AN: By popular demand, I give you an epilogue! I'm not one for sequels, so I hope you all enjoy this final chapter of These Nights. It's been such great fun to write, and you have all been lovely in your support. I really appreciate it!
It's been three years, seven months, sixteen days and fourteen hours since Emma walked into the Jolly Roger for the first time. She wasn't nervous then – she was struggling to forget, to blur her vision and cloud her mind.
She's nervous now. Not for what she's about to do – that part is easy. No, it's the rest of the circus that comes with it, that's the part that's hard.
She smooths the dress into place, fidgeting with nonexistent wrinkles. The pale silk is simple, one clean line broken only by a thin belt tucked around her narrow waist. It flows like water over her body, a purposeful gesture to the sea.
Killian will love it. She's positive that man would love it even if she wore a sack on this day, God knows he's loved her all along the way, pregnant, miserable, sick, tired, and, she thinks to herself with a smirk, bitchy. Oh, those long nights with Henry in the beginning, she had been too tired to be nice to him, and he had born it with grace. After all the nights she had lost sleep in her life, she'd have thought dealing with a baby would have been simple enough.
Turns out, after getting used to sleeping through the night with Killian by her side, Henry's nocturnal wailings were a shock to the system.
But they got through it, like so many other things. Henry is with his father somewhere, getting ready with him and Graham. That's been a big surprise along the way, the friendship that developed between the two men. Emma blames the night they fought, the night he yelled at her in the kitchen, pushed her into a place she should have already gotten to on her own.
Ruby isn't far, but Emma wanted to be alone these last few moments, to breathe deeply and listen to the ocean rush in. This won't be an extravagant affair, just a simple ceremony on the roof with their closest friends to witness a day years in the making. The bar is decorated for a reception to follow, closed to the public for the evening, though Emma invited a handful of regulars to join in the fun.
They've fallen into a routine these last few years. Emma helps out in the bar some nights, when her own work schedule allows. She's down there enough that Killian's customers know her, and even if they didn't, they know him, and they know the way his eyes light up when she walks into the room.
She expects they'll do that for years to come. She's counting on it.
Things are different now – Emma is different now. Being a mother changed her, but it started before Henry was born. Following Neal's trial, she didn't have an easy pregnancy. The morning sickness was terrible, enough that Killian dragged her to the emergency room, terrified, more than once, where she was treated for dehydration. Her doctor put her on bed rest before long, and none of that sat well with her.
Killian bore it all. His gentleness never left, and his patience never ran out, at least not in her presence. She's positive he must have been just as frustrated, but he never showed it, never had a harsh word for her, no matter how awful she felt. He would stay with her for hours, holding her, talking to their son, running his fingers through her hair to calm her.
And it worked. As the months passed, the sickness faded, and Emma began to feel more like her old self – her old self with a watermelon strapped to her waist. But Killian found ways to make her feel beautiful, to make her feel loved, and by the time she was shaking him awake to drive her to the hospital, a bond was forged between them that was never going to fade.
Henry arrived quickly, the spitting image of his father with dark hair and Emma's green eyes. Emma loves her son, but every now and then, she still longs for the little girl Killian saw in their kitchen.
She's not so sure she's alone in that longing.
With the rough pregnancy, the wedding was pushed back. Emma didn't want to get married with her head in a bucket, as she so insistently told Killian after a particularly rough round with the porcelain god. But once Henry was born, neither of them had the energy to plan a wedding, and so here they were, with a toddler, about to get married.
Emma is happy with things this way. Sure, it's not the way tradition would have dictated, but Emma doesn't give a damn about tradition. She's happy her son is going to be there, his slow, teetering steps sure to be all the more adorable done up in a tiny suit to match his father.
"Emma?" Ruby pokes her head in the door, a soft smile on her lips. She's wearing her trademark red, but the flow of the dress is soft, Emma's only request. Enough of her life has been hard, with jagged edges, and so has Killian's. Today is about the gentleness of life, and Emma wants that reflected even in the fabrics.
"Is it time?"
