Oona must have rung the village bell. It was the only explanation that Emma could come up with for how the tiny woman had managed to uproot every Jones in the surrounding area and bring them scampering to her door on the square in such short measure. Oona had barely released Emma from an enthusiastic hug of homecoming when she found herself being passed from one pair of weeping, welcoming arms to another. Every Jones brother and every Jones wife and what seemed like every Jones child insisted on touching her, making sure for themselves that she was truly alive and well. Such a recovery must seem like magic to this family, she thought, and indeed it had been. Jones magic – performed both by Killian who whisked her to an ER in another realm, and Davy who had passed his hand across her wound and healed her.
Oona sat Emma in an overstuffed armchair by the fire in the parlour. She arranged herself and Emma's feet and took her hands, asking in a delicate way if the baby still lived. When Emma assured her that both she and the baby were perfectly well, Oona let out a shuddering breath of relief and briefly rested her head on Emma's lap.
"We have worried for you, Emma, and wept not a little, too." Oona rubbed Emma's hands, still cold from the rigging and ropes on the Jolly Roger, now docked proudly in the harbour below the square. Emma felt someone behind her, brushing out her hair and arranging it in a complicated series of plaits. A pretty, dark-haired child in a starched pinafore stood in front of her, handing hairpins to the unseen stylist behind the armchair.
"Arthur's dead, Oona, we don't need to fear him anymore," Emma said, and squeezed her friend's hands. "None of his men will threaten this family again."
"Sure we never worried about a fight in this house, Emma!" Oona laughed. "Things are boring without you two here. We've all missed you. Where's our Killian?"
Emma had no doubt that Oona knew the whereabouts of every Jones, living and dead, without Emma's input, but she was prompting instead for information about Emma and Killian. "You know perfectly well where Killian is. He's on his ship, showing off to his clansmen. They won't be back before sundown."
Oona stood up and held out her hands to Emma. "Then come have a hot bath. We've one prepared by the fire in the kitchen, and little Fi has run off to collect a dress for you. Sibeal has started on a grand feast already, there's no stopping her, so let's get to the kitchen before too many cooks descend."
The kitchen was buzzing with energy and no men to be seen. More hugging, by relatives that Emma seemed to have missed in the first round, and then Emma found herself stripped of the leggings and jumper she'd changed into on the ship. Any quibbles about privacy were brushed aside, as apparently her pregnant body was now public property. She was dunked into a standing bathtub of hot water and jasmine oil. Talk flew around the kitchen about Emma's shape – showing, was the consensus, just a touch, to be expected early on with a second baby – and immediately a sister-in-law appeared with scissors and a needle and thread, seated near the bath and letting out the waist of a deep blue dress an inch or two.
Someone was massaging her shoulders. "Killian must be a happy man – your breasts won't fit in your old dress!" the seamstress giggled. Everyone started giggling over that, how much the men liked that particular side effect of pregnancy.
"He's so protective, anyway, your Killian; I can't believe he's let you alone with us."
Emma felt a bit defensive. "He worries about me is all…"
"Of course he does, a stor, he loves you beyond any sort of reason," said an older woman kindly. There were widespread murmurs of agreement. Then the mood turned critical.
"He loves her dearly, that's true enough. But he has not married her, and her the mother of his child!" Another chorus of nodding and whispering followed. Emma bristled in her sudsy tub of floral hot water. This felt like the adult version of the conversation she'd endured with the family's children weeks ago.
"We do not need marriage. We're True Love. I would never leave Killian and he would never leave Henry and me," Emma declared to the room, with as much dignity as she could muster naked but for a thin layer of bubbles.
"Absolutely, my love," she heard Killian's voice about the din. She turned her head and saw Killian leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He had a flirtatious smile on his face, but Emma could see the wariness in his eyes. She was vulnerable and alone in a room full of people Killian didn't know, family or otherwise, and he clearly was uncomfortable with it. He sauntered over to the tub, ignoring the calls of protest from the women about impropriety. He crouched down next to the bath and brought one hand to the damp base of Emma's neck, toying with the tendrils of hair that dripped down between her shoulder blades.
"What?" he demanded of the women. "It's nothing I've not seen before." And with that he pulled her face towards him for a possessive kiss. When Emma opened her eyes a few moments later, slightly breathless, she felt Killian being pulled away from her. The women jostled and prodded him towards the door with good-natured admonishments to stay out of the kitchen.
"No men in here at the moment! We'll return her to you soon," Oona laughed, shoving him full in the chest, backwards out through the doorway. Killian caught Emma's eyes for a moment before Oona slammed the door in his face. Emma had just enough time to see him wink at her across the room.
