A/N: I'm dusting off a really old collection for this little ficlet, but it seemed like the proper home. I hope you all enjoy the little bit of fluff.

Rating: G

Setting: Enchanted Forest AU

Killian felt something tugging him from the warm fog of sleep, whatever dream that had been beneath his eyes slipping from him fully as a soft hand pressed against his cheek, the familiar touch accompanied by a sound that would never fail to make his heart swell with joy.

"Papa," came the urgent whisper, his daughter's palm tapping insistently against him as he blinked the sleep from his eyes, surprised to see that the cottage was dark, sunrise still many hours away.

He smiled at the sight of her face hovering close to his, her brow furrowed over blue eyes that mirrored his own, the soft dusting of freckles across her cheeks a map of his favorite constellations.

"Wake up, Papa," she insisted, her teeth chewing at her lower lip with worry as she glanced over his shoulder toward the pile of blankets behind him.

"Why are you up so early, love?" he whispered in return, stroking her soft blonde curls, tangled and wild just as her mother's were in the morning.

She fixed him with a look of great impatience, something else she'd inherited from her fiery mum who was still sleeping soundly on the other side of him.

"You have to get up, Papa – right away."

She stepped away from the bed, little arms crossing stubbornly in front of her chest, her nightshift bunched and sticking out from beneath the dress she'd tugged haphazardly over her sleep-tousled curls.

"Very well," he murmured, carefully extricating himself from the blankets, the cold touch of the wood planks a fleeting discomfort at the sight of his daughter's wide smile. "Tell me then, what mischief have you managed so early this morning, my little cygnet?"

"Papa, be quiet," she whined, a stocking foot stamping on the floor as she took his fingers and dragged him toward the far side of the cottage, parting the heavy tapestry that separated he and Emma's sleeping area from the rest of their home. "I tried to do it all on my own, but it was too much to carry."

Killian shivered in the morning chill, glancing longingly back toward the trunk where his clothing was neatly folded, but the tapestry was already falling back into place behind them, and his headstrong lass wasn't about to give him a moment to gather even a shirt.

His night breeches would have to do.

She pulled him past the table and over to the hearth, gesturing toward an array of destruction and mess he would have needed to have been blind to miss.

"Oh, darling," he crooned, kneeling and taking in the spread she'd created by the small light of her lantern – the jam smeared and dripping over the edges of a thick slab of bread, the wooden bowl cradling berries drizzled with a golden sheen of honey, the rough mug filled to the brim with what smelled like Emma's morning tea, and all of it set out in a neat line on one of the large wooden trenchers. "Mama will love it. You've done well, my wee lass."

Hope beamed, glancing eagerly toward the other side of the still dark cottage, her fingers tugging at the back of her dress that just so happened to be facing the front, laces hanging down to her knees.

"Do you see? I even made Mama's tea, for her belly. Can we bring it in now, Papa? I want it to be a surprise."

Killian bit back a sigh, instead smiling hopelessly at their daughter. He knew it was far to early to go about waking his wife, but Hope had put such work into her surprise that he couldn't bear to put her off a moment longer.

"Aye, of course we can, love – shall I do the carrying and let you do the waking?"

"Yes, you carry it, Papa. It's quite heavy, and I'll give Mama kisses to wake her."

Killian carefully angled the wooden platter over the edge of the stone hearth, just enough that he could balance it on his wrist before gripping the other side tightly and rising to his feet. He bit back a grimace as the tea spilled over the edge of the mud, running coldly along his arm and pooling at the base of the bread.

Hope galloped across the dimly lit floor and tossed the tapestry aside, any concern over secrecy long forgotten and replaced by the excitement of sharing her surprise with her mother.

Catching the heavy tapestry with his shoulder before it could swing entirely closed, Killian eased into the small space he and Emma shared as their own, Hope already bouncing against the frame of the bed, her fingers curled into the feather mattress while her legs did a jig beneath the folds of her dress.

"Mama," she whispered, bumping her pink tipped nose against Emma's, her tiny fingers rising to push back the curls from her mother's face as she tried again, this time more loudly and closer to her ear. "Mama, wake up!"

"Hope," Emma mumbled, eyes blinking heavily as she drew back and stretched beneath the blankets, rolling her face deeper into the downy pillow. "Hope? What is it, sweetie? Is everything alright?"

"Happy Name-day!" Hope sang, unable to keep still any longer and launching herself onto the bed, nuzzling herself into her mother's chest as Emma shrieked and laughed, pulling her close. "Papa and I have a surprise for you."

"Oh, you do? Aren't I the luckiest mama in the world."

"I'll not take credit for this one, love. This surprise is courtesy of our little cygnet," Killian chuckled, carefully moving the serving trencher toward the bed and resting it across his wife's lap as she wrangled Hope onto the other side of the bed, stilling her bouncing legs with a hand, "but she's done a lovely job of it. Happy Naming Day, my love."

"Thank you," Emma sighed, pulling their daughter's head against her shoulder and kissing the top of it soundly. "This looks delicious, and I was so hungry that I was certain I couldn't sleep a minute longer."

"Were you really?" Hope asked, dipping her finger into a run of honey that had made its way free of the berry bowl. "It's because you're eating more now, I think."

Killian choked down a laugh as Emma glared playfully at him from the bed before returning her attention to their daughter's gift.

"Are these fresh berries with honey?"

"They are," Hope nodded, "and I really didn't eat any of them – because today is your special day, Mama."

"You know what would make this day even more special?" Emma whispered, picking up a bruised raspberry from the top of the pile and holding it aloft. "Sharing this delicious breakfast with my sweet girl."

"Well, it was a lot of work making all of this," Hope reasoned, eyeing the berry, "and I think I'm awfully hungry now."

She plucked the berry from Emma's fingers and popped it into her mouth, chewing happily before snuggling into her mother's side and reaching for a few more. A large yawn followed a string of black berries, and before long Hope's sticky fingers had fallen quietly to her side, eyes flickering closed.

Killian watched as Emma lifted the cup of tea and took a careful sip, grimacing at either the temperature or the taste before setting it carefully on the small table beside the bed. Hope was beginning to drift back to sleep at her mother's side, and Emma was picking lazily at the berries while she cuddled their daughter. He stepped carefully back through the tapestry, turning to survey the damage that had been inflicted upon the hearth once more.

By the time he'd finished scouring honey from the stone and sweeping crumbs and crushed berries from the floor, he was more than ready for his own cup of tea, but a quick sip of the concoction their daughter had left in the kettle told him that he'd be searching for fresh mint to replenish Emma's supply – surely Hope had used half the jar for one pot. The cold and early morning catching up to him, he made sure the rest of the cottage was as it should be before turning back toward the bed, brushing the tapestry aside.

He pressed the image that greeted him into his heart – Emma curled protectively around Hope as they both slept against the pillows – the trencher of breakfast nibbled on and sat aside. Emma's cheek rested against the top of Hope's blonde curls, and their daughter's hand was pressed to the large swell of her mother's stomach where either a little brother or sister was still growing.

It would be another moon still before the new babe entered the world, and another Name-Day to celebrate – but Killian knew that no matter how many early, sticky breakfasts he needed to clean up in the wee hours of the morning, he would happily relish each one for the rest of his life.