Once Upon A Happy Beginning

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Where's The Quill?

Killian

I have a slight routine now, even after two days; it's more of a coping mechanism but I need to follow it. I'm a father now. A single father. As much as I'd thrive on running down to the tavern and helping myself forget the pain of Emma; I need sobriety. I'm not the best at that. So the routine helps.

I wake up at five in the morning to my glorious alarm clock crying at me; then we go change out of her own filth. Find some milk from the kitchens and we'll usually sit in the gardens by the lake to have it, looking over the swans. After sunrise, we head up to the castle, visiting Emma on the way to our room, and I wash and get myself ready after putting the angel to bed again. Breakfast with my in-laws before I head upstairs to the chamber where Emma still lies, under that horrific cloth. I'll tell her tales of her daughter before the beauty calls out for me. Blue is good enough to walk her for me then whilst I go out on horseback for a moment. Sometimes the royals follow, sometimes it's just me. Elizabeth and I take lunch with her grandparents before it's Grandma and Grandpa time and I find myself back with Emma. After dinner, I cradle my daughter whilst I sing soft lullabies of my childhood to her and she sleeps against my chest.

"He's going up again isn't he?" I can hear my mother-in-law ask David under her breath as I excuse myself from breakfast.

"She's his wife. I'd feel the same if it was you."

"We need to move her."

"We can't... He'll want to take her home."

They keep whispering as I move away; I can't focus on them now. I skulk up the staircases, avoiding the main grandeur, and head to the pale green and joyful room that contrasts heavily with what – who – belongs in it.

What can I talk to Emma about today?

How Elizabeth has the most gorgeous giggle? Her little blonde curls that are starting to peek through? Her attachment to Grandma, that is honestly so adorable? How she started waving her little stubby arm about in the air, trying to catch dragonflies when they flitted about the early morning?

I almost jump out my skin when Emma is there.

There.

Not under a cloth.

There.

Not where she was this morning.

There.

There.

Right there.

"Killian?"

"Am I dreaming? Oh God, I'm dreaming." I panic, turning away. If I can't look, maybe she'll disappear. "You're not real. Not real. Not real."

"On the contrary, dearie."

I think I jump ten times more. THAT BLOODY CROCODILE!

"CROCODILE!" I turn furious. How dare he make me believe my wife is alive! How dare he!

"Now, now, dearie. Don't get mad, I believe your wife's here because of me."

"Killian? What's he talking about? Where are we? Oh... Oh my God, where's our baby?!"

I refuse to listen to Emma. She's not my wife. She isn't. I turn to the devilish figure in the corner. He's meant to be imprisoned.

"Crocodile..." I seethe. "Care to explain? Perhaps why you aren't in your cell? And where the bloody devil are those god-awful scales?"

"Well then, dearie. I heard your wife was dead, touching funeral it was. Very touching." His eyes twinkle mischievously. "My grandson, of course."

How dare he speak of my son like that? Like he has claim to him?

Baelfire wouldn't have wanted that; after everything the villain did against him, against Milah. Neal couldn't have wanted the lad getting involved with Mr. Gold.

"Henry?" Breathes Emma, I turn my eyes away.

"Why, of course. Wrote about it, didn't he? They found out. Charming threw a funeral. Yada, yada. I took the first trip out of town to see if the Saviour was really dead. Had a change of fashion, of course, couldn't roam around here with a suit and cane. Found your wife, did a little magic, and here she is all fan-dabby-doazy."

"Fan-dabby-doazy?" I ask, curiosity lingering in my voice. I turn to the dazzling replica. "Prove it, prove you're my wife."

"Erm..." Then she does something breathtaking. "There's no storm we can't outrun; We will always find the sun; Run from our past and all its scars because–"

"A happy beginning now is ours." I finish singing with her, in the same soft tone. I run forwards and wrap my arms around her. Engulfing her in a cascade of joyful tears. "Emma! Oh – my beautiful, beautiful Emma!"

"Hate to break up this joyous reunion but I believe we've yet to discuss payment."

I scowled to the Dark One. "What'd you want?"

"Whatever you're prepared to give." He giggled.

"Nothing, we owe you nothing." Emma said decisively.

"Now, now, Miss Sw– Mrs Swan-Jones, that's not how you cut a deal."

"Last time you tried to cut a deal with me; you were left with a black eye. I trust you don't want the same again."

"Well, I was asking for it. Bargained for your daughter, didn't I?"

"You're going to bloody leave our Elizabeth alone!" I yell, my silvery hardware straying dangerously close to the Dark One's throat.

"Elizabeth?" Asks my wife quietly, nestling a hand into mine.

"Elizabeth Emma Swan-Jones." I tell her back before devoting my entire acrimony to Satan in the corner.

"You won't get your slightest bit on my daughter!"

He flicks his hand. "Ah, but you see. I just did!" He waves it again. "A contract. You sign here, you sign there, and I'll think about letting you get back to your child."

Emma is uncontrollable now. "I HAVEN'T EVEN HELD HER. I'VE NOT SEEN MY DAUGHTER IN HOWEVER LONG AND YOU TRY TO TAKE HER!"

"Not try, did. And sign the red X and you see her again."

I pull my wife back to me, needing the in, out of her breath to calm me. "Where's the quill?" I ask, my voice low and dangerous. With a swish, it's in my hand and I sign, when my wife does, there's a flash and Rumplestiltskin is gone.