Chapter Six: Baelfire and Swan

Another month passed. Emma's much dreaded birthday drew closer while her stomach expanded, causing her to slowly grow more and more uncomfortable as the days wore on, the lingering heat of the Southern summer meaning that she had a difficult time finding any long term relief. It got so bad that Emma would dutifully watch the news and hope that the weatherman finally announced rain.

(And he did. It came in the form of Hurricane Omar.)

Neal wanted to heed the evacuation warnings but Emma scoffed. "Have you ever been in a nor'easter?" she countered, sprawled out in their recliner, eyes closed and a cool washcloth strategically placed on her forehead. "A little rain and wind is nothing."

Mostly though, Emma had no interest in sitting in the bug for an extended period of time. Not when it didn't have any air conditioning.

Neal, meanwhile, had started work on a mural that would play as a backdrop to the baby's crib. Something that, right now, only contained the bare bones of a vibrant sun.

"Sans name," he would mutter somewhat pointedly in her direction as if it was her fault they hadn't settled on something yet. But nothing fit and each attempt to find something would start civilly enough before quickly dovetailing into a heated debate.

Neal though, Emma had discovered, could actually draw.

"That's," she started, eyes trained on the proposed sketch, words ultimately failing her as she realized that Neal had done that.

Neal shifted, pink marring his cheeks, "I can come up with something else."

"No," she said immediately, "it's good. Perfect, actually. I want that. For the baby. Everything except the name."

He had spelled out Jack with the clouds and while she liked the creativity of it, she couldn't stand the thought of anything too common. Not for their son.

They had made zero progress on this front. Not even finding something for the maybe pile.

It made Neal decidedly antsy.

"He shouldn't have to keep hearing us call him all these generic things," he would say and while Emma didn't quite agree that their son cared one way or another, not right now, she did find Neal's attitude about the whole thing wonderfully endearing.

But then, the day before Omar was set to hit land, Joy and Maya knocked on the door.

"We're going to Adventureland," Maya announced as she bounced excitedly in their doorway.

Emma raised an eyebrow, "It's Florida, wouldn't you rather –"

Joy shook her head, immediately cutting Emma off. "Maya loves Adventureland," she said before adding significantly, "And it's in Alabama."

Neal perked up. "Oh."

"Wanna come?" Joy continued, Maya nodding enthusiastically next to her.

Emma snorted. "I don't even wanna get out of this chair."

"Not even if I can promise air conditioning?"

Oh. Excellent work Joy Sinclair.

Names and murals would have to wait.

x-x-x-x-x-x

The threat of Omar passed, one of those instances where the hurricane shifted course at the last minute, and they returned to Tallahassee, Emma missing out on the rain she had so desperately been hoping for.

And the following week they helped Joy move. Well, Neal did most of the heavy lifting while Emma, pregnant as she was, got put on Maya duty, keeping her occupied and out of the path of the busy adults moving boxes.

And between everything Emma and Neal continued to argue over names.

They both agreed that they wanted to name him something meaningful to make up for the complete lack of personal attachment they had to their own last names. Unfortunately, neither could really agree on what meaningful actually meant. Once more, Neal offered John, George, or Michael. The closest thing to a proper family he'd had in this world, and a part of him wanted to honor them, but Emma kept insisting that she didn't want anything too old-fashioned or common.

She also had exactly zero people she wanted to name the baby after and when Neal gave her a sympathetic squeeze of the hand, she pointedly added, "Besides, it should mean something to both of us."

Nice thought, he supposed, but they didn't exactly have that many people in common and those that they did, like Joy and Maya, didn't go back far enough to warrant any sort of legacy.

So they would have to get a bit more creative.

"Jack," he suggested, offering the name of his favorite author.

Emma shook her head, signaling a veto and offering a pointed reminder. "You already tried that one, remember?"

The search did wind up raising a long-standing question, though, and Neal supposed it'd been silly of him to think he could avoid the conversation forever.

