Month 1

It had been 10 days since the funeral and Emma couldn't really say she remembered it. Not really, not the important things. The parts that mattered where she and everyone else honoured Killian and showed the grief over the friend they'd lost. Showed their love and gratitude.

What she did remember was her mother, helping her change into a sombre black dress and shoes. She remembered walking through the slightly muddy grass at the cemetery, her father's solid body holding her upright. She remembered the feeling of the rain hitting her skin as it fell from a dark, cloudy sky before Ruby held an umbrella over her head. She remembered watching a coffin being lowered into the ground as she rested her head on an already too tall, skinny shoulder with a whispered I'm here for you Ma. Henry. She remembered someone leading her back home, Regina, a strong solid presence at her side.

But mostly she remembered how she had felt. A swirling maelstrom of emotions, all warring inside her. Regret and horror at the things she done and pain she'd caused as the Dark One. Anxiety about how people were going to look at her now, after all the things she'd done. And there was grief, of course, but not enough of it. Then there was the guilt, for not feeling sad enough that she had lost the man she loved. The man she was supposed to love. The man she had convinced everyone, her family and friends, even Killian, that she had loved.

Since the funeral, Emma had found herself hosting a constant stream of visitors 'checking in' – Ruby between shifts, her mom after school, Granny in the morning bringing warm pastries, Her dad on his lunch breaks, Archie between his appointments, Ashley and Alex between the little girl's naps, Her parents with Neal before or after dinner and Regina in between her many meetings. Despite the influx of visitors, the house still felt too big and too empty.

It was funny really. A dark, twisted kind of irony that she'd created this dream home. A house that Killian had found and planned for and wanted for their future together, and he barely got to step foot in it. And she had wanted it to. Well, she had wanted to want it. Had tried so hard feel the same way for the pirate as he had for her. She thought of the beginning of their relationship, and the relentlessness with which Killian had pursued her. It had felt nice, being wanted. Desired. But as hard as she had tried, deep down, she knew she'd never loved Killian. Not in the way he had loved her. Not in the way he had deserved. Being with him had felt safe. He had been a steady presence at her side, one she knew she could rely on always being there. She supposed it might have something do with her abandonment issues. That long buried, but never forgotten fear of being tossed away. She knew as long as she pretended well enough, that Killian would always be there. And he had been… until he wasn't. Yet, instead of the crushing feeling of worthlessness she had felt with every failed foster home, she felt relief. Relief at not having to pretend anymore. Not having to try and force feelings that weren't there for Killian's benefit or anyone else's.

It was 10 days of constant visitors with their sad, pitying eyes and their sympathetic words before Emma stubbornly shook herself out of her grief and guilt and sent herself back to work. She knew she needed a change of pace, different scenery and an excuse to leave the house. An excuse not to wallow in all the emotions. She ignored the looks of concern on her mother and father's faces.

Are you sure you're ready to go back to work?

You've been through so much Emma - No one will think any less of you if you need a bit more time to process everything.

As well-meaning as they were, her parents just didn't get it. They didn't get that the longer she spent cooped up in that house, the more it felt like a black hole, sucking away all positive thought and happiness; leaving her with nothing but her fears, pain, self-doubt and misery. She knew herself, and she knew nothing good would come from locking herself away. Especially since her natural instinct was to run. This just felt suffocating. No, what she needed was something to occupy her mind. A purpose. And so she was going back to work, ready to fill her days with paperwork and patrols. Anything to keep her mind preoccupied. And she found that work did help - she threw herself into it with gusto, much more enthusiastically than she ever had before, although it was only a week before this new enthusiasm began to wane. Because, along with attempting to bury her grief, Emma began to feel like she'd been hit by a truck that had then reversed right back over her. Her body ached all over and her stomach had felt uneasy for days, roiling at the thought of food, churning uncomfortably when she moved too quickly.

So, it was ironically 10 days after going back to work that Emma found herself holed up back in her too big house, turning away visitors, citing tiredness and a need to rest. It had been four days since she called in sick and four days since she had last showered. She'd been wearing the same sweatpants and hoodie and it was likely this fact that had Henry scrunching his nose as he walked into the living room.

