A/N: Major trigger warnings for this chapter if you're sensitive to the subject of abortion.

Killian led his wife across the estate grounds, anxious about the location he'd chosen for their picnic. What if she didn't like it? It was hardly an elegant venue, and yet he felt certain it was one the old Emma would like. He saw flashes of her sometimes, lingering remnants of the Emma he'd fallen in love with so long ago; such moments gave him great a great, but cautious hope for the future. But it was the other moments, the more frequent ones of indifference and despondence that worried him. Emma's moods were unpredictable at the best of times. And what might have pleased Emma in her youthful innocence might be received very differently in the aftermath of her trauma. There was so much Killian didn't know about that night, or about her relationship with Neal, and it was all too easy to accidentally reawaken Emma's trauma in his ignorance.

Yet no matter how much she had been forced to change, Killian knew instinctively that underneath it all, pieces of the old Emma were still in there. He just needed to convince her that it was okay to share them again; that it was safe to do so. That they, and all the other new parts of her that were being conceived and formed in the aftermath of her trauma, could be loved. Were loved.

"Can I open my eyes now?" Emma asked, her voice muffled by the scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face.

"Not quite," he answered. "Just a few minutes more. We're almost there."

If the situation had been different, Killian might have insisted that Emma wear a blindfold until they reached their destination. Given all that she had been through, however, he was deeply reluctant to suggest even a gentle restraint on any part of her person. Killian knew instinctively that if there was one thing Emma really needed in her life right now, it was to feel in charge of her own life, to take back the sense of control and autonomy that Neal had stolen from her. And that meant having complete agency over her own body, insofar as it was at all possible, considering the pregnancy.

He opened the stable door with a gloved hand and carefully guided Emma inside, speaking to her in low tones as he did so, lest she stumble. The door shut with a swish of cold air, and Killian pushed back the hood of his cloak, grateful for the warmer atmosphere of the stable. "Keep your eyes closed," he directed her, slipping his hand out of hers, "but let me have the basket, love."

Emma made a face, surrendering the basket. "You're enjoying this far too much," she grumbled.

Killian grinned with amusement as he walked to the other end of the stable. The rectangular bales of hay had been stacked two deep in a U shape, with a layer of fresh hay spread between either end. Killian set the picnic basket on the floor and retrieved the blanket he'd set aside earlier. He spread it over the loose hay, careful not to disturb the warm gin jars buried in the hay along the perimeter of the bales.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well for one thing, I can smell the horses," she pointed out, the corners of her mouth quirking into a smug smile. "So the suspense is sort of gone now."

"The fatal flaw in my plan," he sighed. "All right," he grumbled playfully, "you might as well open your eyes then, Miss Impatience."

Her eyes flew open, and Killian was struck dumb for a moment at their sparkling brilliance.

"I'm sorry," she laughed, walking over to join him. "I didn't mean to-" Her eyes widened when she took in the preparations that Killian and the stable hands had made for the picnic. "So that's where it went!" she exclaimed. "I thought I was going cra-" She broke off suddenly, her expression pained and full of shame.

Killian frowned. He wondered just how much of the group and rumors had penetrated to Emma's awareness in the last few months. He knew her parents had done their best to shield her from them, but even so, the servants did talk. Who knew what they might have whispered in her presence if they thought that she wasn't listening?

"I thought I lost that," she amended gruffly.

"Perhaps I should have mentioned I was taking it," he apologized.

"Never mind that," she shook her head. "We're married. What's mine is yours." She snatched up the basket in one fluid motion. "And likewise, right?" she demanded, turning toward him with an earnestness of expression that startled him.

"Yes, of course," he agreed. He watched while she knelt down and opened the basket. She began to unpack its contents with swift, methodical movements of her fingers, sneaking glances at Killian now and then that unsettled him. "What's the matter?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.

"Nothing," she mumbled.

Killian neither missed the flush of her cheeks, nor the lie in her voice. Observing her more closely for several silent moments, he became aware of two things: that Emma was no longer sneaking looks his way, and that her focus as she finished unpacking the basket was noticeably intense-as if such a task required every last ounce of her attention or she might fly apart at the seams at any moment.