"What's your name?" Emma asked, shutting off the tv all of the sudden, leaning her chin on the armrest of their orange recliner so she could look down at him. She had asked him before, of course, but she had never bothered to try and press it either.

"Neal," he said purposefully, standing, because he didn't see the point in sitting on the floor if they had nothing to watch. And, suddenly, he had a craving for chips. "Or John now, I suppose."

Emma immediately followed him into the kitchen, remaining unimpressed. "Your real name?" A beat and a blank stare. "Maybe we could name him after you."

"You're not gonna wanna name him after me." Neal definitely didn't want the kid carrying around a constant reminder of the life he'd spent so long trying to forget. It would welcome a whole lot of trouble, for one, and he wasn't that person anymore for another.

"I might," she insisted, arms crossed as she leaned back against the fridge. "Besides, it's a part of you. I should know."

He really shouldn't. It would just lead to more questions. If not today, then someday. But the very idea that she wanted to know more about him, even the bits he considered irrelevant, warmed his heart and softened his resolve.

He took a deep breath and then, in nothing more than a whisper, said, "Baelfire."

His hands shook, a moment of irrational panic setting in, as if his name had somehow turned into a calling card for all the evil in the world. Emma regarded him carefully for a moment. Probably, he imagined, to see if he had just tried to pull a fast one on her. Finally, she pressed her lips together in a poor attempt to suppress a smile while her hand found his, squeezing, letting him silently cling to her, not asking the question that lurked in her eyes.

And just like that the threat passed.

"Go ahead," he said, giving her permission to laugh.

But Emma shook her head. "Baelfire," she tried before insisting, "I like it."

"But not enough for our son?"

"No," she agreed. She leaned over to kiss him and against his lips, she said, "He'd never hear the end of it."

Thank the Gods.

He realized then though that it'd been stupid of him, really, to offer up borrowed names. Not that he wanted something one hundred percent unique (like Emma had said – the poor kid would never hear the end of it), but it should still have legs, y'know, something that could stand on its own.

Neal had kept going back to the Darlings because, at the end of the day, they remained the best example of a family that he had to lean on. They had been good, moral people. But even if that legacy would go unrecognized (he couldn't actually share the truth of where the suggestions came from), any name from that period of his life would still carry a burden and expectation that their son shouldn't have to bear. Unintentional or not. He should have a clean slate, something that he could make his own, and something that would make up for the fact that Neal couldn't even give his son his last name.

Or buy a present for his mother on her birthday.

He had managed, hopefully, to come up with a nice (and free) alternative, but he still wanted better.

For Emma.

And definitely for his boy.

The clean slate would help with that, maybe.

(He hoped, anyway.) (That didn't mean it didn't hurt.)

Emma, he thought (or guessed anyway), had started to think along much the same lines. Something he had nearly missed. But Neal had come home one evening, finding Emma in a far better mood than when he had left her that morning. And while he had begun to grow used to the ups and downs of her volatile mood in the past few months, this had been something far more reminiscent of the girl he had first met. Happier, even.

(Which, maybe, should have been a warning sign.)

But he had walked in on her humming to herself as she chopped vegetables, her smile not only reaching her eyes, but it had almost seemed to sparkle too.

(Even the fact that the edge of the chicken had turned out slightly charred didn't weigh on her like it usually did.)

"What happened today?" he had asked with a certain wonder because even that had seemed like a dramatic shift for a girl trapped in the hell of hormone city.

She'd shrugged and kissed his cheek as she passed. "Nothing."

"Something," he had retorted, helping clear the table.

"I just," she switched on the faucet, "let it go."

"Let what go?" he'd prompted, scraping leftovers into an already full garbage bag.

She had smiled. Big and bright. "Everything."