"How was school kiddo?" Emma asked.

Ignoring the question, Henry regarded her with a grimace. "You stink Ma."

Emma rolled her eyes at her son. "Geez thanks kid. Just what everyone wants to hear," her head spinning as she pulled herself upright from her position on the couch. "Didn't your mother raise you to have manners?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

"Mom raised me to tell the truth and the truth right now is, you need to have a shower," Henry insisted grimly.

"You know, I don't make fun of you when you stink."

"Yeah you do."

"No I don't. Name one time."
"You called me fish breath after I ate that tuna sandwich the other day."

"Cause you breathed directly in my face."

"You called me sweat head when I got back from sword training with Grandpa the other week and you called me stinker when I came back from the docks with Hook." His smug grin faltered as he realised what he'd just said, having carefully avoided all mention of the pirate for weeks now.

"I said name one," Emma bit back, with a mocking grin in an attempt to alleviate her son of the guilt now plastered all over his face.

"I like to go above and beyond. Besides, Mom said that an increase in perspiration is a natural part of adolescence and I'm still perfect no matter how I smell," the teenager shot back. "So, can you go have a shower then? Like now? Mom always says that a hot shower is a magic remedy when you're feeling sick."

"Okay, fine you win," Emma huffed at her son's triumphant expression. "I thought I just had a cold but whatever this is, it's getting worse and I think it might be a flu. It might be best for you to spend a few days with your mom – I don't want you catching whatever this is."

"But will you be okay alone?" Henry asked worriedly.

Despite usually switching between his mothers' houses every week, and spending a few days here and there with his grandparents, Henry had stayed with Emma every moment he wasn't at school since Hook's death. She had actually expected Regina to have complained by now, but she hadn't even hinted at any sort of displeasure at the new arrangement on any of her visits.

"I'll be fine Henry, it'll just be for a few days," Emma insisted.

Of course, her stubborn son was not easily persuaded and it wasn't until Emma put her foot down, a firm tone rarely heard from the mother that tended to act more like an older sister, before he relented. 45 minutes later, backpack over his shoulder, Henry was shooting her a worried glance as he descended the front steps.

"I'll be okay," she insisted as she held onto the front door for support. "I'm not dying, I just don't want your mother eating me alive if I get you get sick too."

Henry grinned wryly at that very-possibly-true comment before heading down the path and shooting a 'love you Ma' over his shoulder.

When she had seen him disappear around the corner down the street, Emma closed the door, swaying dangerously as her head rushed. Stumbling to the couch and raking her fingers through the blankets in search of her phone, she quickly sent off a message to Regina - Henry's on his way over, expect him in about 20 minutes. She had flopped sideways onto the couch and now battled an internal debate on whether it was worth exerting the effort to sit back up and make her way to the bathroom for what her melodramatic son had deemed 'the most necessary shower in the universe'. She did manage it though, hand clutching her upset stomach as she hobbled towards the bathroom.

One hot steaming shower later, that she did reluctantly have to admit Henry was right about how much better it made her feel, and Emma was making her way back to her nest of blankets on the couch.

A quick sniff of the blanket as she brought it up to her nose, however, had told her that Henry had not been exaggerating when he'd complained about the smell earlier. She gathered them into her arms and dropped them off in the washing machine before heading to the kitchen to make something to eat. Settling on something quick, eggs on toast, she had just cracked the eggs into the pan when she was startled by the ringing of her phone.

Collecting it from under the couch cushion she frowned to see Regina staring back at her. Answering, she brought it to her ear quickly.

"Regina? Is Henry okay? Did he make it home safely?" Emma rushed out.

"Henry's fine, he got here about 15 minutes ago. My concern is with you Miss Swan," Regina huffed.

"Me? Why? What's wrong? What did I do?"

"It's not something you did, it's something you are. You missed Thanksgiving the other day and Henry is under the impression that you look like death warmed up."

