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It happened on a Sunday night, a totally innocuous evening that didn’t deserve the honor of such a momentous occasion. The three of them – Killian, Emma, and Henry – had just finished a film, something about an adventuring archaeologist with a penchant for finding magical artifacts that Henry swore Killian just needed to see, and Emma was doing her best to usher her son off to bed. It was a school night, after all, and the boy had a history test the next morning.
“Like it’s going to be hard,” he said, eyes rolling.
Still Henry, nearly fifteen, acquiesced to his mother’s request without too much complaint. Before he exited the room, he gave Emma a light peck on the cheek, and muttered a quick, “Night, Mom, love you,” just as he did every night he slept in their home. It was something that Emma cherished and Killian admired, the lad’s willingness to still regularly show affection to his mother. It was something Killian knew that Emma looked forward to every night, the sign of love between mother and child.
What came next, however, was quite the surprise.
“G’night, Dad.”
The boy had said the words so flippantly, as if the enormity of the statement was completely lost on him. He seemed happy, though, a soft smile playing on his lips as he left the room to bound up the stairs to his quarters. Killian sat there, immobile, still trying to absorb those two simple words that shook his entire being. Emma leaned over to kiss his shoulder, and he could feel her smile through the fabric of his shirt. She, too, acted pleased by Henry’s parting words.
“Well, would you look at that,” she whispered against him, unable to hide the delight in her voice. “Hero, husband, now ‘Dad.’ You’re racking up quite the number of titles there, Captain.”
She sounded so satisfied by the revelation that Henry was comfortable enough with him to call him ‘Dad,’ that her son recognized him as a true father-like figure, one worthy enough of the title. True, they both had heard Henry refer to Killian as his step-dad in passing, but the latest title was a completely different score. It meant that Henry truly viewed Killian as a near-irreplaceable figure in his life, someone of great importance.
Killian wasn’t ready.
He tried not to let it on to Emma that evening, his unease. Her spirits seemed so considerably high in the aftermath, humming happily as they cleared the dishes left over from dinner earlier. He couldn’t bear to possibly hurt or dampen her spirits with his mixed emotions. A part of him wanted to talk with her, but this Killian knew was one of those instances in which he needed to sort his feelings out for himself before drawing her in. He owed her – and Henry – that.
So, Killian did what he did best: distracted himself with actions to ignore the emotions waging war in his heart. That skill served him well for centuries, it could work for just another night.
And it did…for awhile. He aided Emma with the cleaning of the dishes. He twirled her around the kitchen once they were finished, doing his best to hum the tune of the music from their first waltz. Afterwards, when Emma led him upstairs to engage in a different sort of dance, he allowed himself to get lost in the feel of her body moving under his and drown in the depths of his love for her.
It was only later, when Emma was soundly asleep and curled into his side, that Killian was once again consumed by his thoughts. It troubled him this put him in such a state. He loved Henry, took pride in helping raise the boy as if he were his own son. So why did it bother him so much when Henry bestowed him the great honor of calling him “Dad?” It wasn’t that Killian was angry or annoyed. It wasn’t unwelcome. Yet, as the hours passed and the night lingered on, Killian couldn’t shake one all-consuming emotion – guilt.
Eventually, Killian did find sleep, although it was fitful in its nature. Emma brushing her lips softly against his awaked him, her fingers calming him as she carded them through his hair. He was shocked to see her fully dressed, even moreso when he glanced at the clock on the bedside table to note the time. He normally never slept in this late, always one to rise with the sun.
“Hey, sleepyhead, I’m going to work now,” Emma greeted as her lips ghosted over his own. “See you at lunch later? Granny’s?”
“Of course, darling,” he replied. As much as he wished for a day alone for his own introspection, Killian was unable and unwilling to deny her anything she desired. Besides, what was a single hour in the grand scheme of an entire day?
Killian spent the rest of the morning by the docks. He longed to take the Jolly Roger out to sea, to whittle away the hours and his emotions out on the open water. But he made Emma a promise, and he wasn’t in the business of breaking vows these days, so he contended himself with keeping his ship at port. He was close enough to the ocean for the smell of sea and salt to soothe his soul, or so that’s what he told himself. The truth was much more complicated than that, and even though he sought reprieve on the wooden planks of his ship, he drowned further in remorse and shame. Three centuries of service and his dear ship was too full of ghosts he wanted best to avoid.
