When I said I'd get the next chapter up quickly, well, I lied. Sorry! But here you have the epilogue... to all who read and enjoyed and commented on this story, thank you so very much. I really enjoyed writing it.

Emma ran her hands over the countertop of the small kitchen in the loft. Mary Margaret had always taken such pride in her little Storybrooke home, and she would no doubt weep to see it so covered in dust. Emma had thrown open all the windows upon entering, but she was still sneezing on and off and she gathered the few items she wanted from the abandoned apartment. She lazily opened and closed drawers and cupboards, picking up the essentials only – the few leftover photos, a favourite forgotten t-shirt, a scattering of nostalgic trinkets – before she paused in front of the kitchen cabinet furthest to the left of the sink. She pried it open, the paint had stuck a bit with the passing seasons, and there they sat, smug in their safe hidey-hole: one nearly full cellophane blister pack of birth control pills. A self-deprecating laugh escaped her as she patted her swollen belly. She flicked shut the cabinet with a huff.

Without waiting for Killian, who had warned her repeatedly to let him carry the things she wanted to salvage, Emma picked up the small rucksack of belongings and walked out the door for the last time. On the landing where Killian had kissed her after their first date, she felt an unbidden tear slipping down her cheek. Don't be stupid, she ordered herself: stupid, pregnant woman who can't stop crying. She huffed again, frustrated.

She eased herself carefully down the carpeted stairs, hanging onto the bannister, feeling herself wobble a bit unsteadily. Her centre of gravity seemed to shift and change minute by minute in her ninth month anyway, even without the added knowledge that labour had started some hours before. Light, slow, early labour: the baby was just warming up, she could tell, the contractions erratic and far apart.

She had not told Killian yet, not wanting to deal with his panic and protectiveness. She had it all under control and gave her bump a soothing rub. "We do have it all under control, don't we, little one? Your papa will only complicate matters at the moment."

Locking the door from the street out of habit, then cursing her stupidity and unlocking it again, she walked awkwardly down the middle of the empty street, making a game of swaying on the yellow lines like a balance beam, hands out to the side to steady her. The town's inhabitants had made quick work of their exodus, some to the Land without Magic, but most back to the Enchanted Forest. The folly of living in a cursed town, no longer cursed, had finally caused the little community to collapse under its own pointlessness. She was the last person in Storybrooke, come home only to turn out the lights, as it were.

Reaching her outstretched fingers towards the side of the road, she thought about caressing each little shop sign and quaint window display. It was like walking through a toy town, perfect in every respect, magically preserved, not overgrown, no broken windows, no build up of cobwebs, just a bit of dust here and there. Everyone could just move back in tomorrow, except that no one had chosen to do that, in the end.

She tilted her arms into a left turn and waddled towards the docks with a much grace as possible, pausing when a contraction made her breathe a bit faster or falter. The Jolly Roger rocked gently in its berth at the docks, and she could make out Killian just finishing a repair on a ripped sail. He would be leaving to join her at the loft in moment, so she waved her arm above her head to catch his notice. She may have intended a more drawn-out goodbye to the place, but the baby clearly had other ideas, and she had what she'd come for: a sense of closure. He waved back and she watched as he climbed down, agile and sure-footed on the rigging. She was close enough to make out the bang of his boots as he jumped the last few feet to the deck.

Still in mock-airplane pose, Emma balanced along the dock towards his ship. She stumbled as a stronger contraction hit, but righted herself by gripping the backrest of a nearby bench so quickly that her misstep was nearly imperceptible. Nearly. The pirate standing at the helm still saw it – eyes like a fucking hawk, indeed - and launched himself over the railing to land on the docks, just in front of her. He caught her up in his arms.

"Godsdammit, I knew it. I knew it and I still listened to you. We should not have come here; this trip could have waited until after…"

Emma swatted him away with flailing hands, still catching her breath from the pain and not able to mount a coordinated counterattack. The tension across her belly faded and she tried to recapture her carefree posture as she recovered.

She had, she admitted, been a little off in predicting the exact timing of Eva's birth, but the mistake had been an honest one: Henry had taken so long to be born, the time measured in days and not hours, that she had been unprepared for her daughter's motivation to leave the womb. She had been keen to have Eva in New York, where she would have all the usual paperwork issued and could, should she ever choose it, live in the world her mother had grown up in, with all the proper documentation in place. Killian, Henry and Emma had moved to New York for the month before the birth, just to be certain. They had done the same for Liam, born just under a year after his sister, before Emma and Killian realised that condoms imported from New York stood no chance against the fairies' desire for True Love babies. Emma fell pregnant the week after her six-week check, when they sailed back to the Enchanted Forest and celebrated that night in Killian's bunk on his ship.

