A/N: Hello! I just wanted to give a head's up that this chapter does contain some adult content. Nothing overly explicit, I don't think, and it does represent the start of a sort of shift in Emma and Neal's relationship going forward which is why I didn't cut it completely. But I definitely understand that it's not everyone's cup of tea so I'll have an alternative version of the chapter up on my tumblr with that scene cut and I apologize for any inconvenience.

My tumblr is pensandvinyl and at the end of the link just add: /tagged /c4b - sorry, the site won't let me add in a complete link, but that's my writing blog and I haven't posted anything else there so you shouldn't have too much trouble finding it.


Chapter 4: Athena's Ruling

It was a boy.

They found out at her second appointment, the doctor pointing out the appropriate parts as Emma removed her glasses to squint at the screen, trying to make sense of the blurry, baby-shape she saw there. His heartbeat, strong and fast and alive, echoed in her ears like a line of horses galloping towards the finish line.

Neal, meanwhile, grinned like a loon until he seemed to remember that maybe he shouldn't.

(He would pull out the sonogram and just stare at it when he thought no one was around to see. But she had seen, taking quick note of the worn edges too, understanding that he did this almost habitually).

She tried to not let that weigh on her. Neal's want. And her indecisiveness. But as much as he tried to hide it for her sake, it still shone through, clear as day. Everything he did, it seemed, was his silent show of we can do this and we can make this work. He was so very certain and she couldn't help but envy that, wishing she could hold onto that warm feeling that filled her when images of a little miniature something with Neal's smile and her eyes would pop up, haunting her dreams and invading her thoughts during slow hours at the restaurant. But as suddenly as those thoughts would appear, they would get squashed, Emma remembering the reality of their situation.

(Not to mention the reality of her.) (Because what the hell did she know about family and parenting?)

But even then, with all those dark thoughts, it was getting harder. To think practically. Realistically. Especially now that she could no longer refer to him as an it (Neal never did, she had noticed, always switching between he and she before the he had become official). Because it ... He was real. The baby. Not that the real-ness of it all hadn't made itself apparent before. Just ... it had turned to he and he did things like move and kick and suddenly he was a little human and now that short leash of emotional distance that she had created was even shorter, making it impossible to think of things in purely logical terms.

(A part of her really didn't want to anymore.)

Now that sinking, disappointed feeling filled her stomach whenever she forced herself to consider the idea that a couple with better jobs, a bigger home, and actual stability would take better care of their baby than she and Neal ever could. Especially if said couple happened to have grown up with parents themselves. Because then they would actually know shit about parenting and love and family.

(Emma kinda hated that couple - this picture of perfection that didn't actually exist outside of her imagination.)

But Emma knew more than she thought. All that worrying she had done in the last month or so proved - well, according to Neal, anyway - that she at least knew what not to do.

"Not abandoning your kid is just common sense, Neal," she had told him dryly, emptying a grocery bag from her most recent trip to the store.

He shook his head.

"Obviously it's not," he replied, mindlessly putting boxes in cabinets. "Sometimes even the parents that stick around don't get it. Everyone likes to worry about the practical shit. And that's important, don't get me wrong, but then it overshadows the rest of it. People forget how important love and support and family is in the growing up process. We know though. We've seen the scars that get left behind when they're absent."

Emma knew then, without a doubt, that as much as Neal wanted the baby and as disappointed as he would probably be if they didn't keep him, he wouldn't fault her if she did decide to give him up because he understood, at least, that they both wanted the same thing for their child. They just had very different ideas on the best way to go about giving it to him.

(That, in its own weird way, helped take the pressure off.)

But ever so slowly she began to realize the things she knew went beyond just should-be common sense. Through trial, error, and a copious amount of time spent on the bathroom floor she had discovered that the baby absolutely despised apples. And while that happened to be her favorite fruit (now she couldn't even look at them) she had gotten over this because, thankfully, he did share her love for Lucky Charms and Hot Chocolate topped with cinnamon.

(And thank whatever because she desperately needed something to make up for the complete lack of caffeine and alcohol.)

