Happy Valentines Day, CS fandom! This was written with a special person in mind, my beautiful CS Valentine Ann, who was my Tumblr CSV. Here you are my loaf, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

"I miss her," Emma said morosely, resting her head against the headboard of the pristine white bed.

"I know love, but the little lass is a year old, and..."

"I know," Emma cut in, "I'm just being silly, it's just… Killian we haven't spent more than 3 days away from her."

"Emma," he said, supporting himself on his arm as he raised himself to cushion his head against her breasts, "you're not being silly, love. I find my thoughts drifting to her from time to time but I know she's fine. Mia is in the capable hands of her grandparents, after all."

"I know," Emma said, letting out a ragged breath of irritation, "and I'm sorry that I'm being like this, it's just a hard adjustment."

"Don't apologize, my love," he said, turning his head slightly to place a gentle kiss on the swell of her breast, letting out a small sigh of contentment.

They stayed in comfortable silence for several long moments as Emma ran her fingers idly through his hair; Killian shifted his body so his good hand was free to trace lazy circles on her thigh.

Her wedding ring occasionally grazed his scalp, a wonderful reminder to the commitment they had made to each other, her desire to be equals evident by the fact that from the very first day, she'd worn it on her right ring finger, to match his. It was always the little things like this, Emma's quiet day-to-day actions that reinforced her love for him; while Killian's strength lay in his mastery of words, able to tilt and craft them with the lilt of his tongue into a cadence of praise, Emma's mastery was in her ability to show him, by the caress of her fingers, by the distinct, delicate smile that was his alone, by the way she gazed at him upon waking, as if his face was the first thing she wished to start her day with.

She'd given him a family, a daughter he never dared dream of, yet Emilia Hope Jones had been born naught a year ago, named in part for Milah (another gift Killian had not expected at all, and yet Emma had simply looked at him as Mia had suckled, not even ten minutes old, and said, 'When we have a son, we'll name him for Liam and David, but for our daughter, I was thinking of honoring Milah; she was important to you Killian, and so she's important to me too, so I was thinking Emilia?' and he hadn't been able to answer because the love in his heart and the thickness of tears of that blurred his vision and choked his tongue was too much, too perfect, far more than someone like him had ever deserved) and named in part for the hope she'd restored in both their lives.

"I love you," he murmured, eyes having closed at her ministrations and the memories of his thoughts.

"Je t'aime," she answered, voice laced with a tinge of laughter.

Killian turned, so he could direct his raised eyebrow at her.

"Really? Still on about that?"

Emma let out a snort, "You're the one who flirted in French with the waitress yesterday! And you speak 12 languages including Mermish!"

"I wasn't flirting, I was being a gentlemen, and I've been alive for 359 years, it would be an utter disgrace to my person to speak anything less than 7. Bet you the crocodile only speaks about 3."

"Show off."

"Jealous princess," he retorted.

"Maybe a little, aren't princesses supposed to be masters of the universe?"

Killian let out a little laugh. "Something like that."

"So how many languages are princesses supposed to speak?"

"Not that I've dealt with many, but on average, about 5. Mostly the countries in which their kingdoms trade in, which would certainly include English and Agrabahan Arabian and Sanskrit Hindi as basics, coupled with perhaps Angerthas if they're trading far north, or Swahili if far south."

"So everyone's native is English?" Emma asked, surprised.

"No, not at all. My mother spoke something called Gaelic, I learned it at her knees as a boy, she was from a land yonder, a place cut off from most of the kingdoms. Those in Avalon speak Welsh, and so forth. But your kingdom spoke English first and foremost, though I dare wager your mother is fluent in Latin, a language unchanged in most realms."

"Unchanged? Why?"

"It's the language of the dead, Emma. And the dead speak only one language."

"Wait, what? That's a real thing?"

Killian regarded her genuine bafflement, her eyes wide with disbelief. It was a wonder, how much skepticism Emma Swan seemed to have within her, to have seen all that she had, and still have a capacity for such disbelief.

"Have you not seen specters? Have you not seen souls retrieved after being lost? Awakening from sleeping curses with nightmares of a transcending realm?"

"But to speak to the dead?"

"Aye, why not?" he challenged.

