The fifth month.

I'm gladdened to say we made it. As a matter of fact, I am delirious beyond all expectation. Especially in view that I was close, so so close, to becoming a widower this past week. The notion of being without my light, my beacon, my Swan, even if all is well now, just makes my blood curdle and my eyes water. Thinking that I might have to be in charge of raising my sons without their beloved mother at my side is a frightening concept and I truly hope I never, ever again have to experience that feeling, especially since I know myself well enough to know that odds are I'd probably spin down into a black hole of piracy and anger... and I'd probably raise two pirates as opposed to two wonderful men.

And since I never, ever again wish to ever speak of the subject again, I will unburden my heart by jotting the anecdote down in here and have done with it once and for all.

"Operation Frosty Cat" started one evening after Emma and the two darling babes had settled for a nap. Like any other night, Henry and I seemed to set out for sustenance; however, our goal was to find Regina. The cold outside was enough to chill the bone of even the bravest man, but still we soldiered on, carefully, slowly, and with hopes of not being seen by any of the Witch's guardsmen, who were unpredictably patrolling Storybrooke in search for any possible sign of an uprising.

We managed to reach her house... And found her to be another ice statue behind her desk.

How I wish Henry had never seen that. I held him to me as he sobbed, unable to do anything else but that. The only hope, I now knew, was Emma herself. So, since she would not be needing her supplies, Henry and I emptied Regina's icebox (amazing gadgets, those...) and returned to our sheltered makeshift home. I could hear Red howling in the distance and wondered whether or not she too might be needing shelter. Finding a friend in these dire circumstances was a welcoming thought, so Henry and I detoured slightly, following the gloomy sound of Red's wolven cries amidst the iced landscape.

My thoughts were focused on my family, the whole time. "Must get this done, think of Liam, think of wee Neil, think of the young boy about to become a man who follows your every step... think of your love, Killian...", was my motivational inner discourse.

We found Red in her wolf form; her red cape was nowhere to be seen. But she knew us well enough to silently follow us back to our den. One more life saved! (Perhaps I did have some hero in me, after all?)

Once we were back, Emma was frantic, but she mellowed out when Henry collapsed in her arms, crying over Regina. As I expected, she was fairly livid that we had gone so far, but was also relieved to see red was still alive and that we had brought enough food to hide for at least a week.

All was well... or at least as well as it could be, considering our boy had just sort of lost his adoptive mother and he too, had started to lose hope. Now THAT was something we could not have. Henry, the truest believer, was faltering. His little heart was too burdened.

So... it was up to me.

I spoke to Emma of the boy's plan. I told her about the legend of the Lion Ruler Aslan, who was to defeat the witch and reclaim his lands... the savior. Emma didn't quite know what to do, but as always, I stood by her side, telling her just how powerful and strong she really could be. It took a while for her to conjure up enough faith in herself, though my words... but once she got started, she glowed. She looked like an angel, a white halo of powered light shining through her every pore and follicle.

How in the world did this creation of all the gods in all the realms wind up marrying a scruffy old pirate such as I? I thought I was dashing and debonair, but... bloody hell.

I didn't expect her to completely transform into a Lion as such... I had always known it would probably refer to a metaphor. She regained her inner strength, then turned to me, confident, brave and beautiful, and kissed me: "Take care of the boys. I'm gonna take that frosty bitch down.", she asserted, before running her hand through my hair with a faint grin marked on the corners of her perfect, pink lips. "I love you so much..."

"You can do this, my love..." I said to her. "I have faith in you. I love you."

"We all do." Henry quipped with a smile.

So, after hugging and kissing her two sons and little brother and giving me a soft, loving kiss, up the stairs and out the shelter door she went. And I felt a knot in my throat and a rock-heavy heart.

Normally, I'd follow her; my heart has the strange impulse of tracing her every step, guarding her back and being there to take a bullet, arrow or sword for her, if need be. But the boys needed to be looked after. Liam was in dire need of a bath, so with Henry's assistance, we got that done before moving on to Neal. After that and once the babes were sleeping (might I add I simply love watching them sleep; I do feel a tad envious of babes when they are deep in slumber). I lay beside them, but unlike my boys, I did not sleep.

Hours passed and Emma did not return.

Then there was a sudden shudder, a seismic shattering of sounds. we jolted awake and looked around. I swiftly ran to the corner, grabbed my sword and leather trench coat and turned to Henry. "You're to be a man soon, lad." I asserted. "I charge you with looking after your brother and uncle. I must go help your mother."