Much to Neal's amusement (and her physical discomfort), the baby shared his taste in music. And while she didn't mind the folksy whatever he usually listened to, her own taste tended to stray towards the edgier side of things. Like Whitesnake and Guns N' Roses. The baby, however, didn't seem to share her opinion, growing restless anytime she would switch stations, forcing Emma to excuse herself as she rushed to the bathroom.

(By the time she got back and settled in their lone orange recliner, Neal had always switched it back, a shit-eating grin on his face as if this, somehow, decided that he really did have the superior taste in music. Y'know, rather than merely providing further evidence to support the unfortunate fact that the baby saw her bladder as his own personal squeeze toy.)

He liked weird things too, causing Emma to develop cravings for foods that she and Neal didn't normally eat. Like pineapple on pizza and strawberry milk.

Mostly though, he just moved a lot, this tiny little thing somehow always making his presence known in some way or other with a light flutter or a harsh kick, keeping her up late and waking her up even earlier. Something she probably should have found annoying (and it was kinda inconvenient when she had to run off to the bathroom practically every ten minutes), but really, it was just kind of amazing. He was really in there and she found it hard to believe, looking back on it now, that she could have gone so long without realizing it.

(And it was crazy, she knew that, but sometimes Neal talked or just let his hand drift over her stomach in that soothing way of his and she swore the baby calmed, his restlessness settling into, well, whatever babies did nestled away in there.)

All very small, minuscule, practically microscopic things. Things that would probably translate to absolutely nothing once he made his way out. But things just the same, meaning they added up to knowledge and facts that made her feel like she knew her baby.

(Things, Emma found, were not very good for distance.)

Then, one day, while she ate her lunch and the baby kicked (she liked to think in approval because who didn't like grilled cheese), Emma had a thought. Just a passing one. Fleeting, really.

(Well, until she took the exact scale of it into consideration anyway.)

But when she thought about how much more some other faceless family (her hand tightened around her glass of strawberry milk) could give to the baby compared to her and Neal, Emma also thought that no one could possibly love him as much as they would.

(Already did.)

Naturally, she forced herself to consider her own crappy childhood after that. Something she did whenever her mind strayed too far into that silly optimistic territory because that always put things into perspective.

Only this time it didn't.

Because here's the thing: She'd forgotten somewhere along the way, all that repression doing its job, but once upon a time, before she grew up and stopped believing in fairytales, Emma would sit up at night and do silly things like hope and wish on stars. On the really bad days, when she got called useless or a potential family passed her over, she would cry herself to sleep, and naively think that everything would turn out okay if her parents would just come back for her.

(That picture of who would alternate.) (Those first few days, months, YEARS back in the system she had desperately hoped for the Swans.) (And then, eventually, she had tried to imagine what her birth family might be like.) (Y'know when she'd realized that they weren't, actually, one and the same.) (As if she could somehow forget that one had returned her like an unwanted present.) (And then finally, when she'd found that stupid newspaper article depicting her 'rescue' and understood that the other had simply dumped her on the side of the highway like used trash, she just stopped wishing altogether.)

But she hadn't cared about trivial things like where they would live or what kind of people her parents really were. She hadn't wanted toys or fancy clothes. She had just wanted a family that loved and wanted her in turn.

And that's when Emma realized.

She wanted her son.

But, perhaps more importantly, wanting him, loving him ... that would be enough.

The realization came with a bright, cloud-clearing smile and suddenly she felt lighter, the weight and guilt that had settled over her since realizing she was pregnant falling away as she let herself believe that this didn't have to be a bad thing and that yes, maybe, she could do this.

Suddenly, she had to talk to Neal.

Now okay, she could have just come out with it and, in her defense, she very nearly did when he came home from work that day. Except he walked in, loosening his tie with more force than he usually did and immediately started complaining about how a co-worker had screwed up this very important thing Emma knew nothing about and then, even though he had nothing to do with it, Neal had gotten stuck with the clean-up, saddling him with all sorts of extra work.

She knew, of course, that her decision very likely would have done a quick job of cheering him up, but Emma didn't want a cloud hanging over this. Not when she had just gotten rid of hers.

So the next day she put together a special dinner, made up of all his favorites. Or she had tried to anyway. But it burned and they wound up going out.

