She didn't tell a soul. Had no plans to. Not that she normally would, but especially given the circumstances. It was the one souvenir from London she got to keep to herself.

Emma woke the next morning as if nothing was different. Wonderful smells wafted from the small kitchen, meaning Killian had made the three of them breakfast, Liam home from work for the morning. When she asked the elder Jones why, he said he woke with a headache and nausea, remnants of the night he had had previously, something she could relate to on a spiritual level.

(He stayed to make sure she was okay, that they were okay.)

(She appreciated the gesture more than words could say.)

Despite the doctor's orders to take it easy – though even the good physician did realize the absurdity of his request – Emma insisted on doing something.

"Honestly, both of you," she whined over a plate of eggs and bacon, "I'm fine. The doctor said I was fine. I am fine."

"But you shouldn't overexert yourself," Killian reasoned.

"Little brother's got a fine point." Liam's mouth was full of eggs and his next words were muffled by the coffee he gulped down behind them. "Shouldn't walk all too much."

She groaned because everywhere they go involves walking too much. The Jones brothers rolled their eyes.

Emma got her way regardless. Some clever turns of phrase and a fluttering of her lashes tricked them into thinking the plan was a compromise. She spent the afternoon walking through the halls of the Victoria and Albert Museum, Killian by her side. They took frequent breaks at Killian's behest, sitting on a nearby park benches and taking the elevator when there were no museum curators to send them nasty looks.

The rest of her trip flew by much the same. Everything – every single place and experience (except drinking in a pub, but they do have dinner in one, so that counts, right?) on her list – got a dark line through it by the time Emma boarded her plane at the end of the week.

She didn't cry when Liam hugged her tightly the night before her departure. He couldn't escort them to the airport because someone has to make a living.

"You're an absolute delight, Emma," he murmured in her ear. "I'm so glad you got to visit." The man pulled her closer than she could imagine and, in an even gentler voice, whispered, "Thank you for watching over my little brother. You are the light of his life."

(She did blush, though. A hell of a lot.)

She didn't cry when Killian kissed her forehead at the airport gates.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"I have no choice," she said, shifting her backpack on her shoulder. "It's either I suffer through a seven hour flight or stay here."

"I think the choice is obvious then: you stay here."

His smirk widened when she slapped his arm. Killian yanked her close, like his brother did hours earlier, and pressed his lips to her forehead again. "Be careful." He pulled back and looked pointedly at her stomach. "Both of you."

"We will," she reassured him. "I'll talk to you soon?"

"Text me when you land, yeah?"

"Of course."

(She couldn't say goodbye to him, just 'see you later.' Goodbye was too permanent.)

She finally broke down when she sat at the gate. The flight attendant called for first boarding and the levees cracked. She found her seat in 25C and some of the walls fell apart. It wasn't until they lifted off that silent tears flowed down her cheeks. As soon as the fasten seatbelt sign flashed off, Emma unbuckled and headed back to the flight attendant station, her chest rising and falling much too fast.

Her adventure was over. It was back to the real world. The frightening, all-too-real real world, where she's going back to school with a baby.

Growing up sucked.

0000

Emma was pretty sure the plane's wheels touched down at Logan and her desire to do absolutely anything but lay on her couch and catch up on Real Housewives skyrocketed. She didn't want to move.

But, as was often the case, everything needed to be done. Once her tears dried up, thanks mostly in part to the lovely Marian, her personal flight attendant friend, the nerves settled in. She'd been so preoccupied with getting back into school and living a life before motherhood that she realized approximately 40,000 feet up how unprepared she was. The baby had no place to sleep, nor clothes to wear, nor roof over its head. Nothing.

Her father's awaited her on the other side of the gate. She barely greeted him, was barely outside of her father's arms when she pulled back with fear in her eyes.

"What's wrong, princess?"

"Dad, I have nothing." She fumbled for words. "I'm not prepared. I don't have a crib or a house or clothes. Dad, what am I going to do?" She was breathless and gulped at the air to refill her lungs.

His smile was familiar, welcome after hours on a plane with strangers and a fortnight away from home. Even though he chuckled at her antics (they aren't antics, they are very reasonable worries) it was comforting. "Calm down, honey. It'll all be okay. I'm sure your mother has some old baby clothes of yours around." He rubbed her shoulder. "Everything will be okay."