They had been smarter this time, relying instead on a spell from Regina placed on a charm that Killian wore on his ever-present necklace. A necklace that he had lost nine months ago while swimming naked with Emma in a river in the Enchanted Forest, not far from Cath Harbour. The naked swim had led to naked sex which had led right here, to a long-awaited stop in Storybrooke on their way to New York and a slightly early appearance by Child No. 3.

So, very well, he had insisted that this trip was cutting things a bit fine, and perhaps she would grudgingly admit he had been correct. Neither of them had set foot in Storybrooke since they fell into the portal together, and yes it could have waited. Regina and Henry had brought over the few things that they needed, until the loft was in the mostly empty state that Emma had discovered today. But Emma felt that if not now, when? As the Saviour, she was needed to close down the town and make it disappear from the realms, shutting down the anomaly that the curse had created.

Another contraction hit and this time she did grip Killian, fingers digging into his biceps as she toughed it out. "All right, love, let's get you to our cabin," he soothed, all his indignation melting away in an instant. He rubbed deep, massaging circles into her lower back, familiar by now with touches that she found helpful during labour. He could tell that she was further along than she cared to admit, and he estimated that things would escalate rapidly from here. There would be no time to sail the Jolly to New York: the baby was on his or her way. Killian would need to focus on helping Emma give birth, and he could not do that and sail the ship simultaneously. He breathed a sigh of relief that this time they had left Eva and Liam at home with Regina and Henry.

He walked her back up the gangway, pausing twice for contractions (by his count, that was a 2-minute gap), then twice more before he managed to help her into the cabin. She began moving the furniture out of the way, and he let her, knowing that interfering with whatever nesting she needed to do would only result in her snapping at him. He consulted his internal clock: contractions at just under 2 minutes apart, and she was beginning to sweat with the effort of them.

"My love, I need to fetch some fresh water from the galley. I have plenty, no need to worry. I will be back in one or two contractions, okay?" He hesitated when she didn't answer, just panting, her hands on the desk she had just shoved into a corner, her head hung low in concentration. She wasn't clinging to him yet, though he knew that moment was coming soon. At some point, Emma would grip him like a vice and keep holding on until the pushing was over. Transition, the obstetric nurses in New York had called it. The final, hellish dirt track of a long journey, he called it. The time when the pain could overwhelm her, and she needed his strength too.

Rushing up the ladder and into the galley, Killian gathered up two large bowls and a small keg of water. He rushed back and forth twice more to shove the kegs in front of his cabin door, carrying one down into the cabin with the bowls and a cup for Emma.

When he returned with a cup of water to offer and a soft, wet cloth, she was pacing in the space she had created, every stick of furniture overturned and pushed to the edges of the cabin. She had thrown open the windows and was now moaning as she completed another circuit of the room. She kept moving for another half an hour, taking a small sip of water at times or letting him sponge her forehead and arms with the wet cloth. She otherwise ignored him, all of her energy turned inwards.

Finally, she faltered in her steady circuit and looked for him with wide, blinking eyes, as if just realising that she was drowning and he could save her. "Killian," she groaned, then the decibel level rose and she was shrieking his name. He stood behind her and let her grip his hands impossibly hard, then lean back against him as she gasped for breath. "Let's get some of these clothes off, okay, love?" he said softly, pulling her knickers away from under her loose dress.

"Oh god," she sobbed out, "the baby's coming, Killian!"

"I know, lass, just lean into me, aye? Hang onto me, I'm not going anywhere."

At Liam's birth, the Ob-Gyn had explained that a fast birth could be more traumatic than a long, slow one. That had sounded unlikely to him at the time, but now he could see that Emma was overcome with how quickly this birth had escalated. She seemed to have lost some of her equilibrium. It scared the shit out of him, but he refused to let it show.

"I need to push," she screamed, biting down on his forearm. Damnit, but that hurt, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain.

"That's good, my love, let's move to the bunk, aye? I'm going to need to help the baby out, and I know you like to lean back on me, but unfortunately we are all alone…" he propped every pillow and blanket he could reach behind her back.

"Don't you dare let go of me, Killian Jones!" she growled at him, spitting angry that he had suggested it. There was no point in reasoning with her, he knew. She had threatened and even carried out some violence against his person during Eva's birth, and that had been in the safety of a New York maternity unit. He didn't want to test the waters on what she might do with access to magic in Storybrooke.