(And as much as she enjoyed eating greasy hamburgers and fries that didn't come from a drive thru, Emma definitely didn't want to tell him in the middle of a crowded restaurant.)

She didn't bother to think of something special for the third time. If she sat on this much longer she would only manage to talk herself out of it so, during breakfast the next day, she asked if Neal still had the sonogram.

(She knew he did, of course.)

"Yeah," said Neal, pulling out his ratty-old wallet. "What for?"

Silently, Emma took the sonogram and tried not to smile at the image staring back at her.

(She had seen it before, of course, but things had obviously changed between then and now.)

She would have preferred it if Neal turned away rather than fixing her with that intense stare of his, like he knew exactly what thoughts she had running through her head, but she did her best to ignore her discomfort as she got up, sticking their baby's first picture right next next to the one of the beach on Operation Hope.

(That's what Neal called the portion of their fridge dedicated to their goals and wishes and while the word hope made Emma distinctly antsy, he stubbornly refused to call it anything else, insisting that goals meant shit if they didn't let themselves believe they could actually happen).

"Emma," he said with nothing short of awe.

"He's ours," she told him pointedly before rushing to their bedroom so she could get dressed for work.

(She had no idea what possibly possessed her to make any sort of thing out of it. Not when she was so obviously awkward.)

Neal, of course, couldn't just leave it at that and so appeared in the doorway not long after.

"We're keeping the baby?" She wouldn't call it a question, not really, but he had said the words with exactly enough tentativeness that it might as well have come out as one.

"Obviously," she said primly, trying to choose between two white shirts (one fit her better, but it also had a stain above the belly button). She might as well have rolled her eyes.

Neal did it on her behalf. "Obviously, she says."

Emma tried to focus on the very difficult process of finding a shirt but Neal made quick work of distracting her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and landing a series of kisses along her neck.

"Neal," she said, trying to think past the very pleasant feeling of his lips at her pulse point, "I'm going to be late for work."

"Who cares," he murmured, nimble fingers brushing long blonde hair aside, lips following their path, lightly skirting across her neck, sending a tingling feeling all the way down to her toes. "We're having a baby."

She could feel his grin.

"I don't think that counts as an excuse," she replied and, in spite of her obviously feeble protests, her head titled automatically, granting him better access, her lips inching upwards as her own excitement began to shine through. "We've been having a baby the entirety of my time there."

"Don't care."

Maybe Emma didn't either.

Especially not when he lifted her, sweeping Emma off her feet, spinning her round and round until they were both laughing with childish glee, Neal finally depositing her on the age-worn mattress currently passing for their bed, hovering above her, his giddy grin fading into something that threatened to maybe steal her breath away. He kissed her then, slow and steady, and for a moment she let herself get carried away by it.

They had yet to really grow out of the quick, often frenzied romps of their Portland days. Neal liked to slow things down, she supposed, but her own impatience meant that whenever he tried, Emma would always get fed up and wind up taking control one way or another. And yeah, Neal could probably take it back, no problem, but neither made any secret of the fact that they both liked it when she was on top.

This time, however, something changed.

They hadn't immediately torn at each other's clothes, for one, and if they really planned to have a quickie before she jetted off to work then he should have had her completely naked by now.

(Not that she hadn't tried tugging at his shirt, but before she could even finish untucking it from his jeans, he had swatted at her hands, playfully kissing away the pout that inevitably followed.)

This did nothing to help distract her from the thoughts she desperately needed to shut off before she could turn herself over to his attentions completely. She'd catch up to his singular focus in a minute or two, but right then she couldn't help but think about work and the fact that they would actually have to shop for the baby now and that inevitably led to thoughts about money that she needed to go to work to get.

(In Portland, she'd fret over things like the stupid holes in her bra and panties and the last time she'd showered properly. Less often, perhaps surprisingly, she'd get caught up in the questionable safety and privacy of their stolen hideaways.)

"Neal," she said and the sound came out more like a half-moan because he had chosen that exact moment to nip at the space between her collar bones. "I really wasn't kidding about being late."