"But Dad-"

"No," he stopped her. "No, don't worry about it. You just got back on American soil." He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Let's get you home, get some food and some Zzz's in you." David grabbed her carry-on from her shoulder and urged her to the exit. "How was your flight? How was your trip? Tell me all about it."

The inquiry proved to be a successful distraction. Emma spent the entire ride home recounting her time across the pond. She told him about the stained glass windows of Westminster Abbey and the food at Robin Hood's Pub by the flat. She filled the hour and a half back home with tales and amendments to other stories. By the time they pulled up on the street in front of their apartment, Emma had forgotten her worries.

"Oh, and I got you and Mom something," she offhandedly told her father as the walk in the front door. She started digging around in her bag for their souvenir – real, genuine Earl Grey tea her parents both enjoyed far too much – but her mother's voice halted her in her search.

"Is that my Emma?" she called from the kitchen. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, Mary Margaret appeared from behind the counter. She held her arms open wide. "C'mere."

Emma's face broke out into a wide grin and she caught her mother up in her arms. "Mom." And just like when she greeted her father, the worries came back. "Mom, I have nothing. I'm not ready for this kid, I'm not ready to go back to school. I'm just not ready."

Her mother's face fell for a second, but the look disappeared as soon as it manifested. "Honey, you're jetlagged. Go upstairs and take a nap. I'll make you a sandwich afterwards and then we can talk about this rationally." Conspiratorially, she whispered, "I also want to hear all about your trip."

Numbly, Emma took her bag upstairs (I'll give them their souvenir later) because now that she was actually home, fatigue drooped her eyelids and her bed called out her name. She did, though, manage to unearth her phone from her bag before falling onto her bed. Her eyes grew heavier as she turned her phone back on.

The incessant chiming of her phone stunned her from unconsciousness temporarily. Sixteen texts and a skype request from Killian lit up her screen. Groaning, Emma had barely enough energy to send him a message back. Home. Tired. Okay. Night.

It'd have to suffice for now. She nodded off shortly after and woke refreshed about an hour or so later. It was early evening now, somewhere around dinner time or bedtime on Emma's body clock. To be honest, since she stepped foot off the plane, she'd had no clue what time it was. Only that the sun was still up, but slowly sinking.

Like a drunkard, Emma stumbled down the stairs, narrowly catching herself on the railing three time. Her mom was seated on the couch, sipping at some tea, but turned her head when she heard the stairs creak.

"Hey there," Emma rasps.

"Hi honey," Mary Margaret said quietly. She stood, observing her daughter, trying to read her mood over her mug. "You hungry?"

Emma nodded. "Can you make me some macaroni? Or a grilled cheese?" She wiped at her eyes, ridding them of sleep. "I just really want cheese."

Mary Margaret laughed. "I can do both. Why don't you sit down and we'll talk."

Doing as she said, Emma waited for the clanking and clattering her mother made as she retrieved the appropriate pots and pans to quiet down. She had no way to predict what topic her mother would choose to lead with, but she had a good idea of where the conversation would start.

"So," her mother led when the pot of water was on the stove. "You were in the hospital."

Inhaling through her nose, Emma prepared herself for the storm of a response sure to come. "I was."

"Did you lie to me about what Mulan said?"

"No, no, not at all!" That launched her into the entire story, Milah included because she had been holding that all to herself and she just couldn't any longer. This was her mom, the woman who had literally been there since the beginning.

Her mother listened carefully, uncharacteristically didn't interrupt her, merely sips at her cup of tea.

"I am fine." Emma ended her tale firmly. "I feel fine. Sore and tired, but fine." She peeked over her mother's shoulder, standing on the footrest of the barstool and sitting back down. "And hungry."

Her mother rolled her eyes and set her mug down (so that's where I inherited it from). "Your sandwich is almost ready."

"Is it crunchy?"

"Yes." Spatula in hand, her mother glared at her. "Don't change the subject. I want you to be extra careful until you have the baby. Maybe go back and see Mulan to make sure everything's okay." Sliding the sandwich on a plate and then setting it in front of her daughter, Mary Margaret sent her a concerned motherly frown. "I just want you to be careful."

