Emma's first thought upon waking was that she didn't feel sick to her stomach. Now that she'd entered into her second trimester, it looked like the morning sickness was finally abating.
Her second thought was that she was very much alone in her bed. Killian's side was not only empty, but cold, proving he'd been up for a very long time. That in and of itself wasn't so strange; he'd always been an early riser, but normally she could hear him puttering around downstairs or softly whistling sea shanties while he went about his morning. This morning–like far too many of late, the house was still and silent.
Had she snapped at him one too many times about his hovering? Had he finally gotten tired of her hormone and nausea induced surliness? She felt the guilt creep in when she thought of that moment she snapped at him a couple weeks ago and told him to get a hobby. He was just trying to help; she knew that, but old habits die hard. She'd spent so much of her time growing up licking her wounds by herself that it was hard to let anyone–even the husband she loved with everything in her–take care of her.
Has it finally happened? That small, insecure voice deep within, asked, "Has he finally realized I'm not worth it? Has he gone off to find someone else who will let him care for them?
For a moment, the nausea almost returned, for a reason entirely unconnected to the little one inside, who was currently kicking for all she was worth, but Emma resolutely turned away from her insecurities. She knew Killian; had always known him. That man was as steady and faithful and dependable as any man she'd ever met. She'd be less surprised to hear that he'd doused the Jolly Roger in lighter fluid and set her on first than to hear he'd cheated on her–or even thought of doing so.
Her visits with Archie had really done wonders in helping her overcome her insecurities, even if they occasionally tried to creep back in.
No, it was more likely Killian was keeping his distance because it's what he thought she wanted, what she needed. It wasn't. She needed him, even if early pregnancy discomfort brought out her worst side.
She shouldn't have snapped at him the way she did. He deserved better.
And so she resolved to set things right–but first she had to find him.
His phone went straight to voicemail, not a surprise there. Killian was wary of technology at the best of times, and he seemed to have a particular aversion to what he called the "incessant chirping of that infernal talking phone", and more often than not, he chose not to even turn it on in the first place. (They'd need to have a talk about that as she came closer to her due date and needed a reliable way to get ahold of him immediately, should she go into labor when he wasn't with her.)
She first went to the Jolly Roger, and then to the docks where Smee worked, and then to the library, but all to no avail. Granny's was the most logical next stop, but when she stepped inside and perused the diner, there was no sign of him.
She was on the point of turning to leave, when Leroy stopped her. "You lookin' for Capitaine Crochet? Check the sitting room. Odds are he's having one of his little sewing circles with his princess friends."
"He's…what?" Emma asked, fairly certain that there hadn't been a single intelligible word in what the small man just said.
Rather than answer, Leroy merely hooked his thumb toward the inn portion of Granny's establishment. Emma decided not to even try to get any more answers out of him. Instead she followed his directions.
She heard Killian before she saw him.
"The trick is to maintain an even tension," he said. "It was a bit of a challenge to master, but since I have, my stitches are nice and even. See?"
What?
"Oh that is better!" Ashley said. "Thanks Killian!"
The sight that met Emma's eyes once she entered the sitting room was something she'd never thought she'd see. Killian, the fearsome Captain Hook, sat in a frilly, pink armchair surrounded by Ashley, Kathryn, Mary Margaret, Belle and Ariel. All of them appeared to be…crocheting.
He looked up when she entered the room, his face coloring with apparent embarrassment, as he tried to hide the small piece of fabric he'd been constructing behind his back.
"Swan!" he yelped. "I wasn't expecting to see you so soon. This was supposed to be a surprise"
"What? I…I was looking for you, Killian," she said, making her way slowly to his side, and coaxing his hand back to the front so she could see what he was working on.
It looked like…it looked like her baby blanket.
"Is this where you've been disappearing every morning?"
He used his hook to scratch at that spot behind his ear and glanced aside. "Well, Love, you told me to get a hobby, and I'm trying to respect your wishes."
Emma vaguely noticed the other women filing out of the room, giving them privacy for what looked to be a private conversation between spouses. She'd appreciate the gesture, if she could get past the shame she felt at pushing him away the way she had.
"I'm sorry, Killian," she said, taking a seat next to him, and running soft fingers against the blanket he was making. "I'm sorry I've been such a bitch to you. I was kind of afraid I'd pushed you away or something, that you'd decided I wasn't worth the effort."
He looked up quickly, the shock evident in his eyes. "I assure you, my love, that will never be the case, no matter how out of sorts you might become. Nothing could ever convince me you aren't worth the effort. To me, you are worth everything. You and our little cygnet."
The tears came to her eyes then, and one spilled over and trailed down her cheek. "I know that Killian. I hope you know I feel the same."
"Of course I do," he said, leaning in to kiss her softly. "But this project is about more than staying out of your way when you bid me to do so."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," he said, looking a bit uncertain. "I must admit to a bit of trepidation when it comes to our child–Oh I want her, more than anything, no fear of that–It's just…"
"It's just what, Killian?" she asked gently.
"What do I know about being a father?" he asked softly. "What do I know about caring for a child? What if I fail dismally? I thought, perhaps if I made her her own blanket, like the one you cherish, perhaps I could feel a bit less inadequate."
Emma began to cry in earnest at that, as she pulled him in for a longer, more comforting kiss. When it came to an end, she stayed close, forehead against his, hand still at the nape of his neck. "Listen to me, Killian Jones. You are a wonderful father to Henry, and you'll be an equally wonderful father to this little magic bean, no matter what you do or don't give her. You love her, and that's all that matters. You don't ever have to try to prove yourself beyond that. But for the record, she's going to love the blanket her daddy made her."
"You really think so?" he asked, holding the half-completed item up for her perusal.
"I know so," she said firmly, fingering the delicate material before laughing.
"What's so amusing, love?" he asked.
"I'm just imagining telling that swaggering, innuendo laden pirate I climbed the beanstalk with that one day he'd not only settle down, but lead a crocheting circle with the local ladies."
Notes:
–Apologies for the shamefully long time in between updates. I got busy with other projects, and then I kind of forgot this story even existed. That combined with my muse being on strike led to an almost 8 month hiatus, such that I would be surprised if ANY of you even remember what happened in part 1.
–I just returned from a vacation with kmomof4, jrob63 and snowbellewells, and it's amazing what a little down time with fandom friends can do to get the writing juices flowing again! I will do my best to be less of a stranger in the future!