Had he embarrassed her? Killian rubbed the back of his neck again, feeling foolish. And here again he'd somehow managed to bungle things up without even understanding what was really going on. Killian felt as if he were trying to find his way out of a darkened labyrinth, and every time his eyes finally started to adjust to the darkness, a flare of light blinded him again, causing him to stumble and lose his way once more.

"I feel the need to warn you," Emma said, interrupting his thoughts, "that when chef Louis heard me request food to take on a picnic for us, he took that request very seriously."

Killian groaned.

"He seems to labor under the impression that food is the key to winning hearts and securing marital happiness," she grinned.

"So I've heard." He surveyed the food that she'd set out. "What is all this? There's enough here to feed a small army!"

"Or a pregnant woman," she pointed out with a bluntness that surprised him. "It's lucky for both of us that I'm starving, so we won't have to hurt his feelings by returning with most of this uneaten. Especially the things I made."

He blinked in surprise. "You made some of this?" He surveyed the food spread out on the blanket beside the basket and shook his head. Emma hadn't been kidding. To say that chef Louis had gotten carried away with food for the picnic was an understatement. There was cold chicken breast and lobster salad, small meat pies, cucumber sandwiches, fruit tartlettes, slices of thick, freshly baked bread and a crock of preserves to spread over them, smoked salmon and sweet potato croquettes, tea cakes sprinkled with cinnamon, and at least four different types of chocolate dessert that Killian could see.

"Yes." She pointed peremptorily to a spot beside her. "Now sit."

Killian sat. "Let me guess," he teased, "you made all of the chocolate foods."

"Ha ha," she retorted dryly. "Just for that, you're going to pay, Jones."

A strange shiver coursed through Killian. He'd spent years wishing he could be close enough to Emma to hear her whisper his given name, rather than his rank. But nothing had prepared him for hearing her use his surname with such friendly humor. And though it was meant to be lighthearted, he found it a thousand times more intimate and appealing than all of his fantasies about Emma using his given name. Here she was, come out from hiding. His Emma. His beautiful, spirited, and sarcastic Emma. And she was talking to him with such ease and good humor that he wasn't altogether certain he wasn't dreaming.

Killian responded with an edge of flirtatiousness to his words, as if this were an ordinary picnic, a normal courtship ritual, with no walls between them and no chance of scaring her into retreat. "Do tell, love," he teased back with a smile.

Confusion dawned in her eyes for a moment, and her face burned the color of an evening sunset. Killian watched in breathless amazement as Emma's eyes darted around, unable to settle anywhere near his person. She was still here, he marveled. She hadn't run from him and disappeared into herself again. Surely this was a dream.

"Yes," she said returned, squaring her shoulders when she had composed herself again. "I'm going to exact a little revenge. Close your eyes."

He complied easily, his spirits still buoyed by the fact that they were getting along so well for the moment. "Now what?"

"I'm going to feed you a bite of two dishes," she informed him, "and you have to guess which one I made and which one chef Louis made."

"But I've eaten as a guest at the Westensee's table for years," he protested. "I'm rather familiar with chef Louis's food."

"Humor me," she said blandly.

Humor her he did. And although the bites of food she fed him were all wonderful, he hesitated for only the briefest of seconds on a couple of the dishes before he pronounced which one was which.

"Drat," she sighed, after she allowed him to open his eyes. "You got all of them right."

"Sorry, love. I did warn you."

"Yes," she agreed, reaching for some of the food for herself. "One of these days I'm going to get you, though," she threatened around a mouthful of chocolate cake.

"I'm certain you will, at that," he agreed, reaching for a more substantial portion of the food. He watched her for a moment with mild amusement. "Emma, I realize I'm inviting trouble by interfering with a pregnant woman and her food, but shouldn't you eat something more...substantial...than cake?" he finished diplomatically.

"Probably," she admitted, after finishing off the last bite, "but it sounded so good. My mouth's been watering for a piece since I saw it in the kitchens." She surveyed the food with an indecisive expression. "All right, fine. I'll eat something else. I promised chef Louis I would, anyway."

He blinked. Jealousy followed quick on the heels of surprise. Louis had managed to extract such a promise from his wife? He knew the grumpy old chef could be direct to a fault-pushy, even-but Killian had never imagined that he'd have been so bold as to take Emma to task for her eating habits. Still, the old chef watched every dish that entered and left his kitchen with an eagle eye. He was certain to have noticed how much Emma hadn't been eating for much of their visit. And whether it was from concern or ego, Louis was apparently going to take advantage of that now that Emma's appetite seemed to be growing.