"I will, Mom," Emma said before biting into her grilled cheese and releasing a groan. "Oh my god, this is amazing."

Her mother snickered. "Save some room for the mac and cheese."

"There's always room in here," she muttered, patting at her stomach. "Pudge is insatiable." Wiping some crumbs from the corners of her mouth, Emma broached her top concern. "So, um, I realized when I was coming home that I am in no way ready for this baby."

"You said that earlier. What d'you mean? You've been preparing for months now."

"Yeah, no, not in that sense." Emma popped the last corner of crust into her mouth and swallowed. "I'm mentally prepared but, like, I have no clothes or anything and Dad said you might've kept some of my baby clothes?"

Nodding, Mary Margaret took the pot of noodles off the stove. "I'm sure I've got some in storage somewhere. I know I kept your favorite onesie. Oh, Emma." She turned around and her eyes glistened. "Emma baby, I have this picture. Wait, lemme go find it."

Her mother fluttered off into her room, leaving Emma to listen to the rattle and jangling of Mary Margaret shifting things around in her room. In the meantime, her stomach still rumbled, though not as loudly as before. She stood up from the chair and helped herself to some macaroni. She was halfway through shoveling her first serving in her mouth, fork hovering in her mouth and not even bothering to sit again, when her mother reappeared.

There was a small rectangle photo in the hand that wasn't covering her mouth. Mary Margaret was looking at it with fondness. She stayed silent as she handed it to Emma.

The picture was of her. Her and her mom. She was maybe a year old, if that, wearing a yellow onesie with a duck on a boat printed on her chest. Mary Margaret's hair was shorter, curled around her ears in the picture. Their smiles were identical, little wispy blonde hairs falling in her face and her mother's dark hair quite the same.

"Your father gave me three of that exact onesie for Christmas the year you were born," Mary Margaret muttered. "I'm pretty sure you'd already worn the original out."

Emma stared at the picture. Tears sprung unbidden to the corners of her eyes. She squeaked out "Mom" and Mary Margaret's arms encircled her.

They stayed like that for a little while: mother and daughter embracing, a bowl of macaroni in one hand and the photograph in the other behind Mary Margaret's back. Her mother ended the hug, leaning back to wipe away her little girl's tears. "Yeah, I'll go see what's in storage soon," she whispered. "I have to pick up some stuff for the beginning of the school year anyways."

Sniffing, Emma nodded and took one more bite of the macaroni, causing herself to giggle. "Thanks, Mom."

"Do you have any plans for the day?" she asked, moving the dirty dishes to the sink. "Unpacking and laundry? Hanging out?"

"I should go see Graham or call Ruby or something," she thought aloud, "but I'm just too tired."

"Makes sense." Nodding sagely, Mary Margaret started cleaning up the dishes from lunch (or linner? What time is it even?) "Call or text your father. We'll have an early dinner so you can get to bed early."

0000

"Tell me everything."

"Yeah, Em, give us all the dirty deets."

Emma was leaning against her headboard, still tired from the day's second nap, her phone balanced on her stomach.

"Who else is there, Rubes?"

"It's Belle, sweetheart," Ruby answered. A soft "Hi Emma" comes from a different part of the phone, further away and in a different key. "You know, your future roommates when you get your act together?"

Emma laughed. Of course. "Riiight."

"So, c'mon! Who proposed first? When's the wedding?"

She was glad she was alone in her room because a blush flamed across her face. She was devoted to keeping some secrets, especially about that one night in Killian's room. In fact, if she wasn't so enthusiastic about the entire trip, Emma wouldn't have told a single soul what went down in London. Her heart was full to bursting. Like a balloon, she feared letting go of one secret, one small detail, with cause her to deflate, take away the specialness of it all.

Basics. Tell them the basics.

The pause she took before answering had both Ruby and Belle squealing, Ruby more so than her roommate.

"Emma, you have to tell us everything!"

"I've read sex while pregnant is amazing."

"Yeah, what she said! How was it?!"

"EMMA!"

Laughter emitted from Emma's side of the conversation. "Guys, calm down. I can't get a word in edgewise." Her fingers dragged against the fabric at her stomach. Pudge was doing well, much more active since coming home, for which Emma was grateful. Every kick or shift of the child in her stomach comforted and reminded her that he (or she, as Killian keeps insisting) was healthy and alive.

