for a stuffed bear, clutching it to his chest, needing something to hold onto. When the silent crying turned into sobbing, he buried his face in the soft fur, trying to muffle the foreign sounds coming from his mouth, but he couldn't stop.

They were supposed to be bringing their baby girl home, laying her in her crib, rocking her to sleep, not saying goodbye to her before she was hardly even a day old. Before she'd even opened her eyes.

The worst part was that he couldn't save her.

There was absolutely nothing he could have done.

Emma thought differently, however.

All she could do was wonder if it was her fault, even though she knew it was pointless. Was there something she could have done differently? Rested more? Ate better? And did Killian blame her? Why shouldn't he? Their precious baby girl was laying lifeless in a hospital morgue when she should have been laying in her crib in the nursery, and it was all her fault.

Emma curled up on the bed, face buried in one pillow while she clamped another to her chest. The tears wouldn't come at first; she just stared at the wall, feeling more broken and lost than she'd ever felt before, and the longer she lay there, the worse the feeling became until the tears were leaking out the sides of her eyes one by one and then all at once.

And once she started, it was impossible to stop. Even when her eyes hurt so badly that she couldn't keep them open, she still kept crying.

Killian fell asleep in the nursery that night after completely resigning himself to the floor, the bear still wrapped in his arms. Emma didn't sleep, couldn't sleep, but not once did she go and see if Killian was alright because she knew that seeing him would only flair up all of the emotions she'd managed to calm down for the moment, and he didn't bother going to check on her because he knew she wouldn't want to talk to him, much less be in his presence.

Emma didn't even realize that it was morning until the sun began streaming in through the windows, bright golden light that spread across the hardwood and over the bed, making it impossible for her to attempt actual sleep even if she'd wanted to now. She hadn't remembered to close the curtains the night before as she usually did, and she was regretting it now as she rolled out of bed and walked to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth.

The mundane everyday activities proved to be more difficult than she thought they'd be, and it took her almost a half hour to get out of the bathroom because she kept pausing to stand with her hands resting on the counter, avoiding the mirror at all costs. She didn't want to see the restored lost girl who would be staring back at her after she had thought that part of her was gone forever.

Rolling over and smacking his head on the wall was what woke Killian. His back was aching, shoulder throbbing from laying on his side half the night, and now he'd probably have a bump on his head, too. Perfect. At first, he forgot why he was sleeping on the floor in the nursery, but it all came back like a tidal wave washing over him, and it could not have felt more like a nightmare. He stared up at the ceiling for a few moments, the mobile above the crib catching his eye. Snow and Charming had given them the unicorn mobile that had hung over Emma's crib before the curse, and he realized that he needed to keep Emma out of the that room because there were too many things that would upset her.

Exhaling loudly, he pushed himself up from the floor and stretched his sore muscles the best he could before ambling over to the door.

The door across the hall, their bedroom, opened at the same time, and suddenly, he was staring across at his wife who looked so defeated that it killed him. Her eyes, which she averted immediately, were red and watery, the circles under her eyes darker than he'd ever seen them, and she was still wearing the same clothes she'd put on to come home from the hospital. So was he, of course, and he was sure his eyes didn't look much better.

Neither of them said a word, and she was the first to move out of her respective doorway.

Walking to the kitchen, Emma felt like a zombie, mindlessly going for the refrigerator because she knew she needed to eat, even if her stomach was protesting just the thought of it.

She reached for the carton of eggs, but the only eggs left were all to one side, and the uneven distribution of weight took her by surprise, and she dropped them on the ground. The sound of egg shells cracking filled the silent air, and yellow began leaking out onto the tile. Immediately, she started crying again as her body sagged against the counter, and Killian was by her side in seconds, wrapping his arms around her even as she tried to push him away.

"It's okay, love. It's okay. I'll clean it up," he whispered against the top of her head, letting her cry against his shoulder, knowing full well it had nothing to do with the eggs.

Emma still couldn't say anything. All she could do was push feebly against his chest, wanting to get away, escape back to solitude because everything was closing in on her again, and she felt like she couldn't breathe.

"Emma, stop," Killian tried, putting his hands on her shoulders to keep her from running away from him again. "Please, Emma," he begged, his voice a whisper again as he moved his hands to the sides of her face, thumbs brushing tears off her cheeks, leaning in to kiss her forehead gently.

She jerked away from the kiss, prying his hands off of her before turning her back on him and returning to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

He could have followed her, made her talk to him, but Killian didn't want to be selfish. He was the one who needed her right now, and if she didn't need him, there was nothing he could do about that. As usual, he had to let her come to him.

Except, she did need him, but Emma couldn't even look at him without thinking about how excited he had been throughout the entire pregnancy. How his face lit up at the first ultrasound when he realized that they could see the baby, how thrilled he'd been when they found out they were having a little girl, and how he nearly teared up the first time he felt her kick. He'd painted the nursery, helped her pick out all the furniture and toys, been by her side practically every second of every day to make sure she didn't need anything, and now there was nothing to show for it.

As heartbroken, devastated, and destroyed as she felt, she knew he felt it, too, and she just didn't know how to deal with that right now.