"Why not indeed," Emma muttered, clearly trying to process the information and the wealth of opportunity it presented. He could see the cogs turning in her head, forehead creased. He watched her; cherishing the way the morning light filtered in through the gauzy white curtains to cast a warm, comfortable glow. Killian counted mentally to 3, before Emma opened her mouth to speak, on cue.

"So you could, hypothetically, speak to someone long gone?"

"Not worth it," he responded immediately, "It's not so simple for one, and magic like that requires great sacrifice and is of the darkest of magics but the worst part of it is that it tortures the soul it recalls… it is basically recalling back all the little bits, I think the books call them… amost? Astone? Atoms?"

"Atoms," Emma confirmed, "I didn't know there was science in the Enchanted Forest."

Killian let out an undignified snort. "Beg your pardon lass, but what this world calls science is very clearly magic in our land."

"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to," Emma said, accent ridiculously exaggerated and Killian understood that she was trying to make a point but laughed anyway at her poor attempt of mimicry.

"Shut up," she said digging her fingers in to his scalp, deliciously rough, gripping his hair.

A small moan escaped his lips at the action meant to be a punishment, but then again, he thought, he always had been just a bit of a masochist as he felt the familiar thrill run across his flesh.

"Seriously?" Emma questioned, her tone belying the fact that she was far too amused (and slightly aroused herself) by the obvious effect she had on him.

Killian turned fully, leering at her. "I'm ready for you all the time, love."

To demonstrate his point, rather literally, he raised himself to straddle her thighs, folding his legs beneath him so he didn't crush her with his weight. Emma's breathing hitched, and she tugged her bottom lip in, making his focus zeroing on her already kiss-bitten lips.

"You really ready for round two, old man?"

"Bah, round one was how long ago? An hour? I'm almost ready, if you feel me," he said, peeking his tongue out against his lips as he rocked once, then twice against her hips so that she could feel exactly how ready.

"Mmmrph," she mumbled, trailing her hands up his body and to the back of his neck. Emma had kink for grappling at his hair whenever they were making love, a fact that he didn't mind at all.

"You gonna kiss me, pirate, or is that all talk?"

Killian answered by surging forward, bringing his lips to hers in practiced ease, hips rocking against her gently as he allowed the blood to rush south, but too soon, Emma was pulling away, her hands falling to his chest to push him away just as his tongue swiped her lip one last time in rebellion.

Killian opened his eyes in confusion, only to be met with a pair of mischievously green eyes he so loved. He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting.

"Since we are in New York city on a second honeymoon and all that… let's… well…" she trailed off, a light flush dusting her cheeks. The flush ran down her chest, stopping exactly at a point Killian knew well. But he was more interested in finding the cause of said flush than chasing it down with his tongue… for now.

"Let's what?"

The flush darkened, only adding to his intrigue.

"Let's what, Swan?" he asked again, when she didn't seem forthcoming with her thoughts.

Emma ducked her head, allowing her long blonde hair to act as a shield from his eyes, despite the fact that he was still straddled against his wife. He decided to use that as leverage.

Rolling his hips gently against hers, he said, voice low, "What's this, Mrs. Jones? Keeping secrets from your husband? Very bad form, love."

Against her better judgment, Emma raised her gaze to him, whatever retort she had dying on her lips as she caught sight of his smug grin. Gotcha, Killian thought.

"You're embarrassed Swan, and I dare say it has to do with something risqué. So naturally, I want to know all about it," he said, not even bothering to cover the absolute sin that was etched into his voice.

"It's unfair you get to read me so well," she said, using her cleverly honed art of deflection as she mock-glared at him.

"Must be the whole True Love business, but then again, you've always been a bit of an open book me, True Love or no," he said, waving his good arm airily.

She opened her mouth to speak once more, perhaps another clever retort, but Killian placed a finger on her lips, leaning in close as he whispered, "Shushhhhh."

He watched satisfied as her she gulped, eyes drawn to his mouth like a moth to flame as she let out a strangled "mmph"; though he almost gave in when her tongue peeked out of her lips to lick a swipe on his finger that reminded him of all the sinful things her tongue was capable of on other parts of his body. Still, Killian was rather talented at focusing on a mission, and so with great restraint, he leaned in closer, placing his lips on his finger so that they were separated by only that, and continued speaking in a deep, low voice that he knew had the capability of moistening the wonderful slit between her thighs that was now calling to him.