But Emma was getting to the point where she was ready for this entire experience to be done. Lying on her bed was the only hobby of hers that she could really do well any more. Well, that and eating. She'd always been good at that.

"One question at a time," Emma requested her friends. "And I may or may not answer it."

Ruby groaned. "What fun are you?"

"All sorts of fun. But I'm tired and still suffering from jet lag. So ask away or I'm going to hang up and take a nap."

"Did you visit the museum of history?" Belle asked. Always the intellectual. She might easily sway under Ruby's influence, but her first concern had always been knowledge. "Or Elizabeth Tower?"

"Both." She was thankful that Belle started out with the easier questions, the purely factual questions. Yes, I did go, I have the tickets to prove it. Granted, Belle and her weren't as close as her and Ruby – the glares and judging glances Belle sent her way earlier in the year weren't all forgiven – so Emma felt it only natural, testing the waters. She liked the brunette for that reason specifically: she wasn't gaudy or assumptive. "The museum has fossils like you wouldn't believe, and I'm pretty sure the world's oldest tree stump. It was literally huge and I think part of it sa-"

"Emma Ruth Nolan, you and I both know neither of us want to hear about any of the sights of merry old England except for one."

Her eyes squinted at the phone screen. "What does that mean?"

Belle whispered, "I wanna hear about the sights."

Emma could almost imagine the stink-eye Ruby was giving her. Belle's silence was all she needed to confirm it. "Christ almighty, Emma," Ruby sighed in exasperation. "Killian?"

"What about him?"

Ruby moaned and Emma distinctly heard the sound of skin slapping skin. She could only assume Ruby hit herself in the forehead in frustration. Or maybe Belle hit her. Brownie points to Belle. "I so swear to god, Emma, I will punch you in the face when I see you next if you don't give me something. It's like crack cocaine or something, I'm an addict, INDULGE ME."

"Then ask me a question, Ruby."

"Did you finally fuck that boxer? There is only one correct answer, so think carefully."

Belle admonished Ruby, "it's her life, don't chastise her for anything," before Emma deigned them an answer. She told her friends that, no, no wedding, don't be absurd. Liam was a doll, but no more so than Killian and if she could, she'd've stayed. She told them about her brief stint in the hospital, to which they immediately gasped and pledged to rush to her side.

"I'm fine, really. Just hanging out in bed until I need to move."

"Which'll be when exactly?" Belle asked "I want to know when I should plan on not sleeping again. You know, stock up. Although recent studies find that sleeping in doesn't actu-"

"I meant actually moving, like using muscles and sitting up." She exhaled, reminding herself of yet another thing she was unsure of. "I still don't know if I'm moving in with you guys."

It was quiet on the other end of the line for so long that Emma tapped on her phone screen to make sure the connection hadn't been lost. "You guys still there?"

"I'm assuming you haven't really talked to your parents yet," Ruby hazarded.

"I've been sleeping most of the day." Her friends remained noiseless. "Why, what happened?"

"Well," Belle started slowly, "it is getting to be somewhat of a crunch time. You know, moving and housing-wise. And we were a little low on rent this month, so we called your parents while you were away and-"

"It's official!" Ruby finished her thought for her. "You're living with us!"

Emma was astounded. "You talked to my parents while I was gone?"

"We're sorry, Emma-"

"I'm not."

"But you're officially back in school and you need a place to sleep. You and the baby. And Ruby said your mom and her talked about it when you came down to visit, so it only made sense."

"Please don't be angry," Belle pled meekly.

"I'm not angry," Emma found herself saying. "I'm just surprised. You guys were really proactive."

"Just come live with us, dammit!" Ruby interjected, causing Emma and Belle to break into giggles.

"I apparently already am," Emma assured her. The phone vibrated on her stomach, a text coming through to successfully distract her from all the theoretical plans and parties Ruby's scheduling on their behalf. It was from Killian, of course, reminding her to make contact once she wakes up (which she hasn't really). She muttered a curse beneath her breath and quickly responded.

Sorry. Been home a while. Forgot between numerous naps. Safe and sound.

His answer came back almost immediately. She could practically hear his whine. Swannnn.