"It is. Everyone is up on the roof, waiting." Ruby opens the door a little wider, glancing around Emma and Killian's bedroom. "I can't believe you let him stay here last night! Naughty girl."
"We have a son. I think the jig is up."
They laugh together, Ruby helping Emma into a pair of low heels to complete her look. Her hair is free flowing and loose down her back, even longer now and nearly to her waist. Killian loves her hair, loves when it tumbles down her back and he can weave his fingers through it. She's left it down for him on purpose, loosely curled and intentionally windswept. He's free to do his worst when he kisses her at the end of this ceremony.
She shivers at the promise of it.
With a final glance in the mirror, Emma takes the bouquet Ruby hands her, a confection of blue blossoms the color of Killian's eyes, and they make their way together up the stairs and onto the roof.
From that moment, Emma ceases being aware of anything, anyone else – there is just Killian. The roof is arranged so they'll say their vows with the ocean as a backdrop, white folding chairs for their few, trusted guests. Killian's eyes lock on hers the second she steps forward, and though it's not more than ten paces to where he waits, those ten steps feel like forever as Emma makes her way to him.
She repeats the words, and she hears the hum of his voice as he repeats his vows, but Emma can barely hear over the rush of blood and the beating of her heart. She doesn't need to. Anything she needs to see, needs to know, is in Killian's eyes, warm and filled with love, and by the end, glistening with tears.
When he finally kisses her, she forgets entirely. Emma presses herself to him, the silk sliding against her skin and his suit, and loses herself in his kiss. It's passion and need and love, and she's still dazed when they break apart, a new silver band sparkling on her finger.
He has one to match. It catches the sun, glinting, as Henry breaks free of Graham's feeble attempts to hold him and Killian swoops down to capture their son. The photographer catches the moment, a laughing, smiling family, a photo Emma will cherish for years to come.
It's like it was that first snowstorm together, as they make their way downstairs with their guests. They aren't alone, no, but Killian can't keep his hands off her, and Emma isn't sure she's doing much better. She can feel him, sliding his hands along the smooth silk of her dress every chance he gets, and she's finding herself once again grateful for the dimness of the bar. It's different today, filled with candles in hurricane lamps, giving it a romantic glow, but it hides her blush, among other things.
The candlelight makes her rings sparkle, and Emma glances down over and over again, marveling that the day has finally come – she's married Killian. She's Mrs. Jones now, a mother and a wife, and a woman in love. He catches her glance, his eyes filled with heat, and regardless of a packed room of their friends, he catches her in a breath-stealing kiss.
"How much longer until they all leave?" he growls in her ear, one hand at the row of delicate buttons running down her back.
"Soon," she promises, her own voice catching with a sharp intake of breath as his wandering touch skims her breast, the thin silk doing little to muffle his touch.
Yet it still feels like years later when the final guests are leaving, and Ruby is carrying a sleepy Henry to the parents. She's going to keep him for the week they're gone, honeymooning on a warm beach in the sunshine. Emma is thrilled to be going away with Killian, to have an entire week to just be his wife, but it's the first time she's been away from Henry for more than a night, and it's hard to let the little man go.
But go they do, and no sooner than the door is locked behind them, Killian is swinging her into his arms and carrying her up the stairs and into their home. He doesn't put her down until they're in their bedroom, but no sooner is she on her feet than he's kissing his way down her back, popping open buttons as he goes.
"Killian…" She turns to face him as the last of the buttons pop open, and it takes the slightest shrug of her shoulders to send the dress pooling at her feet.
"You, my love, my wife, you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." She doesn't have a chance to respond, because he's kissing her again. He tastes like champagne and wedding cake, and she's giddy with emotion, and drunk with the happiness this day has given her.
It's a fairytale ending, she thinks, though he would likely say it's a fairytale beginning.
Their flight leaves early in the morning, and it's already late, but Emma figures there's plenty of time to sleep on the plane, on the beach. It's been a long day, but she can't get enough of him, of his skin on hers, of his hands dancing across her body. They tangle themselves together, skin to skin, gasping and moaning and swearing their love as the hours wile away.
