Emily sat on the edge of the bathtub, dodging errant splashes as Declan sloshed around the tub, pretending he was Aquaman. "Your Dad is going to kill me if you flood the bathroom," she scolded, but there was no heat behind it.

He replied with a wave of water over the side of the tub, nearly soaking her.

"Hey..." she groaned, wringing the water out of her shirt, "Aquaman didn't splash his mother."

Declan rolled his eyes at her. "Aquaman's mother was from the ocean, she liked being splashed."

"Aquaman also didn't sass his mother..."

He seemed less than concerned that his Aquaman impersonation was inaccurate, returning to splashing about unperturbed. "Will everyone love my costume?" he asked.

"You'll be the best Aquaman anyone has ever seen," she promised.

"Will they give me lots of candy?" he continued, little brow furrowed in concern that his Halloween haul might not live up to expectations.

"You don't need all that sugar, you're sweet enough already," she said, ruffling his damp hair which was still gooey with pumpkin innards from their attempt to carve jack-o-lanterns (admittedly, she should have known better than to attempt such an activity with a six year old...).

"Mommy..." he groaned in his melodramatic six year old way.

She shook her head and laughed. "Yes, I'm sure you'll get way too much candy. Too bad I'm going to eat it all while you're sleeping."

"No," he squealed, "Mooooooooommy!"

She gasped, pouted dramatically. "Just half of it?"

"Mommy!" he whined. He attempted to look stern. "You can have five."

She just grinned to herself. "Time to wash up, it's way past your bedtime and you're still covered in pumpkin guts." He opened his mouth to argue. "Or I'm eating all your candy."

He pouted, but conceded to her demands, letting her work the bubblegum scented shampoo through his messy curls.

She was in the middle of rinsing his hair when her phone rang and she felt her stomach sink, already knowing it was JJ with a case that would take her out of town just long enough to miss Halloween. Declan apparently knew it too because she watched his little face fall as she answered it.

"Mommy, why don't you like me anymore?" he asked once she'd hung up the phone. His arms were crossed over his chest, a frown firmly in place on his normally smiling face.

"I'll always love you, Schnecke," she insisted.

"But you're gonna miss Halloween..." he pointed out glumly, looking like his entire world was ending. "You said you were gonna be there!"

"I'm going to try very hard to be back in time for trick-or-treating, but I'm not going to promise because I might have to break that promise." She hated disappointing him, hated letting him down. She'd known when she took the job that it wasn't going to be easy, that she was going to miss things, but knowing it and living it were two very different things.

"Don't you like being my mommy?" he mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

"More than anything in the world!" she insisted, blinking back tears that he thought she didn't love him enough. "Never ever think I don't love you, okay?" she begged. "Promise me..."

He didn't seem to believe her, his bottom lip wobbling with the threat of oncoming tears. "Is it 'cause you're not my real mommy?" he asked, voice so small it was barely there at all.

Emily's heart nearly broke clean in two at his words and she struggled to breathe around the lump of tears caught in her throat. Ian had told her nothing about Declan's real mother other than the fact that she hadn't wanted the child – but even if she had wanted him, Emily couldn't imagine she could have loved Declan any more than she herself did.

With two fingers, she gently lifted his chin so she could see his eyes, so like his father's but for the way his emotions shone so close to the surface where Ian kept his hidden. "I know I'm not your real mommy," she whispered, "But I chose to be your mom – every day I choose you. And all the good and bad parts that come with being a mom. Even that time you were sick and threw up on me...I still chose you and I'd do it again. I love you more than anything. That's why I adopted you."

He was still scowling, still holding a grudge over the fact that she was missing one of the most important days in a child's life (at least in his mind). He was trying to hold on to his anger, but she could see in his eyes that she was getting through to him.

"You're allowed to be mad at me – when I disappoint you, when I break my promises. And it will happen again, no matter how hard I try. Just never stop loving me, even when you're mad. Even when you're a teenager and you say you hate me. Even when you're grown up and have kids of your own. Okay?"

He seemed to think about that for a moment, lips pursed in concentration. A much more serious issue occurred to him then. "What about Christmas?" he asked, eyes wide in alarm.

"I promise I'll be home for Christmas," she vowed, trying not to laugh at his child-like concern. "I'll take time off and maybe we'll go away somewhere – as a family." She tapped his nose to punctuate the statement.

"Like Disneyland?" His eyes lit up at the imagined prospect.

She laughed then, his youthful glee infectious. "It'll be a cold day in Hell before your Dad sets foot in Disneyland." The image of Ian Doyle in Mickey Mouse ears was laughable. "Santa doesn't go to Disneyland. Maybe we'll go to Ireland – where your Dad grew up," she suggested.

He considered that briefly. "I like Ireland," he agreed.

"You just like presents," she teased.

"And candy," he said solemnly.

She rolled her eyes. "And candy."