By the time lunch rolled around, Killian was eager to see Emma. If the sea was unable to soothe his soul, her presence was the required salve. However, just as he was about to enter the diner, he felt his talking phone buzz. He cursed loudly, earning a few glares from the restaurant’s patrons, after he read the message from Emma stating that she would need to cancel their lunch thanks to some mishap the dwarves had gotten themselves into. He sent back a response telling he to let him know when she was finished, and he would bring her some sustenance to the station. He added one of those smiling faces that she and Henry were so fond of to let her know he wasn’t bothered or upset, even if his heart was aching to see her.
He left the establishment, and wondered if Emma’s cancellation was some sort of sign that he shouldn’t delay the inevitable, and visit where he knew he ought to be. His body caught up before his brain, and Killian found himself walking outside of the main part of town toward the quiet path of land that housed the dead. While he never liked graveyards before, his experience in the Underworld certainly sullied his perception further. As he crossed the gates, he felt a shutter roll through him at the memory of his own name etched in granite. The gravestones served as a sore reminder that he was one of the lucky ones who escaped and bent the laws of life and death, all thanks to the love of a woman (and her family) that he truly didn’t deserve.
He hesitantly followed the winding path that led to the more secluded section of the graveyard, to the familiar single stone in a patch of grass that was flanked by trees. Killian felt his chest tighten when the words etched on the granite headstone came into clear view – Beloved Son, Neal Cassidy.
The grass around the grave was well-manicured. A fresh bouquet of daisies sat against the headstone, indicating that someone had visited quite recently. Perhaps it had been the Crocodile, or potentially Emma. Maybe even Tinkerbelle or even just Belle. Baelfire had touched the lives of so many, it was hard to pin down just who might visit. Killian had not come by the gravesite for quite awhile, too wrapped in the drama that was fighting (and embracing) the darkness, his death, and the subsequent resurrection and recovery. If he was honest with himself, and he does his best to be these days, there was an underlying reason for his avoidance of Bae’s final resting place, the same reason that actually brought him here today.
“Hello, Bae,” Killian began feeling completely at a loss with the situation. Baelfire wasn’t really there. His spirit had moved on to somewhere happier, somewhere where he could be at peace. Yet Killian still felt compelled to communicate with the boy he had fished out of the ocean, the one that he had failed time and time again. “I hope things are going well wherever you are.”
He felt like a fool, a bloody fool, but he continued on. “I know, well, I promised that I would be honest with you, so there’s not use of being coy. Henry call me ‘Dad’ yesterday.”
He felt his eyes sting. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, but I promise you, Bae, I need you to know that I’m going to do right by him. I swear by it.”
“He knows.”
Emma’s familiar voice pulled Killian from his reverie. He turned to find her behind him, her thumbs threaded through her belt loops with a soft and understanding smile on her face. She made a move to stand by his side, and placed her arm around his waist. Killian felt partially comforted by the action, but another ripple of guilt washed over him all the same. His mind flashed briefly to Neverland, to the silly fight he and Baelfire shared over her affections. Killian once promised Bae that he would step aside – though considering the depth of his love for Emma now, no level of guilt could ever convince him to bow out again.
“I thought you were sorting out the problem with the dwarves,” Killian muttered in greeting.
“I was, but Dad stepped in,” Emma answered. “He’s better with them – something about their time in the Enchanted Forest or whatever. Besides, I was worried about you.”
“Oh?”
“You sent an emoji in your last text. You never send emojis – unless you’re being dirty,” Emma supplied with a smile that didn’t quite fit their current location. “And seeing as you are here, I was right to be.”
“How did you find me?”
“I come from a long line of particularly good finders,” Emma joked lamely, and even Killian couldn’t help but crack a smile. After a moment, her façade dropped, and she provided her real explanation. “Archie saw you heading this way. He thought it was strange considering your past experiences…”
Her voice trailed off, and she snuggled closer into his side. ‘Past experiences’ was code for his death, and the resulting aftermath of escaping the Underworld. Though she rarely showed it, Killian knew Emma was still haunted by the entire affair, and deflected those feelings in her own way. Killian would never stop feeling grateful toward this woman and all the sacrifices she made for him.
“Under most circumstances, the cricket would be right.”
“But this isn’t one of those circumstances.”