Killian knew he was being irrational. He was glad that someone had gotten through to Emma about taking care of herself. Baby or no baby, she needed to eat better and get more rest. Killian had been trying to get through to Emma about these things for months. And while there had been progress, however grudging or halting at times, it still felt like trying to roll a boulder uphill. He ought to feel grateful to have an ally (and an effective one at that), however temporary it was.

"He's right, love," Killian said gently.

"About what?" she said, taking a bite of one of the croquettes.

"Eating better."

She finished the croquette and started in on another before she answered, "What does it look like I'm doing?" Smiling, Killian watched her as she finished that one and then devoured a third croquette. "I don't even like salmon," she told him with a shake of her head after she finished it.

"A prejudice which I've never quite understood, myself."

"Anyway, it's not like I have much of a choice but to eat, at this point," she said with a trace of bitterness.

"Emma," he hesitated, reluctant to ruin the happy atmosphere they had managed to maintain up until now, "I generally make it my policy not to pry for information, but...how do you feel about the baby?"

She retreated into herself again the moment he let the question fall from his lips. He could have kicked himself, and yet it was something that needed to be addressed between them at some point.

"It doesn't matter how I feel," she said flatly.

"Of course it does. Particularly if the reason you haven't been eating well is because you don't want it."

Her laugh was sharp and bitter. "I haven't been eating because I felt fucking terrible! You'd think people might realize that, the way I hardly kept down more than my tea and a mouthful of crackers for the past four months! But no, it's always push, push, push to eat for the baby! Even from my own mother! My mother, who cares much more about her precious royal legacy and the next generation's heir than she does about her own damned daughter!"

"Emma," he sighed wearily. "I don't think it's like that at all. Your mother loves you deeply, you know that."

"Maybe," she said sullenly. "But it doesn't matter anyway. I don't have a choice at this point."

Killian frowned. "Why do you keep saying that?"

Something in Emma snapped. Her eyes flashed with a fury and self-loathing that chilled Killian to his core. "Because I was going to kill the little parasite!" she shouted, leaping to her feet. Several of the horses startled in their stalls in response. "Is that what you want to hear?! Aunt Ruby could smell it in me before I was even due for my cycle! Do you know how that feels, to not even have control enough over your life to be able to wait out your own body to see if you're pregnant?! To be informed of it like you're a bystander to your own body?" She paced back and forth, more agitated than Killian had ever seen her.

"Emma..." He rose to his feet, his arms aching with the need to hold her, to soothe her and make everything better, but afraid that any attempt on his part would only make things worse.

"Aunt Ruby sneaked a potion into my room," Emma said more calmly-indeed, almost clinically, "procured from an apothecarist who specializes in..." She stopped, closing her eyes, and took several deep breaths. "It was all so simple," she whispered. Killian had the distinct feeling that she was no longer talking to him, but to herself. "All I had to do was drink it. It would've bled out just the same as if it was my normal monthly, and no one would've ever known the difference. Not my mom, not my dad. Not anyone but Aunt Ruby."

"What happened?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," she wailed, tears streaming down her face. "I don't know," she repeated. "I was scared. What if it didn't work? And then what if it did? What if I was relieved afterward? What if I wasn't?" She sniffed, scrubbing at her face, and Killian quietly offered her his handkerchief. She bobbed her head at him in thanks, then blew her nose in a rather indelicate manner that might have made him smile had the situation not been as grave as it was.

"I couldn't make a decision, so I buried it a trunk for later, after I cleared my head." She swallowed. "But I couldn't stop thinking about it for several days, not for a single second. And the more I thought about it, the more I hated Neal. Hated that I even had to be in this position to begin with, to make that kind of decision." She sniffed again. "And the more I hated Neal, the more I wanted to get rid of it because it was part of him."

"But you didn't," he observed without judgment. "Why was that, if you hated it so much for being his?"

"Because it was mine, too," she whispered fiercely. "Part of it was conceived from part of me. Maybe...maybe that doesn't make any sense. But once the thought crept into my head, I couldn't get it out. And I couldn't go through with it, either. I was a coward."

