A/N: Okay, so here's the deal. This little thing popped into my head in the midst of English oral exam studying…of course, at 1 a.m. So…priorities being priorities…guess which forfeited?

I had originally intended to keep this a one-shot, as I am working on a lengthier story for our favorite shipped couple (so keep a lookout for that as final exams come to a close). However, if enough encouragement and inspiration continues to slip its way into my brain, this little thing will be continued. Hope you enjoy!

Don't own it.

Based on Maroon 5's "Daylight".

"Don't go."

Two words, enough to freeze him in his tracks. She knew he would be content to watch, as he always did. At first she hadn't noticed—the creak of the door, the tall shadow emanating from the soft light before consuming her in darkness again. And then, the all-too recognizable sound of complete and utter silence. A breath, once in a while. But no beat. None. And that's how she knew. From each shift of her position, a catch in the breath, but no rapid crescendo. Just air.

She hears the door shut softly, followed by quiet but hasty footfalls. She shrinks beneath the sheets and for a moment, she realizes, she's afraid.

The shadow approaches, and she feels like a child again, burrowing beneath the covers and squeezing her eyes shut tight. The covers are ripped away though and her game of possum has come to an end. Damn.

"You knew?" he demands, and his words are harsher than she knows he means to sound. But his incredulity overtakes all efforts to keep quiet.

Emma rolls over, forcing herself to sit up halfway. "I hate to break it to you, Killian, but you have no future career in stealth. The sound of a vase connecting with my floor kind of gave you away."

"Bloody hell, Emma, I didn't think anyone heard that." He's exasperated, she can tell, and if it weren't for the look of desperation in his dark eyes, she'd say he was being sarcastic. Emma merely raises an eyebrow pointedly, and Killian glances over his shoulder quickly, before swooping in to plant a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Relax. If it hadn't been the pot it would've been the silent alarm." Killian's eyes widen in both confusion and unease, but Emma laughs softly to herself, leaning back down on her pillow, finally feeling safe. "Who do you think it's going to alarm? I am the sheriff."

"Good point, love."

And just like that, everything's quiet again. Emma finds she isn't quite sure what to say, or even do—they could have hours, or seconds, and she realizes with horror, that she can't rack her brain hard enough to find what she needs to say, let alone what she wants to. She feels him kneel down at the side of her bed, bracing his chin on his forearms as he takes the sight of her in. Emma grimaces.

"Bed head," she huffs, shoving her fingers into her thick mane of hair as she tries to calm down the wild tresses. But his lone hand shoots out and pulls her hands to a standstill, back beneath the weight of his chin and hook.

His eyes are serious. "Trust me, love, your head in no way resembles a bed."

Emma laughs softly, her breath hitching when she realizes just how real he feels—the weight of his head, the heat of his skin on hers. Her quiet laughter fades into a sigh. "You can't—this can't—"

"Shhhh, Emma-love." His hook, cold as steel, holds her hands folded in place. He lifts his head slightly, and allows his thumb to sweep the span of flesh beneath her eyes, dusting over her brows before giving her nose a gentle tap. "A man willing to fight for what he wants—"

"—deserves what he gets," Emma finishes faithfully, her tone on edge. "But Killian…" And she stops, her eyes slipping closed.

"Hey now, lass, look at me. Look at me." His fingers are on her chin, pulling her face closer to his. "I will never stop fighting this, until I have what we deserve. Emma, this is ours. What we have, everything we've created—she deserves a chance."

Emma bites her lip before narrowing her eyes at him. "This is your fault."

Hook chuckles lightly, ruffling her hair before allowing his nails to dig into the base of her scalp, clinging while his fingertips gently massage. Emma's jaw clenches at the gesture. Hair-playing has always been a weakness of hers…damn him. "Aye, love, but it takes two." His gaze flicks over his shoulder once more, before readjusting on Emma. He smiles but, she notices, it doesn't quite meet his cerulean eyes. Emma tries hard to concentrate on what her mind is pressing to the front of her thoughts. The merciless sensation of his touch sends shocks of electricity down her spine, effectively erasing all hopes of focus.