Emma craned her neck to look at the clock on her nightstand. Mentally adding five hours, she figured out that he should've fallen asleep long ago.

I'm sorry. Pregnancy brain, I guess. Go to bed. We'll talk in the morning.

You're worth losing sleep over. 'Til morning.

Belle saying her name reminded Emma how bad she was at multitasking these days.

"Emma, are you still there? Is everything okay?"

Humming, Emma focused again on the phone call. "Yeah, why do you ask?"

"You said shit really quiet and then you didn't make a sound for a while," Ruby said. "Are you distracted?"

She shrugged, then remembered that, thankfully, they weren't having this conversation face to face. "Yeah, no, sorry. I'm still tired. I'll talk to my parents and text you guys later, okay?"

Her friends (and new roommates, I guess) agreed and wished her well before Emma hung up. Soon after, nap number three became inevitable and Emma snuggled into her pillow, ready for oblivion.

0000

"Okay, so why did I come again?"

"You were the only person who was a, available, and b, in town."

She picked up a green onesie from a hanger. It was cute, for sure, but a look at the price tag had her rethinking how cute it actually was.

"Can't we go to Granny's and you wait until your lady friends are around to do this?"

Emma rolled her eyes and glowered at Graham a couple steps behind her. "Humor me."

He huffed and softly kicked one of the stuffed animals on the bottom shelf. "You owe me."

"I know, I know."

She did feel bad, she really did. But her mother was at some professional development seminar and her dad was working and no one else in town really wanted to deal with her except for Ashley, whose home with a sick Lexi, and Graham.

Besides, she missed him. Which is why he was stuck perusing the local superstore baby aisles with her.

"C'mon, can't I look at the bikes or the movies or something?" he droned again.

"Do you have your phone on you?" He was sheepish when he denied it. "Then how am I supposed to find you?"

"Walk the aisles?" He added an adorable little smile to the end of his suggestion, hoping to sway her in his favor.

Emma sighed and rubbed her forehead in frustration. "You know what, I'm done here. I'll ask Ashley for some of Lexi's hand-me-downs." She hung up the absurdly priced outfit (because, seriously, any kid is going to outgrow it in a matter of months, if not weeks, why so much money?) and waved him back to the entrance. "Let's go."

Graham pumped his fist up in the air, expressing his victory, and Emma rolled her eyes again. They made their way out of the store, Graham chatting away like an excited child. He missed her just as much as she had him, Emma knew, but, jesus, she could hardly keep up with his one-sided conversation.

"I can tell you more when we go to Granny's, but I have to make a quick stop at the hardware store," he said.

Widening her eyes, her laugh started from deep within her and bubbled up until she physically had to stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Graham's "What? I need a new hammer!" made her laugh even harder, had her using his body to steady herself.

"You?" she asked incredulously. "You need a new hammer? Okay, Thor, let me get this straight."

"Em, I've helped your father fix light fixtures. I've helped half the town build decks."

"Yeah, so have I," she reminded him, "but that doesn't make me Bob the Builder."

This time, he rolled his eyes. Making sure her outburst was finished, Graham took her hand in his and led her the few storefronts down to the hardware store. "It'll take a second. Then you can buy me some wings or something."

The old man who ran the establishment was awfully friendly when the chime of the door ushered them in. Graham left her at the entrance, the proprietor leading him away with rushed words in an accent, and keeping Emma to watch the aisles of nails and screws. And hammers.

"What in the world is he doing?" she asked herself aloud. Emma wandered the store, looked at the shelves until Graham returned. He was dragging her toward the back of the store, her comments that the hammers were at the front unheard, into a smaller room. One glance around showed her it was some sort of woodworking room. Sawdust coated the floor. There was an entire wall of saws and hammers and other building materials.

But in the middle of the room, underneath the only open window in the woodshop, was a crib of sorts. Smaller, more compact and basket-like, than the ones that lined the store aisles, but more detailed. A closer look showed carvings in the side: waning moons, brilliant suns, forest animals all along the edge.

"It's beautiful."

"It still needs a bit of staining, but it should be sturdy enough." Emma nearly forgot she wasn't alone in the room. Graham appeared at her side, his hands in his pockets and a shy expression on his face. When he noticed her staring at him, he nodded to the old man, even further back in the doorway between the workshop and the store. "Geppetto was nice enough to help me out."