"You are not a coward," he said firmly. "You made one of the most difficult decisions anyone could be faced with," he told her, "all by yourself. That's not cowardice, Emma. It's bravery. You didn't rush into anything. You made the best decision you could at the time. "

She looked unconvinced, but didn't press the point. "The servants noticed my lack of a monthly soon after that, and my parents were notified." She sighed. "I didn't even get the chance to tell them myself," she whispered miserably. "So I don't really know how I feel about this baby," she finished tiredly, "but it's coming now, whether I want it or not. The time for choices is gone."

"That's not necessarily true. You don't have to raise the child."

She stared at him in confusion. "You mean...give it away?"

"Place it in a good home, yes."

"But my mother would never agree to that. She would never turn a family member away. Family is one of the most important things in the world to her. Look at Regina. She's spent years trying to destroy my mother and take the kingdom by force, and Snow still holds out the hope that they can mend their relationship someday. She'd welcome Regina back with open arms and a kingdom-wide feast in a heartbeat, if Regina showed any indication of wanting peace. If she's that determined about the step-mother that's tried to murder her for half of her life, why wouldn't she be just as determined to preserve the potential heir I carry, also in the name of family?"

"But Emma, you are her family, too," he reminded her. "And I think she'd do anything if she thought it was your best chance for a good life," he said quietly. "And the baby's. But then, it's not really her decision to make, is it?"

Her brow furrowed. "But what about the political implications? If Regina, who's only related through marriage and has no legitimate claim to the throne can dedicate her entire life to trying to overthrow the kingdom, think about the problems a legitimate heir with blood ties might present."

"Emma, love," he told her gently, "you don't have to make the decision right now. There's plenty of time to sort out how you feel and what you want to do. Just know that if you decide to give the baby a different home, I will support you in that, no matter how your parents may feel."

A terrible, cautious hope dawned in her eyes, warring with the skepticism written across her face. "You would?" she whispered. "Really?"

"Of course, love. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

"But...Neal always..." She inhaled sharply, starting to shake.

Killian, fearing she would fall, reached for her. She flinched away from his touch, looking both ashamed and apologetic. "It's all right, darling," he soothed, "He's not here. He can't hurt you anymore. Sit down. That's a lass." He poured her a cup of cider. "Drink. It will help."

He watched her gulp down the sweet beverage. "Better?" he asked, once she finished.

"A little." She held her cup out to him with a silent plea. He obliged with a smirk, and Emma finished the second cup before she finally spoke again. "Killian? Why are you so nice to me?"

Recognizing the familiar question that lurked beneath the surface, he sighed inwardly and reminded himself that it was going to take a great deal of time to convince her that he could be trusted, and that he had no ulterior motives. "Because I like you, Emma," he said honestly. "I always have."

She frowned, as if trying to process his words. "I don't understand. We barely knew each other."

"Aye, that's true in some ways," he agreed. "But I suppose I've always recognized something similar to myself in you. A kindred spirit, if you will."

"Kindred spirit?" she echoed, as if testing out the words. "And that's why you want to be friends?"

"Yes."

"And not because you want the-the same thing Neal did?" she asked haltingly, eyeing him with a fearful expression.

Killian put every ounce of patience he possessed into answering her, because as tired as he was of having this same conversation over and over, he knew that she was seeking a much-needed reassurance every time she asked it, much like a child testing a parent's affection. She needed to be confident of his intentions and his presence before she could heal from the hurts that Neal had inflicted on her. And from all that Emma had indicated, they were legion.

"Emma," he began, "I have never lied to you about the fact that I'm not exactly averse to a conjugal relationship in addition to our friendship. But as I've said before, I will not force you. If-and only if-you desire more intimate contact between us, it will be up to you to initiate it. Does that satisfy?"

She nodded quickly, her cheeks burning pink once more.

"Good. Now let's eat more of this food, or chef Louis will think we don't like it, and you don't want to see what happens after that."

"That bad?" she wondered, reaching for some of the chicken.

"Let's just say that the last time I didn't finish my stuffed crab, it sent him into hysterics the likes of which hadn't been seen since Ariel and Eric's wedding."

"Really? What happened?" she asked, her eyes afire with curiosity. "Everybody gossips about it, but I still don't quite understand what went on."

"Ah," he grinned. "Now that is quite the tale..."