Emma grumbled under her breath before replying. "The kid needs to relax, I'm fine," Emma insisted."Honestly, I think I have a flu and I didn't want Henry to catch whatever it is."
"Some surprising forethought on your part, Dear. Thank you for trying not to contaminate our son with your germs," the mocking tone evident in the brunette's voice.

"It's a stomach flu Regina, not the black plague."
"You're not a licensed medical professional Emma, it could be anything. Have you been to the doctors yet?'

"Wait, is that concern I heard in your voice Madam Mayor?" Emma teased.

"Well, I wouldn't have to worry if you'd answer your damn messages," Regina snapped. Emma frowned before looking at her screen and noticing the missed texts she'd received, all from Regina, and all increasing in irritation at the lack of response.

"Sorry, I was showering and tidying up and then started making something to eat," Emma explained. "Speaking of, I've got food cooking I really should go."
"Yes you probably should. I'd hate to distract you and have you burn down your house."

"Joke all you want Regina, I know you were worried about me," Emma teased.

And it was their unique friendship that meant Regina couldn't just agree, though the both of them knew it was true.

"I was just worried that I'd have to explain to our son that you'd dropped dead after passing out and I'd done nothing to help," Regina contradicted.

"Yes well, duty done Your Majesty, I'm safe and sound."
"Miss Swan?"
"Yes"
"Make sure you drink plently of fluids."

Emma chuckled as she hung up and waltzed back into the kitchen.

One waft of the eggs cooking away though, had her rushing for the sink, her stomach heaving.

So much for a shower being a magic cure, she thought, as she discarded the half-cooked eggs into the bin and settled for making a warm cup of chamomile tea instead.

It had been eight days since she had sent Henry over to Regina's and 12 since she had turned away all her visitors, after telling everyone in no uncertain terms that she was fine, it was just a flu and she just wasn't up for any company. That, however, had not stopped her son from sending her a text message every day.

Thinking of you Ma … Hope you're feeling better today … I love you … Make sure you have a magic shower to feel better … I'm here if you need me … When you're ready, I'm here with a hug … I know you want space but I'm worried about you … I miss you Ma, I think Mom does too …

He was a good kid; thoughtful, kind, witty, intelligent, stubborn and he had Regina to thank for all of it. One could fault Regina for a lot of things - her vindictive nature, inability to let things go, and an incessant need to always have the last word to name a few - but being a bad parent was not one of them. Sure, there were those couple of months there, where she tried to convince Henry he was going crazy, but Emma knew it had all come from that deepest part of Regina that craved to protect and love.

A sharp knock at the door startled Emma and she slowly stood, blanket wrapped securely around her shoulders as she opened the door.

"Regina?" Her voice and facial expression showed her surprise at her unintended guest.

"Well dear, are you going to let me in?" Regina questioned after Emma stared at her for an inordinate amount of time.

"Wha-? Yeah sorry," the blonde muttered as she stepped aside, self-consciously pulling the blanket tighter, trying to hide her dishevelled tank top and pyjama bottoms. "I wasn't expecting company."

She walked ahead of the brunette and quickly straightened the couch, fluffing the pillows and collecting up the myriad of plates and mugs that had gathered. Setting them down beside the sink, she turned round to return to the living room and was startled by Regina, who had followed her through to the kitchen.

"I brought you some food," Regina explained as she began unloading the bags Emma had somehow failed to notice her carrying.

"You, uh, you didn't have to do that Regina," Emma protested feebly, all the while eagerly eyeing up the containers of Regina home-cooked food. Emma was almost willing to admit that one of her favourite things about finally being on good terms with the former Evil Queen was that she now had weekly access to the brunette's mouth-watering cooking. Seriously. Emma was sure that the first time she'd put a forkful of Regina's food into her mouth she had moaned.

Regina just raised her eyebrow at the blonde as she moved to place the containers in the fridge.

"I know I didn't have to, but I'd prefer if the next time Henry sees you, you're not half-starved. We both know that the chances of you looking after yourself properly when you're ill are about the same as me professing my undying love for Leroy," Regina said. "That is to say completely non-existent," she added with a sharp look when Emma opened her mouth to comment.

"I can look after myself just fine," Emma protested.