"You made this?" Her eyes flitted back over the bassinet (that's the word.) "You barely know the difference between a nail and a screw."

"I'm hurt, Em," he said. His arm wound around her shoulder and shook her into his side. "I heard through the grapevine you weren't really into the whole baby shower scene and you were hopelessly behind in supplies, so I asked Geppetto if he wouldn't mind teaching me." Her jaw was still hanging and he interpreted it differently than pure surprise. "Look, I swear it's okay for the baby. I told Ashley about it and she had Lexi stand in it and look, it's still together."

"You made this?" She repeated herself.

No words accompanied Graham's nod. She was thankful that one of her oldest friends understood her enough to know she needed a minute to absorb this new information. Because once she did, she was so far gone. His arm was the only thing keeping her from crumbling down on herself. Emma turned into his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

"You made this. For me."

"Well, for your baby, actually." His hand caressed up and down her back, trying to calm her by any means necessary. Which was why he tried to lighten the mood by saying, "I mean, you can try and sleep in there if you want to, but I don't think you'll fit in it. Just don't relegate the little one to your sock drawer." Emma chuckled into his chest, but she was sure all he could feel was her shaking profusely. "Are you okay?"

Emma sniffed. "Perfect." She leaned away, but kept him in her arms. "How did you know I hadn't even thought about sleeping arrangements yet?"

Graham shrugged. "It was the first thing I thought of, so I, naturally, thought it'd be the last thing you'd think of. That's how we work."

Her laugh was watery from her tears, but she clutched him closer to her once more. "That's how we work."

He pushed her back for a second. "I was legitimately concerned your child would be forced to live in a sock drawer for the first years of its life. I can't have that."

"I'm sure she'll be grateful."

His eyes lit up. "You're having a girl?"

"No, I don't know." She looked back to the bassinet, finding more small details with every new angle. "It slips between the two all the time."

"Bugger," he muttered. "I hope you know I'm going to spoil this kid either way. Cool Uncle Graham is going be their favorite."

Emma laughed. "I'm beginning to question how much I'm going to be needed in their life. In between Cool Uncle Graham and Cool Aunt Ruby, I won't even see him."

Shrugging again, Graham said. "Sounds like every new parents' dream." He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Imagine it: you could actually sleep through the night. Take a shower and whatnot. Be a functioning human. Maybe even go to class."

Giving him a sarcastic glance, Emma left his side to gently push at the bassinet. It swayed a comforting rhythm, back and forth and back and forth. Under her breath, she hummed a song, a lullaby she couldn't place. It reminded her of the ocean, with swells and flows to breathe.

"Though maybe you and Killian could survive without Cool Uncle Graham and Cool Aunt Ruby."

"Huh?"

"You and Killian," Graham reiterated.

Emma cocked her head to the side. "Why would you say that?"

Graham's smile was soft, as if he was finally been let in on a secret he'd known for some time. "You know you don't have a chance with me, Ems. That guy has been around since day one and he's not going to leave until your kid graduates college."

"You don't know that."

"I do," he assured her. "I know because if I were in the same situation, I wouldn't." Inhaling deeply, he prepared himself to drop a bomb. "Look, Emma, I know you think you aren't all that, but Killian's the first bloke where I think you you're starting believe you are. And I like that. I like him."

She scoffed regardless. "He'll be happy to hear that. Last time you came to visit he was feeling a bit threatened."

Guffawing, he doubled over and slapped his knees. "Oh my sweet darling naïve Emma. Any person with eyes knows the man for you is that boxer."

It threw her off. Emma blushed and returned her gaze to the bassinet her closest friend had handmade for her son or daughter.

"Oh god, you're not crying again, are you?" he asked, his hands resting on her shoulders. "Oh god, I am not properly equipped for this. Give me your phone, I'll call Jones."

It might be tinged with sadness, but Emma chuckled. If there was one thing she hoped her baby inherited from her, it was that Cool Uncle Graham would always make them laugh.

a/n: finally, an end in sight. two more chapters and an epilogue, probably all posted up in time for Christmas. bless you roommate and SJ for being sweethearts and betaing. xx