"Tell me Emma, what is it exactly, that you wanted us to do?"

Killian dragged his finger down her lips, past her jawline and rested it on the hollow of her neck, ducking his head to the side of her mouth as he gave in to temptation and placed a kiss just where the shadow of a smile was beginning to form on her face.

"Don't think you could handle it, Jones," she mocked, though her tone was far too breathy for him to take seriously.

"Try me," he whispered, placing another, more lingering kiss on the corner of her mouth.

"It's…just… I've always had this…thing…" she began, words slow and shy, as though it was a thought she would have never dared pursue, "when I was living here, during that cursed year, I heard of couples going at it in the Shakespeare Garden in Central Park and I've always entertained the idea…"

Killian was entirely sure his brain had frozen as he struggled to comprehend his wife's words.

Sex. In public, in a metropolis of 8 million people. In a poetry garden.

Before he could even begin to formulate a response, Emma was already speaking.

"Of course it's a stupid idea," she began but Killian shook his head so vigorously at her words that he thought it might simply rattle off his neck and onto the floor.

"It's not stupid," he said, voice hoarse as though the sun had parched every single drop of moisture from his mouth. Already his body was responding to the idea as his brain supplied images that flashed across his mind's eye; Emma wearing that tiny red skirt she often brought out for summer use, Emma straddling his hips as she tried to sink herself on him discreetly… the possibilities were endless, and Killian knew that reality would be so, so much better.

"Let me guess, the idea appeals to the pirate in you, breaking the law and all that?" Emma asked, her tone a touch sardonic but Killian could see the excitement and hope in her eyes that he was clearly, physically, receptive to the idea.

"I say let's get a move on Swan," he said, dragging his tongue from the corner of her mouth to settle on the center of her lips, as he kissed her hotly, body thrumming, "though it's going to be hard to walk from here to there now with the condition I'm in," words fading into muffled noises as their lips smacked each other in a heated dance that never ceased to light fire to his veins.

"Fuck the gardens," she said, pulling away only to dive back right in, jutting her hips off the bed to collide with his own in a move that sent sparks flying through his closed eyelids.

"Why not both?" he managed to retort against her lips, torn between surrendering himself and fighting for dominance so he could see her fantasy to completion.

"As if your body could rise to the occasion again," she said, taking any heat out of her words by grabbing him through the thin shorts he was wearing.

With a herculean effort he would later berate himself for, Killian arched his body away from hers, disengaging their kiss, already regretting the decision as her eyes shot open and his body screamed from the loss of her touch.

"What the hell?"

"Get dressed, we're going to the gardens. Now."

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly," he said, using his best captain's voice. However when she didn't move (stubborn as always, his lass), he continued, "Get dressed Mrs. Jones, you're about to be fully debauched. In public."

Eyes widening, as though it only now occurred to her that he was being completely serious, Emma jumped off the bed, grabbing her jeans off the floor, making him grimace as he opened his mouth to remind her on the importance of her choice in clothing, when she seemed to come to that revelation herself, letting the garment fall to the floor as she hurried to her suitcase.

Killian watched her rummage through her suitcase but she must have sensed his unyielding gaze because she turned at him and snapped, "And why aren't you getting dressed?"

Killian shot off the bed, shimmying into his dark jeans with more effort than necessary due his semi-aroused state that was taking far too long to calm. He pulled a grey button up shirt over his head, neglecting to button the first 3 buttons as per usual. Emma had teased him countless of times before about his inability to wear a shirt proper, but the truth was that buttoning anything with one hand was a task Killian did not enjoy (unbuttoning, however…), so he was content to allow his chest hair to act as a buffer to the world. In any case, as much as Emma made noise, he knew from experience that she delighted in his appearance.

However, when he turned to look at her, it was her appearance that took his breath away - not that that in itself was surprising, but given exactly why she had dressed that way, his pulse doubled its effort.