Regina hummed in the same way you would to pacify an irate 4-year-old. "Chicken noodle or vegetable?" she asked, holding two containers up for the blonde's consideration.

"I'm not hungry, Regina."

"I wasn't asking whether you were hungry or not Miss Swan. I told you before, I will not have Henry frightened by the sight of you as a corpse," the brunette's tone softened slightly. "You don't have to eat the whole container, dear, just try a little – you look as though you haven't eaten in a week."

And that statement was very close to the truth. It wasn't so much that Emma hadn't eaten at all in the last few days, but more the fact she had struggled to keep anything down. The blonde found herself wilting under the firm gaze of the older woman and gestured towards the chicken noodle soup. The smugness exuding from Regina had the blonde rolling her eyes as she slid into the stool at the counter in defeat.

10 minutes later, after making herself at home in the blonde's kitchen, Regina was sliding a small bowl in front of Emma while looking at her expectantly. She picked up the spoon being offered to her, blew gently and brought the soup to her lips. It could only be described as something magical. The warm soup, so delicious she had to hold back a groan, and a perfect temperature, sliding down her throat and settling into her stomach. Waiting for the usual immediate nausea to appear and being surprised when nothing happened, Emma took another tentative sip. Again, nothing. No nausea, no heaving, no need to rush immediately to the sink. She picked up the pace a little, and before long the bowl was completely empty.

"Regina that was amazing, thank-you," Emma said gratefully. "That was the first thing I've managed to keep down in days."

"It's the same recipe I used when your mother was pregnant with Neal."

Emma snorted before looking up to see the brunette was not joking.

"What? Don't be ridiculous Regina, I'm not pregnant," Emma said.

Regina said nothing, just raising her eyebrow disbelievingly.

"I have a flu Regina, you know, that illness people get often around this time of year," Emma insisted.

Really Miss Swan, a two week long flu? I think not," Regina countered.

"I'm not pregnant Regina."

"Nausea, vomiting, fatigue, food aversions, frequent urination and -"

"Those are all flu symptoms," Emma interrupted

The brunette leaned over the counter and poked Emma hard in the chest.

"Oww, fuck! What the hell was that for?" The blonde said angrily, rubbing the spot.

"Breast tenderness," Regina finished. "Hmm, that's not a flu symptom I've ever heard of before."

"I'm not pregnant Regina, it's not possible!"

"Really, Miss Swan? Are you celibate then?"

"What?! No!" Emma denied indignantly.

"Well then, I'll think you'll find that it most certainly is possible."

"I can't be pregnant, Regina," Emma insisted again though her denials were starting to lack conviction as she thought about the points Regina was laying out before her.

"Think about it logically Emma." Her voice was impossibly gentle now, arms outstretched in a placating manner, the way you might if you were approaching a skittish animal.

And the more she thought about it, the more the pieces began to fall into place.

"But," she started, "It was only once, right after Hook found out he was a dark one too, he was angry, furious, and we were fighting and we ended up just-" She trailed off as she desperately tried to ignore the rising panic.

"Breathe, Emma," Regina reminded her as she leant forward again to take hold of the blonde's hand and squeezing.

Emma allowed the comfort for a few moments before rushing into the living room and grabbing her phone. She whirled around to Regina's stunned, almost quizzical expression.

"I'm nine days late, I didn't even notice," Emma muttered, almost to herself. "Wait, how did you figure all this out?" She asked as the thought struck her.

"Admittedly I wasn't one hundred percent certain, but your mother had exactly the same symptoms when we were in the Enchanted Forest," Regina said. "And I knew you were going to be as dense as a dwarf about this," she added wryly.

Emma chuckled half-heartedly at the gentle teasing, still too emotionally frazzled to respond.

"I'm pregnant, Regina," the blonde quietly admits.

"Most likely," the brunette confirms. "There's only one way to find out for sure though."

She flicks her wrist and holds the small box out to the younger woman who takes it in her slightly shaking fingers.

Five minutes later, the blonde finds herself in the bathroom, staring down at the sink and a little pink plus sign staring right back.

Pregnant.