Henry nodded. "Please... don't let me lose her too!"

I knelt before him and grabbed his shoulder. "I shan't return with bad tidings, Henry. Be strong, m'boy." I smiled, hugged him and kissed his head, before turning to my infant child, holding him, kissing him and swallowing the tears that threatened hard to emerge. I also looked at Neal. "I'll find your mother and father and we will get them back, little one. I promise." I looked at Red, curled up in a ball on the floor corner and she raised her furry head, her beady canine eyes glaring into my own. "Please... Look after my children..." I begged. I could swear she nodded before laying back down.

So, out I went.

I was greeted by a vision of power beyond anything my wildest imagination could have ever conjured. My Emma was glowing with an orange reddish aura of fire, her hands held out and a light of energy shooting through them. The Witch was floating in the air, held inside a bright and hot bubble that my love was conjuring. She certainly didn't look too happy.

"KILLIAN! GRAB HER WAND!" Emma shouted at me amidst the noise and fire.

I looked around and saw that, indeed, the witch had dropped a wand that looked more like a walking cane. I ran, took it in my hand and turned to Swan for further instructions. "AIM AT HER!"

So I aimed.

The wand itself fired an icy beam that matched Emma's fiery energy; the wind twirled and twisted in the air. I could feel the kick of power from the wand as it blasted the frosty light into her and both Emma and I had a hard time maintaining our footing on the ground. The wand was burning my hand; I am not a magical being myself, but I held on. I'd sooner lose my other hand than to leave Emma alone in this fight. And then, up in the air, the witch suddenly screamed a powerful holler, like some sort of banshee, and the containment bubble Emma had her in exploded with the force of a thousand suns. Both my love and I were blasted backwards; as I landed on the floor, I immediately conjured the strength to immediately try to find Emma, raising my head to find her. This time, she was up in the air, the witch, holding her with the final lick of power she had. It was plain to see the witch was weakening quickly and was trying to regain her strength by drawing it from my Swan.

I do not know what strange power love can build into the heart of a man, but out of nowhere, I found myself standing and running. I reached for my sword and, in one swift movement, I felt the blade slice the witch's head.

I had not beheaded a person since my pirate days, before Neverland.

The woman literally exploded in light and I saw my wife fall from the air into the snow. There was no remain of the witch. The fight had been won. But Emma was not moving.

I ran to her and turned her to me, holding her in my arms. She was pale, drawn and her lips were purple. I held her in my arm and touched her face; it was cold... and worse still, my love was not breathing.

"No, no, no..." I felt myself whisper, touching her neck for a pulse. I felt my heart shrink when I was unable to find a trace of her heartbeat. I caressed her face, shook her, called her name...

She was gone... the witch had drained my love of her very life and when I beheaded her, that energy had apparently squandered.

I hated myself terribly, as I held my dear Emma in my arms. I felt the tears come and this time I made no attempt at stopping them. So beautiful even lifeless. I sank my face in her neck, repeatedly saying "no" as I wept amidst the snowed lanscape. The witch was gone... but the frozen curse was not. I had failed them all: I had failed Henry, I had failed the Charmings, I had failed Regina and everyone else in this town. I had failed my infant son, who now was sans a mother and I had failed Neal, whose parents remained two ice figures... and I had failed my Emma, whose lifeless body I now held in my useless arms.

Weeping, I held her face to me. How I wished for her to suddenly open her eyes, her beautiful green eyes, so that she would look at me and grin that knowing grin I loved. But she was still. Cold and still. I begged her forgiveness for my complete failure to protect her from the clutches of death and for not having taken the wrath of the witch myself.

I must have cradled her there, weeping, for at least an hour, when my eyes had finally depleted the tears I had. I looked at her once more, and cleared the hair from her pale face as sniffed. "Wait for me, my love..." I whispered, and leaned in to kiss her lips farewell.

I should have done just that sooner. A colorful halo, like an expanding rainbow, swept the town from my kiss... and she jolted awake, gasping for air. The excess snow and frost melted away and all was... well, snow and frost, but within Storybrooke normalcy. I stared expectantly at her face, not daring to move in fear of breaking this wonderful spell or waking from a beautiful dream. As per my wish, she blinked in my direction and smiled, reaching out to touch my face.

"Who would have thought... the hero of the day." She whispered, her smile adorning her once again rosy facade.