Killian's eyes roved over his wife; she was wearing the same dark red skirt he'd fantasized about, the hem resting on her mid thigh, and a pastel red tank top that revealed the top of her heavy set post-pregnancy breasts (even if she had stopped breastfeeding Mia six months ago, there was a satisfying heaviness that had remained) which was then covered with her trademark leather jacket. All in all, Emma Swan-Jones looked absolutely sinful.

"You'll be the death of me yet," he muttered, picking up their phones from the corner table and pocketing his. He walked up to her, and Emma held out her hand to take the phone but Killian crashed into her, knocking out her breath only to replace it with his own, kissing her fervently as he conveyed just how beautiful and amazing and magnificent she was through his tongue and teeth and lips. He managed to slip the phone into her jacket pocket without accident, nipping her lips again before pulling away with a loud wet sound that reverberated in the small room.

"Let's go."

In hindsight, Killian really should have seen it coming. Their first honeymoon had been eventful, to say the least – there had been an interlude of crime-solving as a convict Emma had helped incarcerate had recognized her up in the ski ranges of Rangeley, trying his best to sabotage her because he had been hiding from the law there as a ski instructor. They'd solved the riddle of her apparent clumsiness on the slopes (not her fault at all, as it turned out) and only after the whole fact had Killian learned how truly dangerous skiing was, and how he could have lost her numerous times. Needless to say, after some terribly desperate, panicked, sex, Killian had veto-ed skiing from any future trips.

So in all truth, it shouldn't have surprised him when a girl with strawberry blond hair had barreled into them just as they turned the corner to the vicinity of the park.

"Sorry," the girl said, looking down before trailing her eyes up to meet Emma's.

Emma opened her mouth to say, "It's okay," but the child eyes widened comically, looking at Emma in wonder and then Killian, eyes darting back and forth as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

"Morgan!" a man's voice called, coming up to rest a hand on the girl's shoulder. Killian regarded the man with thick black hair as the father of the child, though it was obvious Morgan took after her mother, who was fair skinned with the same strawberry blonde, almost red, hair that accompanied the man.

The girl, Morgan, paid no attention to her father as she reached out a finger and poked Killian in the stomach. His eyes swiveled to her in astonishment, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Morgan, what are you doing? That's rude!" her father chided her, looking at Killian and Emma in apology.

"I'm sorry," he said with a sigh, holding out a hand to shake, "I'm Robert Philip, this is my daughter Morgan, and my fiancé Giselle."

"Hi everybody," Giselle thrilled, her voice almost musical.

Killian held out his own hand, clasping the man's hand with a firm shake and nodded at his fiancé with a tilt of the head. "Killian Jones, and my wife, Emma."

Emma smiled tightly at them with a soft "Hi". Killian could sense her confusion because the girl seemed to be locked into a staring match with his wife.

"You're the lost princess," the girl said firmly, eyes never leaving Emma's, causing Killian to still. "And you…," she trailed, eyes darting to his profile, "you aren't… are you Baelfire?"

Killian felt his insides harden with a feeling of pure dread at Morgan's words. Baelfire was dead. Neal had died in the battle of Storybrooke, against the Wicked Witch of the West. How did she know that name?

"No, I'm not," he told her, watching as her face broke into confusion.

"The Saviour and The Thief?" Giselle spoke, tone colored with surprise.

"How'd you know, kid?" came Emma's clipped voice.

"Are you kidding me?" Robert asked incredulously.

"Oh this is so great! We have to show them the book!" Morgan said, voice rising a few octaves in excitement.

"There's a book? A fairytale book?" Emma asked, eyebrows raised.

"Oh yes," Giselle said, looking entirely excited at the prospect.

What truly tipped Killian off was Robert's reaction; it wasn't disbelief or skepticism, it was as if the man had experienced a similar run in with a fairy tale situation before and had thought it to be a one-time thing. His eyes roved over to Giselle, noting her fair complexion and musical tone, and wondered perhaps…

"Perhaps we should move this conversation elsewhere," Killian said uneasily, knowing with a certainty that whatever was going on was going to take a far bit of explanation.

"Our apartment is just a block from here," Robert said warily, eyeing Killian with a look that seemed to ask, can I trust you?

Killian nodded at the man. "That'll do, if you'd be so kind."