"Killian, stop." She tries to shove his arm away. His hook deftly shoots out and traps her wrists to the bed within its crisp curve. His hold on her hair only tightens, and for a moment, he jerks her head back, forcing her to hold still. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he leans forward to brush his lips along her jawline, making her watch him until his lips tug tauntingly at her earlobe.

"Now's not the time to stop, Emma."

"We don't have time, Hook," she snaps. He pulls back at that, gaze narrowing dangerously. For a moment, Emma's memory overtakes the present, and all she can see is his face closing in on hers, pressed through the bars of Rumpelstiltskin's cell, as he demeans her, claims her as worthless before Cora. Like she meant nothing. And then his lips are suddenly crashing on hers, hardly giving her room to think, let alone breathe. His lips chaste against hers, hot and demanding, selfish even.

Emma balks, jerking her head back roughly. But his hand is already twisted in her hair, guiding her back to him. "Don't you ever fight me, Emma. My name. Use it. We haven't time for games, princess."

Emma's hand, before she can think, collides painfully against his cheek. The resounding smack! is not nearly as loud as she had hoped, and she realizes her fingers barely tingle from the contact. But the hit was enough to make something dark flash through his eyes as he slowly, calculatingly, turns his head back to meet her ruthless glare. "You think I don't know a damn thing about time? You think I don't know? I've had to go at this," she gestures wildly around the room, "whole thing alone. All because you decided to sacrifice our happiness for my safety."

Killian growls. "Yes. Of course. How dare I put everything on the line so that she could have a chance." He's on his feet in seconds, untangling his fingers roughly. Emma winces at the sudden, infiltrating cold that invades her bones.

His boots thud roughly on the carpet as he makes his way towards the door. "Emma, I'm trying—"

"Try harder," she snaps, flinging back the covers. "You'll miss everything, Killian. I can't freeze time here. I can't pause the moment it happens." She makes her way to a small crib tucked by the back wall of her bedroom. She can feel Hook's eyes follow her, frozen as he leans against the doorframe. She chances a glance, and despite the seriousness of the situation, the bastard is smirking. "Oh, shove off, Killian. This isn't funny. Who's going to help me take care of it?"

"It?!"

"He, she, whatever!"

Hook pushes himself away from the door frame. Emma can feel him approach her from behind as she stares down inside the empty crib. His arms enfold her, drawing her gently into the heat of his chest. He rests his chin atop her head, and Emma can't help but think how perfectly she fits. His hook is careful to keep its distance, while his other hand reaches down to entwine with her fingers, spreading atop the rather large mound of her belly. "Emma-love, you're overdue by now, yes?" Emma nods, willing herself to soak in his warmth. "Then she must be every bit as stubborn as you are, lass. Must be a girl. My boy couldn't possibly wait to get his hands on a sword."

Emma laughs softly. "Daddy's girl. Waiting for you, I guess." She sighs. "It'll be Christmas soon." Hook tightens his hold before pulling his arms away slightly, intent on interrupting her holiday melancholy.

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Just trust me."

"Okay." She marvels at how easy it is, now, to trust him. His hand slides over her eyes, just in case.

"Are they closed?"

"…Yes."

"Emma."

She huffs. "Fine." And she closes him, despite the idiocy of his demands. His hands were over her eyes, after all. "Now what?" She could feel his hot breath against her ear. It sends chills racing down her spine; she fights back the visible shiver threatening to shake her stiff posture. He chuckles softly, sending more waves down her back. "Look, whatever this is—"

A cry interrupts her.

She freezes.

Her heart gives a painful lurch. "No."

"Open."

"No."

Hook snorts indignantly. "Really, Emma. You wouldn't close your eyes, and now you won't open them. One day your stubbornness is going to get you into an alarming amount of trouble, lass."