"Emma..." I smiled back, my face still damp, and I kissed her again, amidst my own hysterical laughing and weeping.

As it turns out (and as per her very own planned design), when I aimed the Witch's staff at her, Emma channeled her energy into me, so when Jadis tried to drain Swan, she had no energy in her. Hence I was able to behead her with ease... I had all of my Emma's strength in me, and in kissing her, I returned her power to her.

Crafty woman. Nearly killed me of heartache, but crafty and clever and beautiful and the still living love of my life. The reunion with our sons was... well, beyond words.

So I hadn't just NOT failed... as it turns out, I was the bloody hero of the town!

We left the storm cellar and went home. I have never been one to take compliments gracefully, but when the Charmings (who were not only grateful for being defrosted but also extended their gratitude to out catering for their wee boy) heard of what occurred, they instantly arranged for a toast in my honor at Granny's. Regina simply snapped her fingers and had everything set up in a second.

I don't see any of this as an act of heroism, really... merely something any able man would do to save his family from danger... but apparently everyone seemed to agree that I was the bleeding hero of the day. They all toasted in my honor and I felt all the more embarrassed by the seven dwarfs singing "for he's a jolly good fellow"... still, I remained silently grinning, accepting the honor. The joy of the people was unwavering and who was I to turn down their gift to me? So I sat, had a few beers (which I had direly missed) and enjoyed the fact that the bloody Witch was gone for good.

My greatest gift was having Emma back in my arms, my young brother in law safely back with his mother and father and my two sons safely alive.

Having narrated that, I wish to never again engage in discourse regarding that particular blasted moment... even if Emma insists I'll have to regularly visit that old cricket for counseling. And given my nightmares, I might just do that.

My Liam is resilient to cold, it seems. He never even suffered cold or hunger during this ordeal. The little bugger now makes it perfectly clear when he's hungry, happy, sleepy, upset, or simply bored out of his wee mind. He's able to sit upright and hold his little arms out to be held. Apparently, his favorite person for that is his older brother and Henry caters to his every baby whim.

He recently started to feed himself too... or something like it. Since he is now able to eat things the likes of mashing and all other varieties of foods that look really quite unappetizing; but since Emma had the pleasure of the first months, feeding the boy has become my task... my rather messy task. It is apparently hilarious to my missus and my older boy whenever Liam slams his spoon into the bowl and freckles my face with apple custard or peas pudding. Of course, regurgitation is part of the feeding charm. He ruined a good shirt that had been with me since my younger days and I was sad to part with it. But still, after every (messy) meal, I pick him up and burp him before (as always) singing him to sleep. I still don't allow Emma to undertake such task... She's beautiful, smart, powerful and the savior... but she still can't sing her way out of a paper bag.

My boy is a complete beauty, if I do say so myself. Everyone in town says so. he's not one to cower from people, either. He'll hold his arms out to anyone who offers, will smile, giggle and, of course, pull their hair accordingly. He has his ways of showing his appreciation. I once did tell him, baby mode, that he was a handsome old devil... "You're a handsome devil! Eh? who's a handsome devil?" He smiled and laughed.

The devilishly handsome Jones's... alas, what can we do? It's the way we're made!

Also, he's starting to mimic sounds. My personal favorite is the sound of his mum snoring. Emma doesn't quite know how to feel about that one. But for the most part, it's other little petty sounds; for instance, we show him an image of a dog and he immediately goes "aw, aw, aw", or mews, neighs, any sound he hears he tries to recreate. Henry said once that all pirate needs a parrot and that I may have finally acquired my very own. Alas, I was never one for having a massive bird on my shoulder and piles of shite and feathers dripping down my back, so for the time being, I'll settle for the joy of hearing Liam's endless babbling and imitating.

It is also a thing of beauty when he first starts calling me papa. He started with Emma; endless hours of ma ma ma ma ma ma... and after my own persistence (I was rather a nusiance, I must say), the boy finally enunciated Papa... I tell anyone, my heart melted.

It is great to finally be at peace after this last battle... I know there will always be someone or something arriving in this town to wreak unwanted havoc in our lives, but being together is the key to surviving all.

We will see how this lovely little young man continues to flourish here... For now, I am delighted with my boys and I am sure Bae would pat me in the back for the work I've done with Henry. As for Emma? Well, what can I say? I married the savior and she continues to save me every bloody day.

We will see...