“Aye.”
With a flourish of her hands, Emma conjured a wreath of flowers and gingerly placed them on the ground. With the press of her fingers against the granite, Emma said a silent farewell to the father of her son. Latching their hands together, Emma pulled Killian away and back toward the graveyard sidewalk.
They walked in silence for awhile, her hand squeezed tightly against his own, their respective rings digging into the skin of their fingers. He only held on tighter though, her presence a lifeline keeping him afloat. Killian realized that the graveyard put Emma in as much unease as him, and he pulled her closer to his side. They both breathed out a sigh of relief once they exited the grounds.
“Are you going to tell me why you were out here?” Emma asked. Killian could tell that her question was on a pretense, and that she wasn’t going to let him get away without an answer.
He paused in an attempt to find his words, to articulate just what he was feeling in a way in which she could understand. Instead, all he could really muster was a single word. “Henry.”
“Ah,” Emma said. She turned to face him, and took both his hand and Hook in her hands. It was an intimate guest, one that warmed and comforted him. “If I had known you were going to freak out, I would have warned you.”
“You knew?”
“Mmmhm.” Emma hummed in response. “You didn’t think Henry would have dropped the ‘D-word’ on you without asking me what I thought first, did you?”
“And you didn’t think I would, as you say, freak out?”
“Not really, but it’s totally understandable that you did.” Emma told him. Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Lord know how much it freaked me out when Henry started calling me ‘Mom.’”
“That’s not exactly the issue, love.” And it wasn’t. The convoluted mess of his feelings had nothing to do with any apprehension regarding fatherhood. He longed to be a father figure to Henry or any future children. At one point in his dreadfully long life, he wanted that sort of relationship with Bae.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He tried that relationship with Bae, and failed him miserably – and not for the first time in the lad’s life. Though Killian would never regret his relationship with Milah, he was unable to deny the havoc he wreaked on the innocent boy’s family. And when that boy grew into a man and found a family he desired of his own, what was the end result? Killian was quite literally now in Emma’s arms, Henry living in the home they chose together, calling him “Dad.” It was the life that Baelfire would have wanted if given the chance, it would have been his happy ending.
“If it makes you feel any better, Henry was worried about hurting Neal, too,” Emma said in a soothing tone. She let go of his hand, her other still clasped firmly around his hook, and moved up to caress his cheek. “Like step-father, like son, yeah?”
“I don’t want to replace his father.”
“And you won’t. Neal’s always going to be his dad. Henry’s always going to love him. It’s just that you’re also his dad.” Emma assured him. “If Henry can have two moms, he can have another dad.”
She leaned up to kiss him briefly, her lips chastely moving over his as a sign of comfort.
“And if you’re worried about what Neal would think, just don’t, okay? He would want someone to parent Henry who love him and protect him and just be there for him – and that’s you, Killian. You might not have been Neal’s favorite person, but he would respect how much you love Henry. You are a great dad to Henry. That’s why Henry wants to call you that, because even though you aren’t his bio-dad, you’re still his capital ‘D’ Dad.”
Emma huffed the final part, and her own green eyes shined with unshed tears. “Henry loves you. I love you. And I’m fairly certain you love us. You aren’t betraying anyone by doing that.”
Killian gave Emma little time to finish her impassioned speech before he pulled her to him, her lips crashing into his own. He kissed her passionately, pouring everything he felt in the slant of his lips on hers. How much her loved her. How much her cherished her unyielding support of him, even if he didn’t quite understand it. How he never wanted to betray anyone else again, that he wanted to be a part of something, be a part of a family, her family, and Gods, how he wanted to make her and Henry proud. Killian just couldn’t articulate those words, so her continued kissing her instead, and prayed she knew, that she could understand.
She did, because this was Emma, and she somehow always understood.
“You gonna be okay?” She asked after he pulled away, her voice breathless.
“Aye.”
Emma beamed. “Good, because I’m starving, and I seem to recall a certain pirate promising me Granny’s.”
She tugged on his hook eagerly, her eyes alight with happiness. As she led him toward the diner, Killian chanced on final glance over his shoulder at the graveyard. He would not forget his promise to Baelfire. Killian vowed he wouldn’t fail him this time, and that was a vow he intended to keep.
Maybe he would take Henry out sailing this weekend for a father-son sailing trip fit for the ages.