"C'mon, Mom," Emma pleaded, leaning up against the kitchen counter, "It's not like anything bad can happen."
"That's because the only thing worse involves your death," she retorted. Mary Margaret's scolding finger wagged at her, mid-putting away clean dishes while dinner finished in the oven. "You're spending your spring break here, just as we always planned."
"Pleaseeee," Emma whined. "Mom, Killian's all alone in the dorms."
From over her shoulder, Mary Margaret glared at her daughter. "I thought you said he was at a tournament."
"For the beginning of break, yeah." Mary Margaret scoffed and continued placing bowls in the cupboard. Emma scrubbed her forehead in frustration. "But everyone else lives in the country, so they're going home. Please?"
The fringes of her mother's pixie cut trembled as she shook her head, not even chancing a glance behind her, just focusing on the dish rack that was quickly emptying. "This discussion is finished until your father gets home."
Emma groaned and couldn't help but think Why me?
Things had been tense in the Nolan household since Emma arrived home for break. Her mother was still a little off from the ending of Emma's last visit. Neither had yet to say anything on the topic. In fact, they hadn't really talked much alone, save for the occasional discussion while Emma spent her time on the bathroom floor and Mary Margaret combed through her hair and the daily reminder for Emma to eat well. They might not have been on the best terms, but if Mary Margaret was born to do anything, it was be a mother, through thick and thin. And, though she wouldn't say it aloud, Emma wanted to be mothered. After all, she might be one, if not now, then someday perhaps. It's not like there were mothering classes online: every mother learned from their mother in a generational lineage of experience.
A riff like this was harmful not just to the mother-daughter relationship in the loft, but David as well. He'd spent more time at the station lately under the pretense of more cases when in actuality he just wanted to stay away from the estrogen in excess at his house. He barely survived his wife's mood swings when she was pregnant close to two decades ago. But now with his already-sassy daughter in the same condition and in a fight with her bottled emotions mother… it was safe to say that David loved his girls, but they could tone down their feelings a little.
Like a child mid-tantrum, Emma mumbled heated words at her mother as she stomped up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door shut. Her back against the door, she clonked the crown of her head against the wood. Just a couple more days.
Almost as if it could tell her sour mood, her phone dinged. She squinted at the lit screen from its place next on her bedside table. Groaning again, who would possibly be trying to talk to me, Emma picked it up.
A text from Killian, of course, who was on the bus from the tournament back to campus with his other selected teammates.
Hey beautiful. How's holiday?
Despite her spat with her mom, she couldn't help but smile. He'd asked her that every day since she bid him goodbye in front of the gym. While she slept till noon and stayed up until all hours watching TV and reading, he'd been forced to live like he worked a 9-to-5 job with practices and matches and general boxing camaraderie. But every day, without fail, she'd received that exact same text.
Slowly descending into madness, she responded, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. Despite having just been seated at the kitchen counter, the short ascent up the stairs winded her and made her sore in the oddest of places.
A few minutes later, Emma was treated to another text. Why would you say that, love?
She sighed. Mom doesn't want me to come back.
Whyever not?
Scrunching her face, she released a frustrated noise and removed her phone from its charging wire. She doesn't want me in the dorm without Neal as backup, she texted back, scooting so her head rested on her pillow.
Radio silence ensued from his end for the next few minutes. She waited patiently, taking deep breaths through the nose to calm herself down, then sent another Hello? text to make sure he was still there and the bus hadn't got into an accident. Because that would be my luck and his.
Killian answered, much to her relief.
I must be mistaken. Neal as backup?
She rolled her eyes. Now you see my dilemma.
Swan, have you told your parents he's the father of their grandchild?
…yes?
Swan…
I don't know how to tell them.
Emma.
Don't Emma me. Even states away, Emma could tell he had a disapproving look on his face. Eh was probably rubbing his hand acorss his face in a feeble attempt to keep from punching whomever he was sitting next to in her stead. She sighed again and scratched her nose, thinking of the proper way to express her concerns. Look, the moment I tell them, they're going to expect something from him.
So?
You know how much I want that.
She imagined his shoulder shrug when he sent back Truth enough.
Just as she finished reading Killian's admittance, Emma heard the slam of the front door. Dad.
She hopped from her bed and jogged down the stairs. David was hanging his coat and his badge up on the rack right inside the door. He barely had time to pull his arm from the sleeve when Emma caught him around his waist and nestled into his chest, her ear resting over his rapidly beating heart.
"Oof," he grunted, startled by her force. Cautiously, he returned his daughter's embrace. "Hi there, princess."
With a charming smile just like her dad's, Emma looked up and said, "Hi Daddy."
Suspiciously gently, David patted her on the back and pushed her to arm's length. "What's up?"
Emma shrugged with as much innocent as she could muster. "Nothing much."
David shook his head. He let go of her completely, and replaced his grasp with a pointed finger and the other hand on his hip in scolding. "No, something's up. The last time you greeted me like that and called me 'Daddy,' your forehead hit my stomach." Emma felt a slight blush of embarrassment crawl up her cheeks and she shyly tried to hide her tactic from her father's prying eyes. "So I'll ask again: what's up?"