He hadn't been able to fathom what that meant, exactly, but if it gave Emma that sort of joy, even temporarily, then he had no desire to question the shift beyond that. Instead, he had struggled through securing the overstuffed garbage bag and then took it down to the already full dumpster. And, in his attempt to stuff the bag down in there, nice and good, a hint of white and purple caught his eye. He'd dug around a bit, until fingers had wrapped around the soft knitted material, pulling it carefully out, shoebox and all, removing the loosened top to reveal a bunch of Emma's old things. Baby blanket included.

Everything, he had realized.

He'd closed the box quickly and, after only a moment's hesitation, shoved it under a pile of nearby crates. Later, on one of those Saturdays when Emma had work and he didn't, he had snuck it back into the apartment, hiding it in a box of his garage sale treasures that he knew Emma had no desire to ever rummage through.

Neal didn't miss a lot about his old life, not really, but sometimes he'd find himself longing for something from before. Before it had all gone to hell. If only to help remind him of the good that had existed before all the bad. And Emma's stuff, he knew, represented something different, the unanswered questions, haunting her, because she had never gotten that real family experience. But he knew too that, at one point anyway, that hadn't made the box's content any less valuable to her. And he didn't know why that had changed. If it gave Emma peace of mind, however, then he wouldn't dare take that from her. But on the slight chance that she might regret it someday then it'd be there. Waiting. Hidden, maybe, but ready for her to take back.

For now though, they'd have their clean slate. They deserved it. Their son most of all, who would come into this world innocent and full of hope and potential. Neal wouldn't burden him with the past, but he would find a way to give him everything he could, starting with a strong name.

x-x-x-x-x

"I don't do birthdays," Emma had told Neal after he'd asked when hers was, attempting to drop it into the conversation in a way no one would actually call subtle or casual. She had appreciated the thought, of course, but he didn't need to worry about it. Because she didn't do birthdays.

(Nevermind that he had done this back in Portland after she had presented him with a stale cupcake for his birthday.) (Which, even with her super sleuthing, wound up six days too late.) (But she had tried, at least, and it wasn't her fault that all his 'official' papers came with fake dates.)

She assumed, really, that would have marked the end of it. Neal never brought it up again and now, of course, they agreed that every penny not spent on bills and their basic survival needs absolutely had to go to the baby.

Emma tried to do her part with this, of course. Not that she'd ever been the type to splurge or anything, but when she went grocery shopping she actually made a list. And then she stuck to it. Y'know, rather than throwing anything that looked good into the cart.

(An especially difficult task considering she was pregnant and everything looked good.) (Even the things she didn't normally like.)

She furthered this effort by switching to things like those cheap shampoo-and-conditioner combo, knock-off things (even if it absolutely killed her hair), and Joy had shown her tips and tricks on how to really cut corners. Things like double coupons and how to make her own laundry detergent (which, surprisingly, wasn't that bad). And Emma had even continued her somewhat feeble effort to find a better job. But she had ultimately given up, realizing that even if someone bothered to hire her, she'd have to go on maternity leave not long after. So instead, rather than waste her time on a pointless chore, she had asked for longer shifts at the restaurant. Which her boss granted her, even if Neal clearly wished he hadn't.

"Then cut back on your hours," Neal would say, half-pleading with her when she complained about exhaustion, swollen feet, and an aching back.

But honestly, it wasn't the work that continually wore her down. At least not just the work. Because almost eight months in now and Emma had decided that she absolutely despised being pregnant. Really. It sucked. First people asked personal, prying question and then tried to paw at her stomach. And, of course, Emma couldn't forget the silent looks of judgment when she'd say that no, actually, she wasn't married.

"Maybe we should get married," said Neal when she complained to him about this and he looked earnest enough that she knew he really wouldn't mind doing it. He might have even wanted to.

But that wasn't the point. Not really.

(She had never really worried about defining her relationship with Neal anyway. They just were.)

Worse, maybe, was when she had to contend with the unfortunate things like the fact that nothing fit her the way she wanted it too, she could never get comfortable because she sat on patio furniture and slept on a mattress, and even when she could get comfortable a little necessity called sleep still kept refusing her because Florida was always too fucking hot.

