This is it, everyone. The last full chapter of Time Around. Thanks to everyone who stuck with me, who sent encouragement and well-wishes.

X: Light

I:

The villagers kept their back to the eastern horizon. All activities in town seemed to center on the west, where the sky remained blue and pure and endless. No one wanted to acknowledge or dwell on the fires in the east, the never-ending inferno that melted youth and left only broken spirits and damaged flesh.

What kind of life could a child lead in a world like this, she wondered.

She thought of Henry, ten years old, with his hesitant smile and his gentle spirit. What would a place like this do to a boy that gentle? As she looked across the yard, she realized she already knew.

Rumpelstiltskin stood carefully, his staff resting against his right shoulder, using both arms to unfurl the wet washing in order to clip it to the clothesline. She had watched him do this countless times, usually helping, but it never failed to make her smile. The pleasure he took in his work was obvious. He enjoyed rhythmic, repetitive tasks, from the wheel to almost any other kind of chore. He wore only his linen undershirt and breeches, in concession to the blistering heat; she would be lying to say she did not enjoy the view.

She leaned back against wall of the house, sitting on the long wooden bench he had finished constructing the week before. The table was proving more difficult in this sweltering weather, but she was certain he would get it finished 'in time.'

'In time.' They used this phrase quite a bit these days, but her heart twisted when she heard it. He did not know she dreamt of Storybrooke, nearly every night now.

She heard Mary Margaret's voice, Henry's, and some she did not know well. Never his voice, until he broke the spell, calling her back out of her endless floating and into his arms.

Emma watched Rumpelstiltskin finish the last of the laundry. When he turned to look at her, catching his staff and shifting his weight against it, he smiled. She could not keep the answering smile off her face. He looked so young, so happy, so... tender. She had never seen a warmer pair of eyes than this man's as he looked at her.

He paused beside her, still leaning on his staff as he curved himself towards her, as though asking permission to sit by her side. She shook her head, laughing, and grabbed his wrist to pull him down. He smiled at that, dipping his head, hair slipping past his shoulders to fall over his face.

Immediately, Emma reached up to gently tuck his hair behind his ear. She did not want to miss one moment of this, did not want to miss one expression on that face. She thought of Gold suddenly – older, bitter, and convinced he was unable to be loved. Her smile took on a twinge of sadness and he reached for her hand, eyes darkening with concern.

"It's nothing," She said, shaking her head to reassure him. Her free hand stole down to the swell of her stomach. He had helped make a long loose shift for her, wider around the middle than the one she'd first worn here, to accommodate her pregnancy.

It had been completely unexpected. One day she had suddenly realized it had been too long since she'd had her cycle. Coupled with their development into lovemaking, she realized too late that she hadn't even considered any kind of protection. Normally, she would have been enraged at herself, berating herself for her stupidity. That's what she had done before, after all.

But this man was not Henry's father. This man was a good, kind man.

This man loved her.

And she loved him.

They sat together now, enjoying the breeze's blessed relief from the weight of the heat. Slowly, Emma leaned to the side until she was curled up on the bench beside him, resting her shoulder against his chest.

"...We're going to have to name this kid," She said suddenly.

He snorted in amusement. "Yes, well, that is generally the way of things."

"Shut up, you know it's something serious we need to discuss. I mean... What even is considered a regular name here?"

When he pursed his lips together in a frowning pout, she elbowed him gently in the ribs. "Oh, hush, your name is fine."

"...It's very long." He offered apologetically. "I was named after my father, Rumpelstilzchen."

At her mildly alarmed expression, he laughed. "Don't worry. I'm not keen to pass certain things along. What are your parents' names? My mother was called Marchen."

"...Uh..." Emma hesitated, feeling a faint flush creep into her features that had nothing to do with the temperature. "...Snow White and ...Charming?"

He raised the tips of his fingers to his lips, attempting unsuccessfully to smother his snicker. She elbowed him again. "Hey, now, Mister Four Syllables, don't laugh!"

He pulled a face then, shrugging his shoulders as he pulled his mouth down at an extreme angle in an exaggerated frown. "...I guess we could always call them Ruemma."

Emma laughed then, shaking her head. "I want to name this baby something special. I... I told you about Henry..."

"Your son who is ... far away." He nodded sadly.

"I didn't get to name him. He was picked up, taken away from me as soon as he was born. The woman who adopted him... she gave him is name. Feels like the one thing I should have given the little guy and I just... didn't."

"I'm sure he likes his name. Henry is... It's not a terrible name."

"When I was pregnant with Henry, I saw everything as an inconvenience, and a nightmare. I didn't want to be there, going through those things. I didn't want to keep my baby. ...But now that I've met him... I wish I'd done things differently. I'm going to do things differently. For Henry and for this baby."