"Emma," he said with pointed amusement, hands remaining true to their mission, pushing her shirt upwards as they tried to find a temporary home on her stomach, a pit stop on their way to something far more exciting.

"Stop thinking," she guessed, wriggling a bit in the attempt to get his hands higher and with, maybe, a firmer touch. He gave her a light brush of her ribs for effort, stopping just south of her more preferred destination as his lips brushed a soft, teasing path across her skin. But he often had to give her this reprimand during foreplay. Thankfully, he also knew better than to take it personally.

"It'd be nice," he agreed, and he, at least, became amiable enough to remove her shirt finally. When she tried to return the favor, however, he simply swatted at her hands for a second time.

"It might help if you take your shirt off," she pointed out because it would.

"Would it?"

She nodded hopefully.

"Not yet," he murmured, his voice low against her skin. Husky. In that way he knew she liked. It practically vibrated and she felt it all the way down to her toes. And then his lips moved downward, neck, collar bone, and then he reached her breasts, a brush of his lips, his thumb tracing the underside and both obviously doing a fine job of ramping up the anticipation, and so it'd be nice if he'd just get on with things already.

(And oh, his teeth and her nipple. Excellent maneuver, Neal. Attention officially diverted.)

She couldn't help but arc into him, body molding itself against his, legs wrapping around his waist, holding him tight against her while she settled for digging her hands into his hair. A compromise seeing as she'd had the warmth of his skin denied to her twice now.

She mussed his hair quite thoroughly, fingers weaving through soft curls, scraping against his scalp, causing him to draw a sharp breath inward as he nipped and licked, first her breasts, and then a trail of fire down her stomach, leaving her flushed and panting and wanting. She helped eagerly as he pulled at her pants, lifting her hips so he could tug them off and when she tried, once more, to return the favor he gave her a quick tisk of the tongue.

(She liked the attention, but she'd like it better if he joined her in all the naked-ness.)

He kissed his way between her thighs then. This long, drawn-out process of soft but whiskery kisses and rough, calloused hands tracing gentle patterns, Neal doing a fine job of torturing her, getting distracted by her legs along the way as he was wont to do.

("Well, they're very nice legs," he had told her when she had called him out on this some time ago, accusing him of teasing her.)

He found his way eventually though and soon enough, with her fists tight around the comforter bunched beneath them, her hips bucked with nothing short of abandon in their desperate attempt for more, deeper and quicker please because fuck and oh, God. It didn't take her very long at all to come undone, relaxing limply back onto their mattress after riding a wave of pure pleasure.

(It had taken Emma forever to get used to the idea of Neal and his mouth there. And despite his insistence that he wanted to and whatever, Emma hadn't even considered the possibility until Tallahassee, when they finally had a regular access to a shower.)

(She definitely liked it now though.)

She desperately wanted more, something fueled by the obvious feel of his desire against her leg and so, after luring Neal into a false sense of control by giving into a thoroughly languid kiss, tongue exploring his mouth where she could taste nothing but him and her, she made quick, frantic work of his clothes.

"Off," she insisted against his lips, tugging his stupid shirt upwards, her fingers brushing against the ragged x-shaped scar above his heart.

"Eager are we?" he teased, but considering how quick his pants followed the shirt, he had officially matched her impatience.

Naturally she told him to shut up, an order made less harsh by the fact that he was inside her then and how could she help but moan in response.

(His responding chuckle, deep and sensual, also, maybe, made her toes curl.)

He didn't let her set the pace she obviously needed, keeping them at a steady sway that seemed entirely uncharacteristic of them and resulting in the exact sort of slow-method torture that she both loved and hated.

(Emma had a few tricks and well-timed squeezes of her own though which, considering Neal's responding groan, helped even the playing field.)

But even without the fast and furious-ness of it all, it still felt intense, Emma beginning to realize the emotional undercurrent accompanying Neal's touch as she met his gaze, fierce and full of something that, even just a few months ago, she would have broken by ramping up the pace, still not quite able or willing to put thoughts to feelings, let alone touch or words.