She must have complained about it one too many times, because one night, the day before her birthday (the one she refused to acknowledge), Neal simply shot out of bed, taking the covers with him. She figured he'd gotten enough of her and planned to go sleep on the couch (or in the recliner rather), to which she said good riddance because he'd done this to her in the first place.

(She wasn't really mad.) (Not in a serious sort of way.) (Just annoyed really.) (Being pregnant sucked.)

"Come on," he said, turning on the lights and forcing Emma to squint unhappily, "get dressed."

"What?" she asked as she reached blindly for her glasses.

"Or go in your pj's if you want. Up to you." Then he disappeared into the bathroom leaving Emma to blink dumbly and wonder what the hell he planned to do in the middle of the night.

Twenty minutes later, after bundling her into the bug, they sped down the highway, Neal stubbornly refusing to answer her questions. So eventually, finally, she fell asleep to the sounds of Lou Reed on the radio and the feeling of a refreshing breeze on her face.

These days she didn't even need an alarm clock. Not when her baby thought she had a soccer ball for a stomach and a teddy bear for a bladder. Apparently though, Neal's secrets plans didn't involve any sleep at all because two short hours later he shook her awake.

"I was going to wait until the morning to leave," he said as he helped her out of the car (she hated to admit it, but she was big enough now that she actually did need the help), "But seeing as we were up anyway I figured we'd might as well get a head start. Happy Birthday, Emma."

Her stolen watch told her that it was indeed after midnight.

She did a quick survey of her surroundings.

He had stopped in an empty parking lot.

She frowned and then collapsed back into the bug, blinking up at him. "I don't understand."

Neal had clearly expected a different reaction because he sputtered a bit before asking, "Don't understand what?"

Emma narrowed her eyes, "How'd you know what today was?"

"I just looked at your driver's license," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "I know you said you didn't want to –"

"I don't," she stressed, almost scathingly.

He took a step back, saying slowly, "Okay."

"Were you just going to leave me here?" asked Emma.

Neal spluttered again, letting out a defensive, "Hey."

And she immediately deflated because, okay, hearing it? Looking at the man in front of her? Not one thing about that didn't sound ridiculous. Still kinda mad about the direct violation of her wishes, however, she only managed to mutter a somewhat petulant, "I'm sorry."

She really hated today.

Neal must have sensed this because he swore and then knelt down in front of her, guiding her chin to look at him, breaking her pointed glare at the far-reaching space surrounding them where she saw nothing but pavement, yellow lines, and what might have been a poorly constructed fence.

The unfortunate scent of rotting fish also hung in the air.

"I'm sorry, baby," he murmured, "I didn't even think about what today was for you. We can go. Come back another day."

He didn't understand. The why of it at least. Not, really. But he had tried. Which was more than most people and, of course, she just went and stomped all over his attempt because of her own stupid hang-ups. Crap she had sworn she'd already let go of.

She furrowed her brow and asked, somewhat skeptically, "Come back where?"

"You mean you didn't notice?" He asked teasingly, and she rolled her eyes because obviously not and he grinned, pulling her to her feet before he pressed a finger to his mouth, murmuring, "Just listen."

So she did. But she didn't hear anything. Not at first anyway. But then –

"Are those," almost too much to hope for, she said the next part tentatively, "waves?"

He gave her that look of his – all temptation and excitement, taking a step back, tugging on her hand. "C'mon, then. Let's go check it out."

"Babe," she warned, lips twitching, her mouth inching up in spite of herself, threatening to burst into a giant grin if she didn't control it, "it's probably closed."

He raised a brow, a mischievous smile already lighting up his face when he asked, "When has that ever stopped us?"