Oona rolled up her sleeves and tugged a now-sleepy Emma from her warm bath. These almost-sisters wrapped her in a clean linen towel, then in a sparkling white shift held closed at the front by a deep, blue ribbon. Her skin was rubbed with almond oil and her hair re-pinned where it had slipped its moorings. Oona smiled at the relaxed, exhausted Emma before her, and she quietly sent word for Killian to return. He stopped at the doorway and rather grandly begged permission to enter. One of the sisters threw a wet sponge at him for his mocking tone, but he dodged it neatly and sidled up to Emma.
"Now that, pirate, is how you treat a pregnant woman," Oona huffed at him, nodding at Emma. The sister who had been sewing up Emma's dress stood up with a flourish and lifted it over Emma's head. "Not forcing her to traipse across realms and haul heavy ropes about a ship."
"She should nay be lifting anything heavy from now on. You've a babe to think on," said another, stepping forward to lace up Emma's gown.
"I don't think I've ever successfully forced Emma to do anything. Not even take a nap," he groused. He looked over his lover from head to foot. She was pliant and pacific, soft and fragrant with the bath and the oil, and looked like she could sleep for a decade if given a warm bed. He had to admit that she hadn't look this well-taken-care-of since they left New York. She gave him a sleepy smile and leaned her head on his shoulder.
"She's exhausted, Killian," Oona chastised him. "This time of pregnancy some women can't stay awake for an hour stitched together, and she's been through all sorts. She must rest." Emma was shaking her head in protest.
"Killian, I'm not tired, and I don't even know where Snow and Regina have gone."
Killian pulled her closer to him and slid a hand over the slight swell of her belly. She had lost weight, even as their child began to show, and he knew it wasn't right. "They're fine, love, still on the Jolly Roger with my parents, saying their good-byes. My father says he will see you again, to help with Merlin, and that you're not to worry. Your own father is already around here somewhere, talking to Mac and his brothers." His hand was rubbing little circles over her lower belly. "Darling, you really mustn't worry."
She yawned and nodded. "I'll sleep after food. I'm starved."
Oona laughed. "Aye, well the one thing this house always has is a plate of food on offer. Why don't you two sit down in the garden and I'll bring something out to you?" Killian steered her out the back door of the kitchen that led onto a garden courtyard. He avoided the bench where he could remember torturing one of Arthur's minions for information and settled himself next to Emma on a picnic bench beneath an oak tree. They leaned back against the trunk and he kissed her. He looked up and grinned as the leaves and branches started to glow with True Love's magic. He needed to talk to the fairies again, he reminded himself, to find out what they knew of Merlin. And of the baby.
Oona came out with two plates of stew with bread and butter, and set them on the table before them. Emma tucked in without even looking up, and Killian and Oona shared a knowing smile. When she cleaned her plate, Killian wordlessly slid his food towards her. Oona winked at him and ducked back into the kitchen for more.
"You're not feeling sick, then? You said you felt ill with Henry," he asked.
"Mmmph," she said, taking a bite of bread and chewing as she considered that. "I was sick as a dog with him, but then…" she looked up and swallowed guiltily, realising she'd been talking with her mouth full again, then shrugged and pressed on. "Then again, I was also depressed and imprisoned and probably in shock, so maybe it wasn't exactly morning sickness that I had."
Killian looked pained at the admission. "And I knew I couldn't keep him, so it was all just awful. There is really no comparison." She swept a hand towards the glowing tree and nodded toward the kitchen full of female relatives ready to soak her, soften her skin, massage her muscles and feed her up. "It's not just that I'm pregnant by my True Love, who is even now sitting here armed to the teeth to protect me and the baby…" she smiled and squeezed his hand, taking in the sword and dagger on his belt and another in his right boot, "when Neal would not have crossed the street for me or Henry." She took another bite of stew. "I have my own parents, weirdly your parents who seem involved in our lives even though they're not alive, Regina, Belle, Will, so many Joneses that I can't actually remember all their names… and of course, in the end I have Henry, too."
Killian interrupted her meal long enough to hug her and place a kiss on her forehead. "I love you, Emma, so very much. You know I will do anything for you and our child," he assured her.
Emma laughed, a proper, happy laugh, even if he could see tears in her eyes as well. "I know you do, and I love you just as much. I do feel guilty about Henry. Stupid, huh? I must be some sort of masochist. I grew up with no one, like no one, to love me or care about me, and then Neal abandoned me and that was the most horrific situation to endure, none of it really my fault… and instead of feeling like the victim I was in that time, I just feel guilty. About Henry. About not making the right choice for him." She sighed. "Although I guess it was the right choice for him. Regina loves him. He had everything I never did, and that's what I wanted." She was sniffing now, meal abandoned.