"This is unbelievable," Morgan said excitedly, as almost at the same time Emma uttered those exact same words, albeit in an exasperated fashion. The two of them shared a look of camaraderie at that, but Giselle thrilled, "This is exciting!"

As they began the walk, Killian took Emma's hand in his, entwining their fingers and rubbing his thumb against her skin.

"Are you alright, love?" he asked her quietly as Morgan babbled to her mother about how exciting it was to see her story in real life.

"I'm not sure what to expect," Emma replied, eyes focused on the two girls walking ahead of them, while Robert had his hand protectively around his daughter's shoulders.

"Well, I suppose we always could use a bit of adventure in our lives…"

"Right, like we need that," Emma said, bumping her shoulder against his.

"So…." Morgan said, walking slower and turning her attention on them, "who are you then?"

"Killian Jones," he replied, with a cool disposition.

"Yes, but do you have like, other names?"

He held out his left hand, the hook having been replaced with a prosthetic gloved one.

"This used to be a hook," he said simply.

Killian wasn't sure whether to be proud, amused or smug when Morgan's eyes rounded further, mouth dropping open in surprise.

"You're Captain Hook!" she said loudly, and then, with a look that could only be described as judgmental, she asked Emma, "You married a pirate?"

Emma laughed. "He's my pirate, kid, and he's not the villain of the story."

Her eyes met his briefly, and he could see what she hadn't said. 'At least not anymore.'

"Morgan!" Giselle said, "we don't talk to people about their True Loves like that!"

"Wow, Captain Hook though!"

"True Love?" Robert asked, giving them another curious look as he directed them into the building.

Neither Emma nor Killian answered that, at least not until they were all seated comfortably on the couch, with Giselle and Morgan offering to bring out some tea and cookies. Robert looked over to them and Killian could see a hundred questions there.

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you here in New York?"

"Our second honeymoon," Emma said stiffly. She was clearly uncomfortable all of a sudden, in the quiet surrounding of the house. Killian figured they'd give it ten minutes, and then he'd come up with a suitable reason to leave.

"So you can just… come in and out of manholes as if you wish?"

"Manholes?"

"You mean those round things on the streets?" Killian asked, just as perplexed as his wife.

Robert looked at them as if they were a little touched in the head. "Yes. Where else do you travel from?"

"It's where I exited into this world," Giselle said, offering a jaffa cake to Killian, which he took in delight and thanks. Behind her, Morgan was carrying an eerily familiar leather bound book that had Emma sucking in her breath in distress.

"Where'd you…"

"Oh, I came from Andalasia," Giselle said, misinterpreting Emma's unfinished question.

But the name caught his attention. "Andalasia? I've heard of it…"

Emma turned to him, "You have?"

"Yes, though I've never been. I heard it was… colourful," he said tactfully, remembering stories of a fabled land where only happy endings existed and people sang in song all day. It was said its inhabitants couldn't even feel any kind of negative emotions – they were said to be infuriatingly optimistic, incapable of doubt or anger.

Giselle sat down beside Robert, who tucked her into his side as Morgan handed the book to Emma, before joining her father on his other side.

"Oh yes," Giselle said with a fond smile, "it's what this world called cartoons… I never thought anything of it until I came here, to this land without magic, and now I realize how silly we all looked."

"You're beautiful as your are," Robert said, turning to give his fiancé a smile.

"OH MY GOD!" Emma said, jumping beside him, attracting everyone's attention. The only one unfazed was Morgan, who was regarding the situation with a suppressed smile.

"What is it…" he asked Emma, before feeling the breath whoosh out of his lungs. Morgan's earlier words should have tipped him off, but he felt unprepared nonetheless when he gazed to the open book in Emma's lap only to see beautiful illustrations of Emma, Neal and baby Henry.

Emma was running a finger across the illustration, and the one next to it, which featured Neal kissing Emma in front of a sign that read Tallahassee. There were words too, presumably the actual story, The Savior and The Thief.

"How'd you get this?" Killian asked the girl as Emma turned the page only to be met with another breathtakingly beautiful drawing of Henry watching over a blonde baby in a crib with a dreamcatcher hanging over it. The baby looked a lot like Mia. He heard her sharp intake of breath, clearly trying to get a handle on her emotions.