True enough. So with that grin successfully breaking loose, Emma let Neal pull her in the direction of a wooden dock, ducking under his arm when he raised a feeble rope that indeed marked the beach as closed. Eventually the man-made structure gave way to sand, and immediately Emma slipped her flip-flops off, letting herself enjoy the soft, gritty sensation of sand between her toes. They walked forward to where sand met ocean and fresh warm water crashed around her ankles. Stars and ocean laid out in front of them, stretching, reaching seemingly forever into the ether until they finally met on the distant horizon.

"What do you think?" asked Neal hesitantly. "I know –" He made a vague gesture behind him to indicate before, "And that we're trying to save everything we can for the baby. So this is it really. But –"

Emma didn't let him finish, cutting him off with a searing kiss. "No. It's perfect. I mean it. It's the best thing anyone's ever given me. And I'm sorry about –"

She imitated him, gesturing toward the parking lot somewhat sheepishly.

(She would have apologized for the constant complaints just hours earlier too, but then they wouldn't have left when they had and having the beach to themselves actually made it that much better.)

He scrunched his nose, still all smiles as he waved off her apology. And she wanted to tell him then because if anyone should know then it was Neal, but everything was suddenly so perfect. Emma didn't want to drag the mood down with her stupid shit. Again.

"You know what this reminds me of?" Emma prompted him a little while later after they had started slowly making their way down the length of beach, waves crashing against their feet.

Neal acknowledged her with a lazy, contended hum and she grinned.

"Our first date."

They had kinda done the swings in Adventureland, yeah (another sit and talk thing, Neal bribing the operator as the park got close to closing because pregnant woman and rides didn't actually mix). But now? With the sneaking around and relaxed, unforced atmosphere … well, it did a much better job of capturing the mood of that first night.

"Technically," he said lightly, obviously catching on to what she meant, "that was drinks."

"Coffee, rather."

(Fuck. She missed coffee.)

"You know," she added, only far more serious this time, "I'm really glad I stole your car."

She couldn't offer him more than that. Like he'd said they couldn't really afford anything right now anyway, but after all he had given and done for her in the past eleven months (fuck – were they really coming up on a year together), Emma couldn't think of anything better to give Neal than the fact that she had no regrets.

His eyes crinkled as he grinned stupidly, telling Emma she had guessed right.

"Me too," he said, squeezing her hand.

He talked her into stripping down to her bra and underwear and they made their way into the water. Emma somewhat tentatively at first until Neal forced the issue with an obnoxious splash that she quickly returned.

(Despite it being her birthday, officially marking her as a year older, she felt younger than she had in a long time.)

They wound up wrapped in each other's arms, kissing languidly in the water for a time before, one by one, the stars started to fade and so Neal made a quick trip to the car, returning with a beach bag that contained things like dry clothes and, of course, towels, one of which he laid out on the sand where they settled in to watch the sunrise.

And then, suddenly, in what should have been a picture perfect moment the words just burst out of her.

"I was almost adopted once," she told him, all awkward and stilted and rushed.

He blinked, obviously surprised, before he flipped on his side, staring at her intently as he waited for her to continue.

"Yeah," she breathed, "I got an official placement about a month and half after they found me on that," she pressed her lips together, silently indicating the highway her parents had so recklessly abandoned her on, "And fuck, I must have been there, with them, for nearly four years and on my third birthday they got me what should have been … the best present. They sat me down and said they wanted to adopt me."

Neal threaded his fingers through hers and squeezed tightly while Emma smiled sadly. "I was excited, of course, because they were clearly pleased by it. But I didn't really understand what it meant, y'know. Because as far as I was concerned they were my family. Or whatever stupid understanding I had of that at three."

Emma sniffed and rubbed her free hand gently across her stomach. "They were already pregnant by then. They'd been trying for years, but Eliza loved kids and had always wanted a big family so it didn't seem like it'd be that big of a deal. And then the baby was born and it was hard. Like babies tend to be. They stuck it out at first. For a few months even. I can't even remember what the tipping point was honestly. But they sent me back."

And if she hadn't understood what adoption was, she definitely hadn't understood the concept of: "Mommy and daddy aren't coming back," or "They weren't really your parents," or "Your REAL parents abandoned you."

