Title: Baby Booties and Wedding Bells
Summary: A silly two-part, uber fluffy fic with a dash of humor, romance, and sexiness. Taking place during the S4 hiatus and going into AU where Emma is pregnant with Hook's baby.
Warning: Fluff, fluff, and more fluff! Some light smuff, hardcore innuendo, language, OOC.
A/N: After reading a series of Pregnant! Emma stories, I got inspired to write my own. It's not my intention to copy any other authors' ideas and apologize if it seems I have.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of OUAT.
Please read and review and enjoy Part 1.
Emma stretched her legs beneath the table of her booth. When her mother walked into Granny's, Emma smiled a lukewarm one and drank some of her coffee, grimacing a little. It tasted funny this morning. As she dumped two creamers into the mug, she said to Mary Margaret, "Almost didn't recognize you without the attachment."
Her mother unwrapped her scarf and sat down across from Emma and replied, "David's got him."
Emma frowned. "At the station?"
"It'll be fine. Lunch won't take long."
"Yeah, I already ordered for us." Emma grinned, slightly embarrassed. "Didn't really feel like eating this morning, but I'm hungry now and you were slow. Chicken sandwich all right with you?"
"Sounds good as long as there are fries."
Emma's phone buzzed. She fished it out of her jacket pocket and saw that she got a text from Henry. "Tell me about it. Cheese and bacon on mine."
"Not messing around today, are you?" Mary Margaret chuckled.
"Eh." Emma shrugged, not really paying attention as she texted Henry back. Yes, it was fine he felt the need to ruminate at Regina's house for the rest of the week. She couldn't blame him. Their new apartment was getting rather used and when Emma thought used, she meant noisy at odd hours in the night.
Hook's fault, not hers.
Ruby delivered their plates of food, shooting Emma a perplexed glance before wandering back behind the bar. Emma frowned at her and said, "Wonder what her problem is?"
"Hmm?" her mother noised, picked up her piping hot sandwich.
"Whatever." Emma leaned over her plate and snagged a cheesy, bacon-y fry and popped it into her mouth. "Mmmm. That's what I needed." She then picked up her tuna melt and took a bite, gagging when the fish touched her tongue. "Oh, my God! Ugh!"
"Is everything all right?" her mother asked, concerned.
Emma spit into her napkin and choked down some of her coffee to wash away the taste. After swallowing, she said, "The fish is bad." She turned in her seat, catching Ruby's eye and pointing at her plate. "I think there's something wrong with the tuna."
Ruby frowned and came over, picking up Emma's plate and inhaled an audible whiff. She shook her head. "It's fine."
"No. It's very much not." Emma held the half she bit from and waved it under her nose, cringing. "It's most definitely bad. I've eaten a hundred of these, and it's not supposed to taste rotten and ocean-y. Take it back, I'm sorry. I'll keep the fries, though."
Ruby stared at her carefully, nodding slowly. "Okay. No problem." She gave a small smile and saluted Emma with the plate. "Sorry about the sandwich. I'll put the fries on a separate plate for you."
"Granny's going to have to toss all her tuna out. You think she'd know they went bad," Mary Margaret said, taking a bite of her own sandwich and reaching for the ketchup.
Ruby returned with Emma's fries, setting down the plate followed by slipping a folded up piece of paper into the blonde's hand, winking. Emma furrowed her brow and opened the note, reading Ruby's neat cursive.
"What is it?" her mom asked.
Emma paled, crumpling up the note and shoving it into her pocket and shaking her head erratically. "Nothing. Let's eat," she squeaked.
When the two women left Granny's and were out on the sidewalk, Mary Margaret stopped and asked, "Is everything all right? What was in Ruby's note? Is she okay?"
"It's fine. Everything's fine."
Mary Margaret narrowed her eyes. "You'd tell me if it was important, right?"
"Uh…yes." Emma nodded, pursing her lips. "But there are different kinds of important. There's the kind people keep to themselves and then there's the kind people tell others."
"This falls in the first category. I get it."
No, Mary Margaret the Blab-Mouth probably didn't, but Emma didn't want to waste a second longer in front of Granny's when she had pressing matters to take care of.
"I have to go. I'll see you tonight." Emma waved and got into her Bug. Before starting the car, she hastily scrolled through the contacts on her phone, punching the one she needed and waiting for someone to pick up.
"Dr. Whale's office. This is Gloria."
"Yeah, this is Emma Swan. I'm hoping to get an appointment with Dr. Whale."
"As soon as possible."
"And what will Dr. Whale be helping you with, Miss Swan?"
"Uh…I'd rather just tell him when I see him."
"No problem. I can schedule you in tomorrow morning at eight."
"Sounds great. Thanks." Emma hung up the phone and started her car, driving to the station and catching her mother and baby Neal in the parking lot. After a brief hug with Mary Margaret and a kiss to her baby brother's forehead, Emma entered the station and greeted her father with a forced smile.
"Looking a little pale. You all right?" he asked.