Just as the last words escape his mouth, Emma knocks his hand to the side, her eyes searching the darkness of the crib before they settle on a small bundle near the corner. "Is it…?"

She can feel his eyes boring into hers as he leans forward to tuck her back against his chest, chin falling into place on her shoulder. He peers around to look up at her, then redirects his gaze into the crib. "Yes."

Emma glances down. The rather large bump around her midsection has vanished. Her voice comes out weaker than she means it to. "How?"

"Same way I'm here with you, love."

She can feel her eyes growing hot, but she isn't quick enough to wipe away a hot trail that has made its way down her cheek. "So it's not—"

He interrupts her with a searing kiss, twisting her around and backing her up against the crib. The bars dig into her lower back but she doesn't care with him pressed flush against her like this. Every inch of him, commanding her attention. Emma gives in, throwing her arms around his neck and threading her fingers through his thick hair. His hook accidentally catches her arm, but she ignores the pain. When she finally pulls away for air, Hook chuckles as she suddenly shoves him away and reaches down to scoop up the bundle. He stops her for a moment, pulling her wrist back up to his eye level.

"Told you I knew she was a lass." He pauses as Emma abruptly turns on him, gently slipping the fussing baby into Hook's arms. He's careful to leave his hook tucked down, letting his left arm support the bundle as his right comes up to cradle her head. Emma watches him freeze in tension. She takes a few steps back, watching them, before lifting up her fingers as if holding a camera. Her finger clicks down on the imaginary shutter button and she clicks her tongue—hoping the action will somehow frame this moment in her memory.

Emma sighs. "Family. My family." Hook unwillingly tears his gaze away from the gurgling child, eyes softening.

"Emma, we haven't got much time." He bends down to place the baby—their baby—back in the crib. Emma blinks and she's gone. The walls of the house, too, seem to be fading quickly, blurring hazily as her eyes burn hotly.

"You're not here every night. I don't know when I'll see you again." Her lip trembles, and she hates herself for feeling so weak and vulnerable. But here, her defenses are down. "It'll be Christmas soon," she repeats stubbornly, thinking almost that simple fact will be enough to keep him here.

Hook reaches out with his good hand and tugs her close. His eyes catch hold of her bleeding wrist, where he'd nicked her with his hook. "Sorry, love." Emma shrugs; the wound is dry and forgotten. He wraps his left arm around her waist, allowing the coolness of his hook to rest against the small of her back. He takes a moment to haul her up and against him, before lowering her socked toes down on his boots. Emma's eyes slip closed as he presses her head tenderly to his chest. Here, she can hear it. The steady drumming. And then his chest rumbles softly, and she realizes he's humming. Their bodies begin to sway. Emma nearly laughs aloud. "You dance?"

Hook huffs, offended. "I may be a buccaneer, love, but I still have some bloody class."

Emma grins. "Right. Of course you do." He tightens his hold, gripping her closer and breathing in the scent of her hair.

"When daylight comes, you know where I'll be."

"Shut up. I don't want to think about that yet." The room begins to quake, and Emma knows her subconscious knows. It's a dream. Reality is setting in, tearing down the walls and stripping her imagination of its existence.

"When daylight comes," he repeats, pulling back his head until she looks back at him. He brings their hands between them, placing them gently over her heart. "I'll be—"

Emma's eyes open. The sun is breaking through her curtains. She runs a shaky hand through her hair, sitting up without a glance at the empty crib. One hand finds her stomach, splaying protectively over the smooth bump. The other rests flush over her chest. She stares at the light pouring in. And she can't, for the life of her, remember why the words Right Here are searing through her mind.

A soft jolt knocks against Emma's hand. She glances down, then smiles. "Right, breakfast. Okay, kiddo." Emma pulls on a ragged sweatshirt, standing up to face the day—completely oblivious of the dried blood on her wrist.

A/N: Enjoy? I know it's a bit sad, but let's face it—with those two separated, it's going to be somewhat of a sad story.

Please review