He nodded, staring past her at the laundry dancing in the wind. She could see the moment his thoughts darkened, the moment he glanced to the left and saw the faintest curl of red in the distant sky. Despite the heat, the afternoon suddenly seemed very cold.

"...It's like all the light goes out of the world there," He said softly.

She took his hand firmly in hers, pulling their joined palms and entwined fingers into her lap. "There's always light, Rumpelstiltskin. If I've learned anything, I've learned that."

II:

Emma dropped back on the bed with a groan. "For the last time, I am fine."

"I know that you're fine right now, but if something were to happen..."

She pushed herself up on her elbows and shook her matted curls from her face. "What, like the baby suddenly coming early?"

"You shouldn't..." He curled both hands around his staff in a gesture that somehow managed to combine white-knuckles and hand-wringing. "You shouldn't joke about things like that!"

"Hey, hey, calm down..." She said gently this time, reaching up for him. He came with her when she tugged; sitting beside her on the bed they now shared.

With a long exhalation of breath, he curved over her, pressing his cheek against her stomach, closing his eyes. "...I don't have to go."

"You kinda do," She answered, brushing her fingers through his hair. "You've put it off as long as you could, but you're going to have to go tomorrow."

"Grenelda would be angry..." He murmured, throat tightening at the thought. "...She's probably... already angry."

"Rumpelstiltskin..." Emma whispered, drawing his face up with her fingers gently. "You have to take the yarn and get more wool. We need supplies. It's going to be fine. We're both going to be fine."

He made a helpless sound of distress, curling closer to her on the bed. "It doesn't feel right to leave you..."

"You're not leaving. You're just... going to work."

"On the other side of the wood! That may as well be the Midlands for all it will matter!"

She pet her hand across his back soothingly as his voice rose in volume and pitch. "Hey, hey... Has anyone ever told you you're very high-strung?"

"...I don't know what that means."

"It means you worry too much."

"I sometimes wonder if you don't worry enough," He replied.

"It's going to be fine."

III:

Emma screamed, throwing her head back, feeling the sweat slide down her neck to pool in her gown around her back. Between her legs, Veronica leaned in closer, nodding almost frantically. "Yes, I can see the baby now... Just a bit more... Another little push..."

"A little push?" Emma snarled, clutching at the blanket hard enough to fray the weave with her fingernails.

"Just the one..." She replied, dipping her hands in the bucket of water beside her.

"I am pushing!" She snapped. Another contraction forced her flat on her back and she screamed again, trying to focus on the beauty of this situation, rather than the pain. It was hard to find much beauty when it felt like she'd somehow swallowed her Volkswagen. Never before had she realized how grateful she should have been for the epidural and painkillers during Henry's birth.

Finally, Emma pushed herself up on her elbows and ground down with her hips. The sharp cry startled her into falling back down, just as Veronica closed her hands around the messy, weeping bundle.

"...It's a little boy..." She whispered, awe written across her face. "You have a son, Emma..."

Slowly, Emma reached out for the baby, taking him into her arms. He was perfect - ten fingers, ten toes, and a thick mat of twisted dark hair. She wondered what colour his eyes would be, but they were too screwed shut to tell.

"He's so light..." She whispered, smoothing her hand gently across his face as he continued to cry. "...Hey, kiddo. Your daddy's not home yet, but... boy is he going to be surprised to see you."

She looked across the bed to her companion, smiling gratefully at the other woman. They had come a long way from their awkward conversations at the side of the well. "He's beautiful," Veronica said softly. "...Let me take him and bathe him, while you rest."

Emma nodded in agreement, but she found herself gripping tightly to the baby, giving him a hug as firm as she dared. "...That's probably a good idea..." She acquiesced, flopping bonelessly on the bed again. She felt filthy and drained and utterly happy.

Emma closed her eyes.

IV:

"...Emma."

She groaned and tried to turn on her side, only to find her body resisted the movement entirely.

"Oh, God, Emma, please...!"

Lifting one hand to her face, she rubbed her palms across her eyes and nose. Her mouth felt bone dry and she was hungry. She became aware of a slight ringing in her ears and she shook her head to clear it.

"You're awake! I can't believe it... I was so worried, I..."

Slowly, painfully slowly, Emma lowered her hands from her face.

"...No..."

"Emma, what's wrong?"

"No, no, no... This isn't... This can't be..."

"Emma, honey, what's wrong?"

She curled into Mary Margaret's sudden, enveloping hug, feeling deep, shattering sobs rising up in her chest. The other woman held her tightly as she cried, whispering softly, "Its okay, Emma... You're safe now. You're home and you're safe."

She didn't understand why this only made the other woman sob harder.