That had taken her years to really fully digest.

But at nearly four she had started to reach that age. That point where prospective parents just weren't interested. They almost always wanted the young ones. And she had been young enough still, she supposed, but when someone did ask they got to hear about the almost adoption and if fourfiveSIX wasn't a red mark against her then that wasbecause they always wanted to know why it fell through and clearly the problem must have been her and who, really, wanted to deal with that sort of baggage.

"That's where Swan comes from, y'know," she murmured, "Eliza and Bennett Swan. My almost family."

Neal remained quiet for a long time. A sure sign that there wasn't anything, really, to say to that. He wore a hard, intense look though and then he settled on, "We don't have to do birthdays. Yours or mine. We can just stick to the little guy's."

Her lips twitched, "Today was nice though."

He smiled, "Yeah?"

She nodded, "I like the beach."

Just, maybe, next time they could do without the surprise factor.

"Well, beaches are nice," Neal agreed playfully before he shifted and, quite seriously, he told her, "It's not gonna be too hard."

Her smile fell. "You don't know that."

"Oh, I don't doubt we've got a rocky road ahead of us," Neal said and she supposed he meant it as something reassuring. "But there's no such thing as too hard. Not when your heart's really in it. And I don't know why theirs wasn't, Em, because I can't imagine anyone meeting you and not being completely head over heels." She ducked her head, a hint of pink heating up her cheeks. "I see you though. Warts and all. And I'm still here. I'll always –"

"You don't –"

She didn't want him to make her a promise. Not today. He'd mean it, of course, she knew that. But they had meant it too.

Neal shook his head, however, a hand settling on her stomach.

"I do," he told her, "because you deserve a good memory. I'm always gonna be there. And every year, on this day, you're gonna remember this conversation and you'll see that I kept my word. Because I'm in this."

"Neal –"

"Fresh start, remember?" he prompted her and she nodded. "Together?"

"Together," she agreed.

And suddenly Neal grinned. "I think that's it, baby?" A beat passed and at her blank look, he elaborated, "What we name the baby after. It doesn't have to be a person or a friend or our favorite musician. Just something that's important to us, right?" She gave a slow nod, and he continued, now all excited enthusiasm, "Like the place where we met. The place where it all changed."

It was a nice thought. One Emma really liked actually. She just couldn't fathom how Portland would work for a name.

"There's Porter though," Neal pointed out just as streaks of pink and orange stretched across the sky.

"Porter," Emma tested, hands sliding across her stomach. He'd been awake for a while now, rough kicks reminding her of his presence, the earlier swim refreshing enough to rouse him. "Porter Neal Swan. I like it."

He raised an eyebrow. "Neal?"

"Well, somebody should have your name, shouldn't they, John?" Emma finished pointedly. Teasing. "It's Neal or Baelfire. But either way we're naming him after you."

(Especially when they had both already decided that giving him her last name was the safer option. Even if they could mostly say they had officially outrun the trouble they had left behind in Portland.)

"Neal then," he said. He tried to act all casual and manly about it, but she could see a tinge of pink on his cheeks. "Neal is who I am now."

"Good," she turned, tasting salt and him as she pressed kisses along his shoulder until she got to the base of his neck, fingers drawing patterns up and down his torso. "Hm. How long do you think we have?"

His hand curled its way into her still damp hair. "There's all day if you want it."

"No. I mean," she found his jaw, "do you think we have time for sex on the beach?"

Because, honestly, if they were going to have just one last juvenile act before the responsibility of parenthood kicked in then Emma could think of nothing better.

Neal agreed wholeheartedly. "Oh, absolutely."


A/N: Thanks for reading everyone and a big thanks to steelneena, maressaonce, and lilnudger82 for taking the time to review - OC's, while sometimes necessary, are always a little tricky so I'm glad you guys seemed to like Joy.

Next Chapter: The New Rule