RATING: PG/K+
GENRE: Canon Compliant, Slice of Life, Domestic
SUMMARY: Emma Jones wakes in the middle of the night to find the other side of the bed empty.

A/N: his was written for winterbaby89 who sent me the following prompt: "We're in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?" This takes place during season 7 with Real!Hook and Emma.

MIDNIGHT STORM

A crash of thunder startles Emma awake, and her hand instinctively stretches to the other side of the bed. When her fingers meet only a tangle of sheets, still warm from the body that should be there, she blinks open bleary eyes.

"Killian?" she whispers as a flash of lightning cuts through the darkness.

There's no answer, and she pushes herself upright. She says his name again, and again she's met with silence. Thunder booms, and the little one in her swollen belly jumps at the sound. She does her best to soothe the baby growing inside of her.

It's so different this time—bringing life into the world. With Henry, she'd been so distraught, so broken. Each kick of his tiny legs was a reminder of his father, the man who had held her delicate dreams in his hands and obliterated them. She couldn't bring herself to know the baby, to cobble together a new hope for a brighter future because there was none. Not for an imprisoned teen. The kid was better off without her.

But now she wishes she could have cherished every stretch, every time his foot pushed against her ribs. She wishes that she'd wanted him then with the same fervor that she wants his little sister. She's grateful for the years she's had with her son, grateful that he'd sought her out as a precocious eleven-year-old, but it wasn't enough time. He grew up too fast, and the house seems empty without him.

It's particularly empty now as she pads through it, searching for her other love. Lightning sparks through the bay windows downstairs, and she finally catches a glimpse of her husband. Shaking her head with a soft curse, she grabs a coat and heads outside.

Killian stands in the yard, head tipped up and eyes closed as rain falls on him in fat, angry drops. His pajama bottoms are drenched, clinging to his legs. Emma yells his name, but it's swallowed by another crack of thunder. She curses again, slogging through the marshy grass to grab his hand.

He looks at her then, eyes painted cerulean by a flare of brilliant light. She hopes their little girl inherits them. His brows drawn downward in confusion.

"Emma," he says over the din. "What are you doing? You'll catch your death!"

"I could ask you the same question," she returns.

He glances away and up as the night sky grumbles once more. He's somewhere else for a beat, gaze unfocused, and she knows better than to push him. She may have a lot of baggage that she's still unpacking, but what he carries spans centuries and could fill the cargo hold of his ship.

He blows out a sigh, fingers gripping the coat that won't zip over her stomach anymore, and pulls her toward the house. "You need to get out of the storm, love."

"Aye, aye, Captain." She gives him a sarcastic salute as he drags her inside, and she's rewarded with a glower. Good. He's with her again.

Later, after they've changed into dry things, her damp hair pulled up into a knot, he holds her against him in bed, her back to his chest, as he strokes her belly. The storm has moved on, thunder a distant echo, the rain a gentle patter against the roof. She's almost lulled back into sleep when Killian speaks in a hushed voice.

"There's no hiding from nature's wrath on the seas," he says. "It's all hands on deck until the worst of it passes. A sailor learns not to fear the elements."

"And a pirate doesn't fear anything," she quips around a yawn.

"Aye, love." She can hear the smile in his voice. "I came to find a good squall rather invigorating."

Silence stretches between them, and she swallows back a question. Because what she saw in the yard wasn't a man reveling in the downpour, but one hoping somehow to cleanse his soul.

"My father was a selfish bastard," he goes on quietly, "and I never wanted to chance passing that legacy on by having children. Not until..." he trails off, but she can fill in the blank. Not until Milah. Not until Baelfire.

"And after," Killian says, "revenge was was my only guiding star. A family wasn't meant for the likes of me." There's an ache in his tone, a ghost of the former villain who struggled to believe he could ever deserve a happy ending.

With effort, Emma turns to face him, hand going to his stubbly cheek. "Hey," she murmurs. "You have a family. You've been a great father to Henry."

Killian gives her a smile, but it's tinged with melancholy. "I know, love, but he was already a good lad. This—" he gives her belly another reverent caress, "—is different."

She nods because she gets it. Henry was half-grown when he came to her. He taught her how to be a good mother, and now she's facing the real test, starting from scratch—this time with a partner by her side. "I'm scared too," she confesses. "But we'll face this together like we do everything else."

She leans forward and gives Killian a gentle kiss. "Besides, we have Snow and David close by to help out. They seem to be doing a pretty good job with my brother."

Killian breathes a raspy laugh, and she knows that he's okay. They stay like this for a minute or two, foreheads pressed together. It's comfortable. Safe. And she hopes she never gets so used to it that she takes this for granted.

He wraps his arms around her, nudges her to him until her head is on his chest. "I love you, Emma," he whispers.

"I love you too."

~FIN~

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! If you have a moment, I'd love to hear your thoughts! XD