"Giselle and I bought it for her birthday from a hipster writer wanting to fund his travels aboard," Robert answered, surprising Killian. He wouldn't have pegged the man as a story tale fellow, but the doubt was withdrawn as soon as the man continued to speak, "It's a rather practical story, you see, Emma," he said, nodding his head uncomfortably at her, "and the character, Nealfire or wait, what was his name honey?"

"Baelfire," Morgan said, just as Killian supplied the name "Neal."

"Right well, Baelfire was a realm-jumping thief and Emma made an honest man out of him, and the thing is, the book was explicit in stating that they weren't true loves, but that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things because happiness, relationships and love is a choice you consciously make. I thought it was a good lesson for Morgan to learn."

"So Baelfire is real?" Giselle asked, looking at Killian with a kind smile.

"Baelfire, Neal, is dead," Emma said harshly, doing her best to temper her emotions.

"Oh," said Giselle, "I'm so sorry, Emma."

Emma had turned the book to its last page, revealing the end of the story. There was a simple uncoloured sketch of Neal hugging Emma, with the words HOME emblazoned across the page. The caption below it was one sentence.

'And in each other's arms, the savior and the thief, the lost girl and the lost boy, both found the one thing they'd been searching for their whole lives: home.

The end.'

Emma took a deep, calming breath as Killian supported her by rubbing circles on her back gently, reminding her without words that he was with her, ready for anything she might need from him.

"It's okay, I'm over it. Our story wasn't as… as fairy tale like. This… I know who wrote this book, and I think this was his way of giving me a happy ending," she mused, fixing Morgan with a smile that was meant to take the sting out of her earlier tone.

"What do you mean?" Robert asked, frowning at them.

Killian could practically see Emma deciding how much of the story she was willing to share, especially in the presence of an impressionable child.

"Let's just say the man who wrote this book, Pinocchio, by the way, made some really bad choices by meddling in my life, causing me to be put in ah... a sticky situation. The Neal in this story and I did have a son, Henry, I think you'd like him Morgan, but that's the extent of similarities. I've found my own happy ending with Killian here, and whaddya know kid, it's true love. Similar to what your parents have, I'd guess."

None of them corrected Emma's assumption, which Killian figured was similar in his case with Henry's – though the boy would never forget his father, he had taken to calling Killian dad easily enough. If anything, Giselle and Morgan shared similar features more than he could ever hope to with Henry (not that it mattered, strictly speaking) that he could not fault Emma for not knowing, at least not right away.

He met Giselle's twinkling eyes, feeling a sense of kinship as she winked at him, clearly seeing the understanding on his face about unconventional family relationships.

"I bought a book from Pinocchio?" Robert asked, letting out a laugh. "Go figure."

"I knew Pinocchio was real! Hey wait, where do you live?" Morgan enquired, the curiosity of a child shining through as she inched forward in her seat to regard Emma with admiration. Clearly, this girl knew plenty enough of Emma's story to appreciate the brave lass that she was.

"Storybrooke, Maine."

"Wait, you live in this world?" Robert asked surprised. Killian wondered why that was such an astounding fact when the man was clearly engaged to a cartoon come to life.

"Yes, it's a long story," Emma told Robert with a small smile, finally, finally relaxing into Killian's side. He let out a small breath of relief he hadn't known he'd been withholding.

"Well, I'd love to hear about it," Giselle said, and Killian could definitely see her fitting into what he'd heard about Andalasia, "I'd love to tell you a bit about where I came from too and we could share stories!"

"Fighting a dragon in New York City is still the coolest thing though," Morgan said, with a wide grin.

"Funny, so did we," Emma mused, earning a look of admiration from Robert.

"You fought a dragon here?" Killian asked, slightly surprised by this information, given how much catastrophe and notice that would have gotten.

"Yeah, it's weird, no one but us can remember it," Robert said, mussing his hair, "but Morgan's right, it was still really cool, right kiddo?"

"Dad and mom are heroes."

"Without a doubt," Killian agreed, eyes twinkling as he caught her father's gaze.

"So who was your dragon?" Robert asked, taking a sip of his tea with amusement, as if trading dragon-fighting stories was the norm.

