She was going to kill him. She really was. She was going to kill him, and this time she was totally leaving him in the Underworld. She'd be a widow before she was 35.

"Do tell, Dave," Killian said, stupid smirk on his stupid face, "what precisely is your secret for the perfect pancake?"

"Oh my gods," Emma said under her breath as her mom hid her face in her hands.

Not long after Henry went off on his adventure, Emma and Killian had started a tradition with her parents of having family brunch on Saturday mornings. Today was one such brunch, and her husband was evidently trying to make her die of embarrassment.

"The perfect amount of spice," her dad answered, totally oblivious to what her idiot husband was doing. "You don't want bland pancakes, but if you add a bit of spice to the mix, it just makes everything better. I must have found the perfect recipe last time. My pancakes actually had Snow moaning."

Emma coughed on the sip of coffee she'd just-very unwisely-taken. Killian slapped her on the back, grinning down at her with a devilish wink.

"Moaning is most definitely a good sign," Killian said. "Wouldn't you agree, my love?"

She glared at him, imagining all the magical ways she could shut him up. Maybe she'd just turn him into a frog.

Killian sent her another wink. "I must have stumbled upon the perfect...er...recipe myself, Dave. The last time Swan and I made pancakes she nearly screamed in delight."

Emma kicked him under the table, and if Snow got any redder she might just burst into flames.

Dad laughed, still blissfully ignorant. "Yeah, that sounds like Emma. Give her food and she'll love you forever."

Killian nodded his head in mock seriousness. "I'd never dream of depriving my lovely wife of...food. I make it a point to provide it for her at minimum four times a week, though early on, it was every day."

"Make it stop. Gods, make it stop!" Snow muttered to herself before turning imploring eyes to Emma.

Emma shrugged helplessly. When Killian had that look in his eyes-like a mischievous child-there was no controlling him.

Thus the reason she was going to kill him. Slowly.

"Tell me, Killian," David said, spearing another bite of his pancake, "is it just the pancakes with you or do you add some kind of breakfast meat to the mix?"

Snow buried her head in her hands once more.

"Breakfast meat is an absolute must in my experience, Dave," Killian said. "Emma seems particularly fond of sausage."

Emma stomped on his foot and Snow "accidentally" slapped his head when she reached for the maple syrup.

"Though it's not always just pancakes, you know. Coffee is involved as well, and I've heard tell you're quite partial to tacos."

Dad's brow furrowed. "Tacos for breakfast?"

Killian shrugged. "Who am I to judge? When you want to make tacos, you want to make tacos."

"Gross, Killian!" Emma moaned. "I do not need to know about my parents' taco making habits."

Finally, finally catching on that there was something more going on than met the eye, her dad looked from one of them to the other. "Snow, is it just me, or am I missing something here?"

Snow leaned down to whisper in her husband's ear.

That was the last day her dad ever made pancakes.

Tacos….well, that remained something she most definitely did not want to know about.