A/N: I do not own this show or it's characters (I wish I did but alas, fate would not deem it so). This was written for the Captain Swan Secret Santa over on tumblr. Enjoy!

If you were to ask Killian Jones what his life was all about 10 years ago, he'd reply with one word: revenge. He'd tell you about the 300 years he spent being plagued by memories of a dying Milah, memories of cradling her soft body in his arms and seeing the life slowly fade from her. He'd tell you of the hatred that burned within him at the sight of that vile Crocodile holding his beloved's heart in his hand, fingers squeezing and crushing it between his fingers until all that was left was dust blown away by the breeze. He'd tell you that her last words—that whispered I love you she spoke just before she went limp in his arms—shattered his already fragile heart into a million pieces. He'd tell you that for years after her death, nightmares of both her death and his brother's constantly haunted his mind, wakening him in the dead of night and tormenting him with the stark realization that he'd lost the only two people he'd ever truly loved. He'd tell you that he spent the next three centuries living and breathing revenge, patiently waiting for the day when he would give the Crocodile the painful death he so deserved.

If you were to ask Killian Jones what his life was all about 3 years ago, he'd reply with two words: Emma Swan. He'd smile and tell you that the moment he met her, he felt his heart lighten for the first time in 300 years. He'd tell you about their journey to the giant's lair, the climb up the beanstalk, and about the unexpected feeling of rightness that came with working alongside her. He'd tell you that he only needed to look into her eyes—those beautiful jade eyes—and he'd instantly see a kindred spirit, a twin soul who truly understood the pain that came with being broken, lost, rejected, abandoned. This would be the reason, he'd say, why her leaving him behind in the giant's castle stung as much as it did, and why he did what he did later, walking away from her and taking the bean. He'd tell you he regrets that, because he really truly does. He'd tell you that finding his way to Storybrooke, facing Rumplestiltskin, getting shot, being chained up to the bloody hospital bed, it was all worth it, because her face was the first thing he saw when he awoke. He'd tell you that the more time spent around her, the more he felt his dark past loosen its hold on his heart and mind.

He'd tell you that Emma Swan is the reason he came back to Storybrooke and the reason he agreed to go back to Neverland, the one place he swore he would never return to. He'd tell you that his growing feelings for Emma are the only reason he allowed the being responsible for Milah's death onto his ship. He'd tell you that it was it was Emma—Emma and her strength, her confidence, her determination, her love for her Henry—who gave him the courage to face Pan. He'd tell you that Neverland was where she slowly but surely became the most important thing in his life, allowing him to put aside the centuries-long anger that had once been his sole reason for living. He'd tell you that Neverland was all about Emma— helping Emma get her son back, saving Emma's father, Emma's happiness, getting Emma and her family back to Storybrooke. It was for Emma that he kept quiet about the prince's wound. He'd tell you that saving said prince was for Emma, because growing up without a father was all too familiar to him, and he could never be the one to deprive Emma of a single moment with hers. He'd tell you that their kiss was perhaps one of the most beautiful moments he's ever experienced, because she both robbed him of breath and breathed into him new life. He'd tell you the kiss practically sealed his fate, because the moment her lips touched his, any doubt and denial he harbored in his heart vanished, and he knew that he was head-over-heels, stupidly, irrevocably in love with Emma Swan.

He'd tell you of the utter relief he felt when they finally made it off the island, because both Emma and her son were safe. He'd tell you that backing off was one of the hardest decisions he'd ever made, but he did it anyway, for Henry and for Emma. He'd tell you that saying goodbye to Emma only days later nearly broke him; that the thought of never seeing her beautiful face again was almost enough make him give up on everything. But then he'd tell you that one word ensured the very opposite. He'd smile and tell you that her soft-spoken Good kept him alive and sane the entire year he searched for her. He'd tell you that the moment he found her, he felt whole again. He'd think back and remember the events that followed—ensuring her memories had returned, making their way back to Storybrooke, defeating the green Witch, reuniting her with her family—and tell you that having her back was worth all the trouble that followed, because her mere presence had his heart lurching in this chest and his lips curved upwards in a permanent smile.

He'd tell you how their relationship changed in the time that followed. He'd tell you about the months he spent getting to know her better, falling more in love with her than he thought possible. He'd tell you about the day she asked him out on a date (his Swan, always the brave one). He'd tell you all about their first date and the many that followed. He'd talk about the first time she called him Killian, and their first official family dinner. He'd tell you about the first time they made love, their first fight, and the first time she said "I love you". He'd tell you how she changed his whole world with just two words, a simple I do, that was immediately followed by the most beautiful smile he's ever seen grace her gorgeous face. He'd tell you that the 2 years spent by her side as her husband have been a breath of fresh air for him. He'd admit that there are days and moments where he'll think about his past, about the darkness he lived in for 300 years, and he'll feel a twinge in his heart, feel some of that sadness trying to find it's way back into him and threaten to drown him in sorrow again. Then he'll see her—his Emma, his wife, his other half—and the darkness is nowhere to be found.