"Maleficent," Killian and Emma answered simultaneously, giving each other a smirk before turning their attention back to their hosts.

"Wow," Robert said, eyebrow raised. "That's a heavy hitter. Mine was just my mother-in-law," he quipped.

Emma let out a guffaw, and Killian laughed both at the delightful sound of her laughter and the irony.

"Oh," said Giselle, who seemed to have made an entirely different connection, "you're all from the Enchanted Forest?"

"Yes," Emma said, not bothering to explain the semantics of her birthright since Morgan seemed to know about her role as the savior.

"Isn't Captain Hook from Neverland though?" Morgan asked, scrunching her nose at him.

"I was born in the Enchanted Forest lass, though I stayed in Neverland longer than I did anywhere else, so it's a normal assumption," he answered her.

"So you're a legitimate swash buckling pirate?"

"Not anymore," he said, directing his gaze towards Robert, "now I'm a father."

He could feel Emma practically preening in pride beside him at his declaration, and Killian felt all the better for it.

Morgan made a face at him. "But what's the fun in that? Adventures are much more fun!"

Killian couldn't help the laugh that bubbled from him, soon joined by all the adults in the room. "It's the best adventure one can ever be on, little lass. Someday, you'll know."

"A long someday, hopefully," Robert muttered, and they descended into laughter once more, a rather put out Morgan sticking her tongue at them.

"So…" Emma said, trailing off as she ran her fingers down his arms, tickling the hairs there.

"Hmm?"

Killian pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her as they snuggled under the covers.

"It's been an interesting day, no?"

"Define interesting, I thought today was rather run off the mill, honestly," he said, attempting a casual demeanor as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

He could hear the smile in her voice as she said, "Oh really? Because I swear I've never seen you been judged so hard by an 8 year old girl."

"Yeah, she was a spunky one, wasn't she?" he grumbled good-naturedly. In truth, little Morgan had charmed him, and throughout lunch he'd made an attempt to charm her in return, which had been as simple as treating her to chocolate ice cream and stories of the seven seas. There was such simplicity in children sometimes.

"She was won over in the end though," Emma said, mirroring his thoughts, "just like I was."

"Won your heart, just like I said I would, didn't I?"

"You really are a cocky bugger, you know that?"

Emma turned in his arms, pressing a light kiss to his lips, pulling back to look him in the eyes. Her expression had softened, and she was regarding him with the adoration he often felt when looking at her.

"Thank you, by the way," she said.

He didn't ask for what. He knew. After they had lunch with the Philip family, Emma had been very quiet; the only thing she had said was if they could take a boat ride out to Staten Island, taking a long leisurely walk down the F.D.R Boardwalk. Killian had patiently pointed out some interesting happenings, and after a while of sorting through her thoughts and emotions as Emma was want to do, she came back into her self and they tried their hand at bocce, hitting the balls down the asphalt courts in rather uncoordinated fashions. It was simple and easy, and Killian had enjoyed himself.

"You're welcome, my love."

"Killian," she said seriously, "I just want you to know that, I don't regret anything, and I don't wonder what if… I was just taking aback by the whole thing. I put this Neal thing to rest a long time ago, that's why I let her keep the book, it's not my happy ending, you are, because despite every crazy thing that's happened, I love you, and I just don't want you to think…"

"Emma, you don't have to explain, love. I know. I understand."

She let out a deep exhale. "I know you do. I just don't want you to think I'm taking you for granted. I love you, Killian Jones."

"And I you, Emma Jones."

"Oh, and Killian?"

"Hmm?"

The mischievous twinkle in her eyes were full force, as she said, "We didn't quite get to our park activity did we?"

He brought his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her down to his lips. "There's always tomorrow, my love."

"Yes well, I've never been known for patience, so I guess the bed will have to do for now," she said, nibbling his lips, nails dragging across his chest in a delicious fashion.

"Oh the bed will do just fine," he growled, flipping her suddenly and covering his lips with hers, aligning his body so they were flush.

They'd do just fine.

A/N: Bonus valentine chocolates for those who guessed what movie characters we met, as well as references to popular pop culture. Leave a review, that'd be swell!