She's exhausted when they find their seats on the plane, and she's positive she looks thoroughly worn out, but Killian is grinning that sly grin of his as they settle into their seats. "Rest up, my love," he whispers, pushing the armrest between them up and out of the way as he gathers her into his chest.
"Someone kept me up all night," she mumbles against his shirt, but it's said lightly, and she squeezes her arm around him to make sure he knows it.
He kisses her hair, smoothing it out of her eyes as she curls into him. "I figured an early start couldn't hurt a bit."
"Hmmm?"
He laughs, and the row rumble in his chest is enough for her to sit back to look him in the eye, where mirth is dancing. "Why, Mrs. Jones, didn't you know the purpose of our travels?"
She shakes her head, thoroughly confused. Has he been drinking when she wasn't looking? She's positive that's not it, because she's been with him every second since their guests left the bar the night before.
"Once upon a time, I told you I saw a little girl in our kitchen, a little girl with your skin, your hair, and my eyes." His smile gentles, his hand running down her arm to caress her once again flat stomach. "She's going to be my wedding present to you, love. By the time we return," his breath is hot on her neck, and his hand is shifting lower on her stomach, "I hope she's found her way here."
"You know it doesn't work that way," she whispers, because she needs to break the heat between them, needs to do something to stop the burn she can feel in every inch of her body. It's a long flight, and Emma is suddenly wide awake.
"Then we'll keep trying until it does."
She gives in, kissing him soundly, and she isn't even embarrassed when a flight attendant clears her throat beside them as she passes.
Eight weeks later, it's Emma's turn to grin slyly with a secret when Killian comes upstairs from the bar after closing up. He stops at the top of the stairs, watching her, because he's never seen her look quite this way before.
"Is Henry in bed?" he asks quietly, worry for his son the first thing to jump to mind in spite of the fact that Emma's expression seems to be a happy one.
She nods, taking a few steps closer, her grin widening. "Out like a light."
"And how was your evening, my wife?" He wraps his arms around her, breathing in the clean scent of her and kissing her lightly. "Miss me?"
"Always." She kisses him back, slowly, lingering, and winds her fingers with his. He's suddenly aware of her dragging his hand down her body, and a bolt of sharp desire races through his veins, but she stops short of his intended target, their fingers twined over her belly. "We missed you."
It's late, and he's tired, so it takes a moment before he pulls back to stare at her with wide eyes. "You don't mean you and Henry, do you, love?"
"Well…" She bites her lip, looking up at him through her lashes, and she can't suppress the grin. "I do mean us, of course, but…there's one more to add to the list."
"You're pregnant?"
"According to two at-home tests, yes." He lets out a whoop of joy, forgetting Henry sleeping in his happiness, and pulls Emma tight against him. He's still kissing her, his beautiful, loving wife, when the sound of small feet padding against the cool wooden floors captures his attention.
Henry is blinking in the living room lights, his hair sticking out every which way like his father's, and Emma goes to him instantly, whispering an apology for waking him. They disappear back into Henry's bedroom, leaving Killian to marvel his good fortune with their soft voices for a soundtrack.
It's the sound of a life he's proud of. Glancing toward the kitchen, he notices the supplies on the counter, and curious, takes a closer look. Emma still can't cook worth a damn, though she's managed to make some edible scrambled eggs on occasion, maybe macaroni and cheese out of a box. But that's not what any of this would make. In fact, it looks a lot more like….
"Pancakes," Emma says quietly, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. "I figured you can practice teaching me, now, so you're ready to teach our daughter."
He laughs, turning to face her and cupping her cheeks between his callused palms. "Emma, by the time I can teach you to make pancakes, I can make our daughter a world-class restaurateur."
She pouts in his arms, her eyes wide and pleading. "But…I want pancakes."
"Ah, the truth emerges." He kisses her again, soundly, before gently ushering her out of the way. She sits on her barstool like she has so many times before, watching, sipping the hot chocolate he makes her, and thinks she could spend the rest of her life this happy with this man.
And she does.
If anyone is suffering CS withdrawals and wants to give me another shot, the first three chapters of my new CS AU, Seabrooke, are up! Thank you all for reading!