"I won't let go, love, never," he agreed, slipping around to check on the progress. He kept hold of her hand, and this seemed to satisfy her for the moment. As the next contraction hit, he saw her bear down to push. He swallowed down his nerves, surprised at the lack of aversion to being asked to see the whole, bloody truth of childbirth close-up. There had been professionals around for that during the first two.

His third-born was mercifully prompt, quicker than the first two and all the more dramatic for the speed. Killian, long used to working with one hand, managed to deliver little David without once releasing his left hand from Emma's grip. She let him go to cut the umbilical cord and help her through the afterbirth while David snuffled warmly on her chest. Nervously, Killian waited until the bleeding slowed and mostly stopped. Covered in muck, he sank down on the bed next to Emma and their son and gave the little face kisses until he opened his eyes for them.

"See? Definitely a Jones," Emma grinned and yawned at their first glimpse of the same bright blue eyes that all their children shared. "Just in case you were thinking I'd snuck off with a knight or something."

Killian shot her an aggravated look. "At no point did I so much as suspect such a betrayal, love. I was not planning on a paternity test." He offered a finger for his son to grab hold of. "I wonder if he's not looking a bit blonde…"

"So he is – finally, my genes are winning," she sighed and tilted her head onto Killian's shoulder. David closed his pretty blue eyes again and fell asleep. Kissing Emma's hair, Killian hauled himself out of the bed - "We need to clean up a bit before we sleep"- and fetched a big metal tub down to the cabin. He filled it with water and Emma heated it with her magic until delicate curls of steam whispered through the cabin in the candlelight.

They washed David first and wrapped him a one of Killian's old linen shirts, then Killian held and rocked him until Emma had soaked away some of the ache and sting. By the time Emma had dried herself off and pulled on a soft tunic, David was starting to cry for food. Emma settled him down to her breast and shuffled forward on the bed, and Killian grinned and slid in behind her, propped against the side of the Jolly Roger, his arms and legs around Emma and his newest son. They let the soft movements of the berthed ship drain the last of the adrenaline from their systems, soporific in their happiness, admiring David's toes.

"So why David and not Davy?"

Killian threw the dagger that he had instantly plucked from its hiding place by the bed straight at his father's head.

"You can't kill me son, I'm already dead," Davy Jones smiled broadly, waving away the smoke that always accompanied his entrance and sauntering over to the bedside. "Oh, now, this one's Emma all over. Well done, lass. He's a real beauty." Emma offered her cheek at the compliment, and he leaned over to kiss his daughter-in-law. "But surely Davy is a fine name…"

Emma smiled back at him. "You've not seen his eyes yet. Pure Jones," she laughed softly. "And I'm sure some will call him Davy."

"Not bloody likely," Killian groused. "And has it not occurred to you that you are intruding on a private moment?"

Davy rolled his eyes. "Congratulations, son, and I love you, too." He turned back to Emma. "I just wanted to drop off his paperwork – a birth certificate organised by Jonathon from the same hospital in New York from Liam and Eva's births." He set a manila envelope on Killian's desk. "And of course I couldn't resist being the first to welcome my little namesake."

"He's not named after you," Killian insisted, running a hand over his son's dusting of light hair. "But as you're here, I could use your help getting the Jolly back to port in the Enchanted Forest – this little one has brothers and a sister to meet, and Snow and David and Regina will want to throw a ball or something over the top. Then Oona and Mac will invite the whole of Cath Harbour and several neighbouring villages to a street party…. Anyway, I'd like to stay down here with Emma and the baby if I can."

"Of course, son. Anything I can do to help," and with a final kiss for the baby, Davy swung himself up the ladder set about untying the ship from the dock. He was just about to drop sail when Killian, Emma and David emerged from the cabin, so he rushed over to help.

"Emma wants to be up on deck when we set off," Killian explained as he arranged a large number of cushions and blankets on the desk, creating a soft nest for Emma and the baby. Davy watched as the little family settled themselves in and noticed the tears in Emma's eyes as she took a final look at Storybrooke past the harbour. She slowly, sadly drew her hand in a circle through the air, and the town began to disappear, one building at a time, first the harbour and docks, then the little shops lining the main road. She watched quietly as the lights flickered out in the empty town.

"There's one light left, love. You going to turn it out?" Killian pointed out.

Emma smiled and laid her head back against his chest. "No. Call that one a loophole. A little hint of Storybrooke in the state of Maine. Just a few metres, and just for us."

Killian kissed her hair and pulled her closer. "Our villa, aye?"

"Mmmhmm, our villa. And it'll be there anytime we want to visit." She turned her face to Killian's and sighed as he kissed her. "I love you, Killian. Let's go home."

"Aye, love. Let's go home."