If you ask Killian Jones what his life is all about now, he'll reply with three words: his daughter, Marie, who is currently lying in his arms, sleeping, occasionally stirring and burrowing deeper into her pale green knitted blanket (a gift from her grandmother). She's been in the world only a few days and already he cannot remember what life was like before her. Just holding her and looking at her, at the marvel in his arms, he feels his heart lurch in his chest, and he can do nothing but stare, smile, and drown in the wave of emotions that flood him. Everything about her captivates him: the tiny fingers clenched into fists in her sleep, the way her lashes brush the soft skin of her cheeks, the wisps of dark hair on her head. With her cute little button nose and the rounded shape of her face, she's spitting image of her mother in every way, save for the hair and the blue eyes—so like his—that lie beneath her eyelids. The perfect combination of Killian and Emma. He doesn't think he's every seen anything more beautiful.

As if sensing that she's the topic of his thoughts, his child lets out a tiny gurgle, her small form stretching within her blanket. The movement startles him slightly and he runs his eyes over her, making sure that she's warm and comfortable. He holds her closer to his chest and seconds later she settles. The action sends a rush of warmth through his entire being, his heart nearly bursting with love for his daughter, and all he can do is close his eyes and bask in the beauty of the moment.

"You're doing it again."

His wife's quiet voice startles him out of his reverie, drawing his attention away from the babe in his arms. He sees her out of the corner of his eye and he turns towards the direction of the voice. For the second time that night, he feels his heart jump in his chest. Emma is leaning on the doorjamb of their daughter's room, robe loosely tied at her waist, blonde locks slightly mussed, eyes half lidded in sleep, and lips turned up in a small smile. He can't help but be mesmerized by the sight she makes, and he takes a few moments to enjoy her presence before addressing her remark.

"Doing what?"

"Hovering," she replies, her chin jutting out towards their daughter.

"It's just… I thought I heard her crying, that's all," he admits, rather defensively.

She acknowledges him with a slight scoff and a growing smile, and he catches her rolling her eyes.

He opens his mouth to ask why she's so amused when he becomes aware of a light wriggling in his arms. He looks down just in time to see his daughter yawn, her tiny pink lips transforming into the tiniest "O" he's ever seen, right before she snuggles into his chest, rubbing her small cheek against her blanket. She lets out a small sigh and proceeds to settles back into his embrace. He's so transfixed with her every move that he fails to notice Emma enter and cross the room, coming to stand next to him and laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey. What are you thinkin' about? Talk to me."

Oh, if only he could. And he wants to, he really does. He wants to tell Emma about the immense and indescribable love he feels for the small being in his arms, to tell her that every time he looks at his daughter, he wonders how he ever breathed without her. He wishes he had the words to properly describe the feeling of wholeness that descends upon him whenever he looks at her and at their daughter. He wants to tell his wife that the years spent by her side have been the brightest and happiest of his life, and that looking at the bundle currently in his arms, he thinks that they can only get brighter and happier. He wants to say so many things, wants to shout to the world that he's not lost anymore, that he's finally found his heart and home right here, in her and their daughter. But right now, his emotions overwhelm him, and he can barely speak through the lump in his throat.

He takes a few calming breaths, looks at his daughter, and offers his reply.

"I'm thinking that she's the most perfect thing I've ever seen", he says, his voice low and shaky with emotion.

"Mhmm," she hums in agreement. "You got that right."

He chances a glance her way and finds her looking down at their baby girl. She looks up at him and he is awe-struck by the love he sees pouring out of her gaze. Unable to stop himself, he leans down and gives pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

"I love you," he whispers against her lips, "so much."

"I love you too" she replies without hesitation, her forehead coming to rest on his temple. They stay that way for a moment, after which she leans down and kisses their daughter's head.

"And we both love you, munchkin," she tells her, "but it's time for us to say goodnight to you—again. Because as cute as you are, mommy and daddy need to sleep."

Emma softly strokes the downy hairs on her daughter's head, whispers a quite goodnight, baby girl, and takes a step back. She shoves his shoulder gently and points to the crib.

"Come on. Put her down and come back to bed. She'll be there in the morning," she teases. She spares them both one last glance, walks out, and heads towards their bedroom.

As reluctant as he is to depart from his new love, he knows Emma's right. And so he goes and lays her down in her crib, being as gentle as he can so as to not wake her. Before he walks away, he repeats his wife's action and drops a kiss to his daughter's head.

"Sleep well, my darling," he bids her softly. "Rest, and know your father loves you, more than you'll ever know."

He leaves his daughter's room, the door closing quietly behind him. Emma is already sleep when he arrives, so he carefully slides into bed beside her, slipping an arm around her waist and bringing her closer, her back to his chest. He gently nuzzles his face into her hair and breathes her in, her scent never failing to remind him of home. He allows sleep to slowly take hold of him and, with thoughts of his wife and daughter in mind, happily drifts off.