Once Upon A Happy Beginning

Chapter Thirty-Five: Men Don't Cry

 A/N: I cried writing this chapter.

Killian

Dave's hosting us for dinner tonight, and I think this is the quietest we've ever been. Emma and I are looking at our plates in silence, barely tolerating any of the delicious meal that Snow has cooked us. Metal cutlery clashes on ceramic crockery. Neal babbles in his toddler playpen – I want to cry looking at him. Henry eats his chicken solemnly, knowing not to try and talk to either of us. Not right now. But I want him to. I want to know Emma still has her boy by her side. That I do. Snow and David flash glances at us and each other, like I grew accustomed to in the days succeeding Emma's death. 

Regina hasn't joined us like she used to and I quite obviously know why. This stings of history and déjà vu. We lost our daughter in Misthaven and then we got cursed back to Storybrooke without any memories of what happened since losing our daughter. It might not be a carbon copy of what the Evil Queen created for my mother- and father-in-law but anyone with half a brain can notice it. Even my past self has, and he's safely resting in Granny's B&B. 

Emma clatters her knife and fork down as she scrapes her chair back from the table. She excuses herself and soon after my fork follows. The seat screeches back, opposite from where my girl has just left and I follow her towards our bedroom. 

My wife sits on the bed, facing the wall. She's on my side, and carelessly strays her hand to my money-carrier which I accidentally left behind the night before we ended up in that portal. Dave was meant to bring it around with the paperwork Emma was craving doing, because like any doting father he would give that to his girl even though she was meant to forget work for a few weeks. I half wonder as I make my way to cuddle into her if I'm ever going to have the chance to be half as perfect with my baby girl as David is with Emma. Will I even get to see Elizabeth again? She unfolds the leather money-carrier to unveil the latest picture we had from Whale. Emma takes it out of the little pouch, and flips it over. I've written on the back: LITTLE LOVE, 21 WEEKS. 

Emma chuckles softly and leans her head against me and I know what she's thinking about.

"Seriously, you don't want to know?" Whale asked, drawing gooey patterns on Emma's bump. 

"NO!" We both yelled at the same time, a hand over the other's eyes. 

"Most people do and where the foetus is right now... You could be here a while..."

And we were. Two bloody hours it took over doctors and nurses switching over wands until we got the poor baby to move and let us get an image without displaying the gender. 

"It doesn't take that long usually!" My wife laughs, burying her face into my chest. 

"Cheeky bugger wanted us to know." I smile back, kissing the top of her head. 

I feel her smile and then we go still, hugging each other, looking at our photo. 

I wonder where she is now. Is the Crocodile taking care of her? Has she gone to be raised in the Dark Realm like Gideon? Or Neverland? My mind spitballs unwelcome ideas and only the comfort of my Emma is enough to keep me from going insane. 

"Do you think she's alright?" Emma asks me. "Wherever she is. Do you think she's safe? Is she Killian... She was born magically, does that stop her being in danger like other premature babies? Oh Killian, will she hate us one day like I hated my parents? Will she live in the system like me, Killian?" Emma cries, and I hold onto her pulling her into me. 

I will myself not to cry as well. I've done my share of crying, and I shouldn't any more. Men don't cry. That's what I've always been told and I need... I must be strong for my wife. Men don't cry. My tears burn where I'm keeping them away but I answer her anyway in my trembling, terrified voice. "I don't know, love. We have to hope."