"I'm fine." She sat down and kicked her feet up on the desk. Since the Snow Queen's rather emotional demise and the banishment of Rumpelstiltskin, Storybrooke was eerily quiet.
Calm before the storm, she mused and stilled when Killian stalked into the office, making her father frown and seclude himself in the sheriff's office.
"You're avoiding me," Killian accused.
Emma showed him her hands, gaping. "I saw you this morning. I saw you last night. All last night."
David coughed loudly from the office.
"We were supposed to meet for libations after lunch with your mum."
"I forgot. I'm sorry. I'm not avoiding you." Yet. "Geesh, you have the insecurities of a teenage girl, I swear"
Once he learned how to text, Emma knew her phone would blow up with inquiries of her whereabouts and who she was with and when could he come over to her place. Not even fun texts like if she was wearing any underwear. If so, what color? Matching bra? Send a pix? Take them off and send another?
Killian's eyes became all dewy, the man knowing exactly how to make her feel like a bitch. He braced himself on the armrests of her chair and leaned closer to her. "I missed you, is all."
Those eyes and that voice and a whole bunch of other reasons involving his perfect anatomy were the reasons she had a doctor's appointment in the morning, the bastard. God, one'd think puppy dog eyes wouldn't work on the likes of her, and since Neal, they hadn't. Low and behold Killian Jones and his darkly rimmed baby-blues pillaged into her world and disrupted her decade long streak of being a steel-hearted bad ass.
Emma ran the back of her hand along his scruff and thumbed his bottom lip. "You see me all the time."
His tongue darted out and pricked her thumb, and Emma's lower tummy clenched. She sent a side glance to her father who looked very busy in the office before putting her legs down and smiling at Killian before whispering, "As interesting as it was when you threw me on this desk a week ago and ruined me, my dad's here."
"Take a break," he rasped and pinched her chin. "I'll ruin you again. In that odd, yellow vessel of yours."
Yeah, no. Emma hadn't fornicated in the Duckling since Neal. Call her sentimental and honorable and whatnot, but she couldn't have a fumbling go for it when her vehicle had already been christened. It would be tacky to redo it with another guy. Even if the guy was Killian and kind of, sort of it for her. And away with her to a nunnery if she lost him like she had all the other potential prospects in her life.
"I just had lunch. You can wait." It'd do them both some good.
Damn it, the face! That stupid, handsome face that looked so good between her legs!
She squished his cheeks and laid a fierce one on him, full of promise and passion and a little of something else Emma wasn't quite ready to admit as of yet. When she pulled away, she did so with a nip to his bottom lip. "Good things happen to little boys who are patient," she said.
His nose brushed up against hers. "Don't patronize me, Swan. I'm not a child."
"Stop acting like one when you don't get your way." Hmmm. Killian was rather skilled at Eskimo kissing. Who knew?
"Let me have my way, and there won't be a problem."
Truth was, since Emma shoved his heart back into his chest, Killian had gotten his way. Multiple times. In multiple positions. In multiple places. Many of those times had taken place during her work schedule. Hence, why she needed to focus on work and see Dr. Whale the following morning.
So, yeah, there was a problem.
"I've spoiled you," she murmured fondly because she couldn't even manage a reproving frown. Killian's lips were too close to hers. She couldn't manage a downward pull of the mouth corners if she tried.
"And you were so willing to do so."
"I know but now I really have to work because I've slacked off too much. If no one phone's in or the next big bad doesn't vomit in this general direction by three, David and I will call it a day. You and I can go pick up Henry from school and get some pie."
Because nothing sounded better at the moment than slaughtering a warm, freshly baked cherry pie with vanilla ice cream.
"Nothing against Henry…or pie, but I was hoping for some privacy. I suppose the pie could be incorporated in the activities I had in mind."
Food and sex were a definite no-no on Emma's list, right up there with bunny-hugging in the Bug. Dining and lovemaking were both enjoyable activities for her, but she had never found mixing of the two pleasurable. Sex was messy and sticky enough as is. No need to add more grossness to the situation.
"Ew," she said.
"I'm glad you think so."
"We can have our private time later, Killian. Tonight. After pie and dinner and more pie. When it's appropriate. And Henry's asleep. At Regina's."
Killian made a disgruntled sound. "Speaking of. I ran into her. She told me to tell you that Henry has to stay with you. She has plans."
Emma smiled sympathetically. "Sorry, Hook, but when Regina has plans, we shouldn't have ours. It's fully-clothed snuggles tonight."
"We'll be quiet."
"I'm quiet. You're not." Emma flushed, recalling all his raucous sex noises. Their first time together, she came to know Killian Jones was a screamer.
And it was hot.
Thus, another reason why she'd been spoiling him the last two months. Every time he shouted her praise for the pleasure given to him, she felt all kinds of addicting, naughty, electrical tingles deep in her womb.
"Swan, are you sure you can't sneak away for ten bloody minutes?"