Killian had her tucked against his shoulder was stroking her hair, whispering gently to her, when Oona reappeared with fruit and cake for Emma and another plate of stew for Killian. She arched an eyebrow at Killian, clearly blaming him for reducing his pregnant girlfriend to tears.
"Emma," she said softly. "Stop crying and eat vanilla cake and berries. The baby wants it." Emma snorted and smiled. She ate up the cake, unaware that Snow, Regina and Belle were now watching from the kitchen door, along with all of the sisters-in-law, everyone sighing in contentment that Emma was doing as she was told for once.
…
Emma convinced Killian that the meal had woken her, so she wandered through the house in search of Henry. She found him in the square outside the front door, teaching football to a large crowd of tweens and teens with a small ball that in no way resembled a football. She glanced around the square, and spotted Will, David and two of Mac's brothers milling about, armed and ready, protecting the family's children as they played unawares.
"Hey, Mom!" he waved when he saw her. "They've been teaching me… what was it called?"
"Hurling," supplied a blond teenaged boy who looked as tall as she was.
"So I was trying to explain soccer. Can you magic us a ball?" he asked hopefully.
Emma smiled and Henry held out his hands. In a shimmer of white light, a football appeared In his palms. The assembled children sucked in a collective breath. "Thanks, Mom!" Henry gave her a quick kiss and ran off to the centre of the square with his new friends.
"Emma," David strolled up to her, trying not to look like her was about to deliver a lecture while simultaneously looking exactly like that. "I thought you were supposed to be resting."
She patted her father's hand and linked her arm through his. "I'm going to head up soon for a nap. I just wanted to make sure Henry was all right." They stood together for a moment, watching the children set up makeshift goals from bits of driftwood. Henry ran about confidently, explaining the rules and dividing the children into teams.
"Regina did an amazing job with Henry," Emma said quietly.
David put his arms around her shoulders. "And so have you. I wish I could say that someone did an amazing job with you, but the truth is that you are amazing despite the fact that no one ever did." He hugged her close. "Please, Emma, don't waste this pregnancy on regret over the last one. You and Hook quite literally glow with the security of your love, and Henry is happy and safe and well-loved. We both have enough to regret, I know, but let's promise each other we won't wallow in it, okay?"
Emma sniffled into her father's shirt and hugged him back. "You don't need my forgiveness, you know. But you can have it all the same if it helps." She pulled out the handkerchief that Killian had forced upon her earlier and mopped up her tears. "I love you, Dad."
"I love you, too, Emma." David felt his eyes getting wet. "You best get back indoors and have that nap. You and my grandchild need some rest."
Emma nodded into his shoulder and started back to the front door of the house. Killian found her fumbling with the doorknob, unable to open it properly because she could not see for the tears.
"Come on, love," he held the door open for her. "You're a right hormonal puddle of emotions today, aren't you? Let's get you into bed." He led her to the second floor, to a bright, airy bedroom with the softest, most comforting mattress that Emma had ever felt. She flopped into the centre of the bed, sinking into the thick duvet. A cheery fire burned in the grate. Killian slipped her shoes off her feet and lined them up with his boots next to the hearth. He pulled her back onto her feet and began unlacing her new dress, slipping it down her body and leaving her in just the shift. Then he turned down the duvet and settled her into bed.
"Will you join me for a bit?" she asked, grabbing for his hand.
"I'm not likely to turn down an opportunity to get into bed with you, love," he laughed. He arranged his sword and dagger in easy reach and crawled in next to her. "Everyone's coming for a feast tonight," he said, "they've been cooking since before we arrived, I think. But there's plenty of time for you to rest first."
"What happened to your mother and father?" she asked.
"We said good-bye on the ship… no, Emma," he waved off her concern. "I'm fine. Honestly. I know I'm supressing… is that the right Archie-word?… my emotions about it all, but just let me suppress. My denial and I are quite happy at the moment." He snuggled her close to him and let his hands explore her belly. "I'd rather focus on you and our baby for a bit, if you don't mind."
Emma melted into him. "Will you stay with us? You're right about me feeling hormonal and emotional. I don't want to be alone and I don't want to be with anyone else." Killian pressed a kiss into her hair.
"Go to sleep, love. I'll stay right here. I promise." So Emma drifted off to sleep, wondering what she was going to say to the extended clann tonight and hoping they might fixate on Princess Snow and Prince David and Evil Queen, and for once, stop asking her when she and Killian were getting married.