Now though the things she saw staring back at her weren't so scary and she held his stare as she brought her knees up, legs wrapping around his waist once more, bringing him closer and letting him in deeper in a way that almost immediately pushed Neal over the edge. He breathed in heavily to get his bearings, hot air landing on Emma's shoulder and she merely turned her head just so, kissing him deeply, fingers digging in, pressing down tightly on the muscles of his back, his skin hot beneath her hands. Bringing him as close as possible because, as surely as he silently thanked her and loved her with his touch, she tried to convey her readiness and willingness to do this with him. To have their son and raise him and love him. Together.

He breathed her name and the sound of it was so much like a prayer on his lips that she couldn't help but smile against his mouth, a blush that had nothing to do with lust or pleasure staining her cheeks. Because sometimes he would just look at her like he was now or say something like that and she actually felt special. Like she meant something.

They never got to fast and frantic like Emma had originally hoped, but the pace picked up, Neal's hand moving between her thighs to help her along, the extra stimulation causing her to dig her fingers in deeper, in a way that would surely leave a mark, while her hips moved, matching him thrust for thrust with a growing desperation because fuck, she was so close. Their labored breathing mingled together, mixing with the sounds of skin on skin until first Emma, with just about everything tingling in the most delicious way, fell over the edge and then, after a few more desperate but erratic movements from him (and words of encouragement from her), Neal followed.

They stayed like that, joined and Emma cocooned beneath him, for a little while longer, both attempting to catch their breath. Neal pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder while Emma ran steady fingers through his hair, both utterly sated. Even Emma's earlier rush had fallen away.

Neal, she had also learned over the course of their time together, liked to cuddle.

(In a manly sort of way, of course.)

Emma didn't dislike cuddling by any means, she just didn't immediately seek out the contact in the way Neal seemed to as soon as he caught his breath. In truth though she had always preferred touch over words, finding that a direct punch to the gut or a gentle squeeze of her hands did a much better job of getting her point across when compared to her obviously awkward attempts to actually put words to her stupid-ass emotions.

(Or her flat-out avoidance of certain issues.)

But Neal? He acted like a starving man, hanging between life and death, her touch his only means of survival.

(Sometimes she wondered who had it worse. Her, who had never really known love before him? Or Neal, who had experienced the strength of family, only to get viciously burned by it?)

Today, however, rather than immediately pull her into his arms, he had flipped onto his stomach, head level with her own expanding belly, running gentle fingers across her skin as he talked to the baby.

(He had done this before but in a careful sort of way, never letting himself get caught up in it, remaining playful and teasing, until now, when he turned every bit the loving and doting father-to-be. He even, maybe, seemed a bit awe-struck.)

"I'm your daddy," he whispered in such a way that the smile permanently occupying her lips couldn't help but widen as she played with his hair. "And I promise you that we are going to love you more than anything else in this entire world."

She shouldn't have worried, she decided, the reason why bursting out of her, seemingly of its own accord, "You're gonna make a great dad."

He pressed a fervent kiss against her stomach, a smile spreading across his face, "What made you change your mind?"

"Well," said Emma, "I never thought you wouldn't."

She had always gotten stuck on her own potentially pathetic parenting skills that she never really took the time to consider Neal's.

(Because he got people, never ever doubted what he wanted, and was, kinda, like a giant kid himself.)

"No," said Neal, curling back into her side, fingers tracing still sensitive skin, "I mean, what made you decide? About keeping him?"

She pushed down the sudden urge for a snack (pizza sounded absolutely divine), shifting a bit, her shoulders forming a distinct shrug despite her position.

"I dunno," she murmured, doing her best to ignore Neal's suddenly intense gaze. "I guess I just finally understood what you meant. You know, about giving him the important things and how that would be enough. Because that's all I wanted as a kid too."

A storm passed over his face, dark and cloudy and, before it cleared, Emma knew that he understood.

"He'll have it all," he told her fiercely, the words something he burned into her skin, over and over again, hidden behind the promise of his kiss. "Home, family, love. He'll have it all, Emma, I promise."


A/N: Thanks for reading and thanks to everyone that took the time to favorite/follow as well Rainbow2.0, steelneena, lilnudger82, and maressaonce for leaving such kind reviews on the last chapter.

Next chapter: A Helping Hand