Huffing through her nose, she internally chided herself. She was her daddy's little girl; she couldn't conceal anything from him, at least not for long, even if she tried. So she relented and sighed, arms coming to cross over her chest. "Mom won't let me go back to school early."
"Why would you want to go back to school early?" David asked, his head cocking toward his shoulder. With a hand on her shoulder, he began ushering her toward the living room to sit. "Weren't you begging to come home not too long ago?"
"Well, I want to go back now," she supplied matter-of-factly.
"Sick of your folks already?" her father jested, dragging her into his side and ruffling her hair.
"She wants to go visit a boy," Mary Margaret yelled from the kitchen. When David and Emma looked up, she came into their view and placed lasagna fresh from the oven on the table and motioned her family over to eat. "I'm inclined to keep her here because of the mouth she gave me earlier," she added, sharing a glance with her husband.
David gave Emma a chastising look while she took her seat and sheepishly doodled on her empty plate. Mary Margaret spoke again, serving herself some food.
"I don't think she should go back if her R.A. isn't there," she said. "That's the entire reason you came home, so they can have a break."
Say it, Emma's conscience begged her. Just tell them now, you're on the topic. She shook her head in a short movement, not wanting to alert her parents to the internal debate she'd been fighting. Just blurt it out. 'I don't give a fuck about my R.A. because mine knocked me up.'
Whether it was from the debacle she fought or the topic in general, Emma paled a little bit. Always one to keep an eye out for her, David took notice. "Who's the guy?" he asked.
Setting her fork down, Emma responded, "Killian, Dad. He had a tournament and he's coming back to campus early because he can't fly across the ocean and be back in time for classes to start." She sat up straight in her chair and leaned into the table for emphasis, focusing only on David. "Dad, you know I wouldn't say this normally, but I really wanna go. You can trust him. I trust him."
Grey-blue eyes ricocheted from Mary Margaret to Emma and back again. Emma was a little uncomfortable at her acceptance and realization. I do trust him. Huh.
David looked at his wife, crinkling his forehead in confusion. "I don't see why she can't go."
Relief and happiness washed over Emma. A breath she didn't know she was holding released itself.
"What?" Mary Margaret asked dubiously.
"Honey, I know you don't know this kid and you think that he..." David stumbled as he tried to think of a nice way to say 'fucked with our lives,' but settled for just pointing in the general direction of Emma's stomach. She rolled her eyes and sighed, relaxing back into her chair and contented herself with being grumpy. "Did this, but I'm going to vouch for him. He didn't seem like all that bad a guy when I met him. Besides," he paused, trying to disguise a grin, "Emma trusts him."
Mary Margaret deliberated, glaring at her husband at his refusal to agree with her. Emma bit the inside of her cheek, hoping that her father's reasoning was just sound enough to persuade her mother.
Sighing with stoicism, Mary Margaret's shoulders deflated an inch. "Fine. Just this once." While Emma silently celebrated, she added, "But I'm taking you and I want to meet this Killian."
A little too giddily, Emma nodded. "That's totally fine." She got up from the table, leaving her dinner mostly untouched, and hugged her still-seated parents. "Thank you so much." Making a brief pit stop to drop her plate in the sink, she booked it upstairs to tell Killian the news. Yes, he's going to be so excited.
Her father's voice stopped her.
"Why didn't you just invite him over here?"
Emma turned around, one foot on the bottom step and her eyes squinted in confusion. "You punched him in the face."
"So?" David shrugged.
"So, how do you think that conversation went in my head? 'Hey Dad, can the guy you thought knocked me up but actually didn't but you punched him in the face for my honor and to prove your authority come over?'" She tilted her head and raised one corner of her mouth to make a face that reminded David that she might have been born at night, but not that night.
He smiled and waved her away. "Just keep it in mind for future reference."
Shaking her head in disbelief and perplexity, Emma continued up the stairs. At the top of the steps, she overheard her mother whisper "Did you really punch this kid in the face?" and her father respond "What? He waltzed into my pregnant daughter's room. What else was I supposed to do?"
She couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. Her parents, while sometimes pieces of work, were hers and never would she change that.
Her smile widened immensely when she reached for her phone and texted Killian her affirmative answer.
Better make your bed. I don't plan on sleeping on the floor.
Even if you weren't in your delicate condition, I wouldn't dare dream of it.
"He's so full of himself," Emma scoffed to herself. Then she tapped out another text. Also, you're going to have to meet my mother.
Is she going to punch me in the face too?
She laughed out loud. Only if you're on your best behavior.
Around you? Always am.
a/n: its been too long, pumpkins. i apologize immensely. the semester from hell is (finally) beginning to wind down and ive just gotten to the point where i dont care anymore. which means good news for you and bad news for my gpa. oops? also, i sort of lied to you last chapter. time jumps start in the next chapter and then things get moving, but ill be sure to tell you somewhere in context where we are.
IN OTHER NEWS, THIS STORY REACHED 200 FOLLOWERS YESTERDAY AND I THINK THAT YOU GUYS ARE THE COOLEST CATS OUT THERE. thank you, every single one of you, for your reviews and wandering minds and likes and favorites and whatever other things you guys are doing to this story that im sure ive forgotten. you're the bestest.
as always, feel free to leave a word and i will (hopefully) see you before december. muah.