Killian would certainly agree that he felt exactly the same way, which is why his first action when Emma left him alone again was to grab the whiskey. He didn't even bother with a glass, just started drinking it straight from the bottle as he settled on the couch. All he wanted to do was pass out, sleep for the rest of the day. Who cared that it wasn't even noon yet? His child was dead, his wife wouldn't let him comfort her or stick around long enough to comfort him, and his life felt like it was falling apart at the seams. There was no better way to numb himself.

It went on like that for a week.

Snow and Charming called numerous times, even showed up once or twice as well, but no one ever answered the phone or the door. Emma sent them a text after the first day telling them she needed time, but she hadn't touched her cell phone since, nor had she said more than a couple words to Killian whenever she ventured out into the kitchen to force herself to eat.

He stopped trying to get her to talk. Instead, he made alcohol and the couch his best friends. Until it got to be too much. Until even the alcohol couldn't numb the anger and hurt he felt anymore, only amplified it.

Emma was so oblivious to his drinking that her first sign of anything being seriously wrong was the sound of something crashing against the wall in the nursery. She was up and out of bed so fast that she had to brace herself against the dresser for a moment until she regained her balance. Another crash propelled her forward, however, and when she finally arrived, the sight before her was much worse than she'd imagined.

The first thing in his war path was a snow globe with Cinderella's castle in it, and it was now shattered, wet pieces of glass and blue castle littering the floor beside the crib. A frame with a picture of the two of them was next, broken on the floor, deep cracks running across their faces and obliterating their smiles. Smiling was an act that seemed so foreign to them now that Emma couldn't even find it in her to care much about that one. Stuffed animals were in disarray, scattered across the top of the dresser and in the pile of damaged gifts on the ground.

"Killian!" she yelled, crossing the short distance to him just as he was about to throw the baby monitor.

"What, Emma?!"

"Killian, come on. You need to-"

"Need to what? Stop? Calm down?" The destructive look in his eyes gave way to anguish as soon as their gazes met. "Our daughter is dead, and I need you, and…" Looking around, he realized how far he'd actually taken things, and he dropped the object in his hand immediately. "I'm sorry," he breathed, face crumbling as he sank down to the ground amongst the mess, not caring if he cut himself on the glass.

When he'd come into the nursery minutes before, he hadn't intended on destroying it, but the longer he stood there, looking around at all of the things they'd bought and been given for the baby they didn't have, Killian couldn't stand it. As long as those things existed, as long as the room existed, it would be a painful reminder that he had failed as a father before he even got a chance to really be one. He couldn't save his little girl, just like he couldn't save Liam or Milah either.

And part of him knew that there was nothing he could have done, but that didn't make him feel like any less of a failure, and the rational part of his brain wasn't working properly. It hadn't been working properly since he took to the bottle to make himself forget, and look how that turned out.

Emma, again, simply stood there, chewing on her lip. It dawned on her how wrapped up in herself she'd been since it happened, even knowing that Killian had to be hurting, she hadn't bothered to ask, to even do something as simple as hug him, because she was afraid of how seeing his pain would affect hers.

This wasn't like them. They didn't do this to each other; she didn't do this to him. And just like that, Emma's walls came down as she dropped to the floor beside him and circled her arms around him. Killian buried his face in the crook of her neck, and she held onto to him and let the tears fall, feeling his own hot and wet against her skin.

"I'm sorry, too."

"I miss her." The words were murmured so quietly that Emma wasn't even sure she really heard them, but she could feel his lips moving, and it broke her heart. She missed her, too. They didn't even get to know her, but the void left behind was ridiculously large.

"I know, Killian. So do I," she managed to choke out, pulling back the slightest bit so she could make him look at her. "But I love you, and…it'll be hard, but-"

"I couldn't save her." His drunken behavior made him sober up real quick, and now all that was left was the broken, defeated man underneath all of the anger and violence.

"There was nothing you could have done. Don't blame yourself." Even though that's what she'd been doing for the past week, beating herself up about the exact same thing, but she wasn't worried about herself anymore.

"I couldn't save her," Killian repeated again, staring blankly just past Emma's head at the wall. "I couldn't protect her. I didn't even get to hold her."

That was possibly the worst part, at least for Emma. She had chosen not to hold Henry as a baby, hadn't even looked at him, and then when her daughter was born, she hadn't been allowed to hold her, and the first time she got a good look at her precious little face was after all the life had left her fragile body.

Emma kissed his forehead, lips lingering as she closed her eyes, needing the closeness just as much as he did. "It might never be okay, and I know that. But…" But what? But she'd be there for him? She understood how he felt? Those were both true, but they were also each dealing with separate, personal issues that stemmed from their respective pasts, and damn it, she really wished just being there for each other was enough.

"As long as you're here. As long as you don't leave me, too."

"Never."

"I love you, too, by the way." The tiniest of smiles appeared, though it didn't reach his eyes, and that was all that needed to be said for now.

Maybe they still had a long way to go, but now, they had come back to each other, and Emma wasn't going to let him feel like he had to be alone in his grief ever again. Being there for each other might not be enough while the emotional wounds were still fresh, but eventually, they'd get there, and they'd be stronger for it.

They spent the next few hours there on the floor, arms and legs tangled as they took comfort in each other and the silence. She didn't know what he was thinking about, and he didn't know what she was thinking about, but they were there. Together.

And that's how they'd get through it. Together.