"You'll be fine." She pecked him on the lips. "Go to my place and watch Netflix and drink all my beer if you want." Because honestly, her appointment with Dr. Whale was a technicality of principle. Icky tuna melts, cheesy bacon smothered fries, and a horny need for pie. Oh, and uh…no visitation from Aunt Punch in the Ovaries in six weeks. Needless to say, the alcohol in her apartment wasn't going to be of any use to her for, like, the next two years. "Just know you can't come with me to pick up Henry if you do."
"I prefer rum."
"I don't buy rum." It wasn't a lie. A couple of weeks ago, she did go try to buy it but couldn't decide to which brand to purchase. To be honest, she was buying it for Hook, and she only drank it with him. Rum, although appropriate on occasion, wasn't her drink unless she had five cans of Coca-Cola alongside it.
"So…" She simpered widely. "Go do something for two hours. That's not here. Because as much as I like having you around, David doesn't."
Simultaneously, she and Killian twisted their heads to the side and saw David, arms folded and frowning at them through the window of the sheriff's office.
"Have I not proven myself to him, yet?"
"He knows your good and stuff. He just doesn't like that I blow you on occasion. It's a Dad thing."
Killian groaned, stepping away from her, thank God. The leathery smell of him was starting to get to her and not in a good way. More like a 'need to puke' kind of way.
"Must you call it that, love?"
Ah, yes. Killian loved innuendo but despised Emma's modern 'straight to the point' dialect. She only said such things because it momentarily turned him back into a gentleman who believed women ought not speak such forward and crass language. Her Killian had so many layers. Like cake. Not onions.
She licked her lips. Killian was most definitely like cake and each layer of him was a different flavor with its own unique texture.
The phone rang and Emma did a happy dance inside herself. David hurriedly answered it in the sheriff's office, and Emma stood up from her chair, pulling out a set of keys from her pocket and pressing them into Killian's chest. "Netflix and beer," she said.
He put his hand over hers. "Are those bloody—what do you call them?—parental controls still in place?"
"You're still in trouble because I'm still in trouble."
"You'd think having Robin would've removed that stick from Regina's arse."
"And I'm still mad at you. How could you watch that with Henry? He's a kid."
"It had your name in the title. The lad and I were intrigued."
"Last name. And you didn't see fit to turn it off when the first f-bomb dropped."
"I didn't know Henry wasn't allowed to hear it. He didn't say anything."
And why would her ever-developing twelve year old son say anything that would put a stop to watching pretty girls in tights and leotards do naughty things to each other?
"Killian," she started, folding her arms and jutting out her hip. "If you want us to be us, Henry is a big part in it. He still needs parenting which means when Regina and I aren't around and you are, it's all on you. Got it?"
"Emma…" He scratched the back of his head. "I don't know-"
"Then figure it out because I'm…" Phew! She almost blew it. "I'm counting on you. I have to go."
She slipped on her jacket and kissed Killian on his cheek before heading out of the station with David.
The next morning…
Emma's alarm went off and Killian grumbled and pulled away from her, turning over onto his other side. She got up, puked, showered, dressed, and nudged her lover in the ass with her knee.
"Take Henry to school. I have to go."
He mumbled a 'Love you' into his pillow as a response.
Before her appointment, Emma stopped at Granny's and ordered a large to-go cup of hot chocolate and a freshly baked blueberry muffin. An hour later, Dr. Whale was scribbling down a prescription for folic acid, prenatal vitamins, and iron pills after determining she was slightly anemic. She stopped at the pharmacy before work and pointedly glared at Sneezy when he handed the stapled-shut paper bag. He smiled nervously and said, "Congratulations."
"You're not going to tell anyone, are you?"
"Discretion is required, Emma."
Unlike the day before, Emma was running around Storybrooke straightening out mini-crises: a hit and run, a brawl at The Rabbit Hole, and a 'drug-bust' at the high school.
At one o' clock Emma found herself starving, grumpy, and in the principal's office staring at a plastic bag stuffed with oregano. It was being pinched at the seal by the vice principal and held far away from his person. The culprits, a fifteen year old boy and a sixteen year old girl, sat and giggled in the two chairs across from the principal.
"As you can see, Sheriff Swan and Sheriff Nolan. Marijuana," the vice principal said and the principal nodded in agreement.
"This is a very serious crime," Emma said solemnly, tossing a hard look at the teenagers.
"What are you going to do? Call our parents?" The girl guffawed and the boy slapped his thigh over and over again.
"After you're escorted down to the station, fingerprinted, photographed, and situated in your cells for the rest of the afternoon and evening, you get your one phone call."
"Wait." The girl frowned.
"What?" the boy asked.
"This crime will follow you the rest of your life."
Emma tried to share a private smile with the principle and vice principle, but both of them looked incredibly ecstatic for some reason.
"Emma," her father warned.
"You deal with them, David." She stomped out of the office and found the nearest vending machine, shoving in a $1.50 in quarters and buying a packet of strawberry Pop Tarts. She quickly got thirsty and stuck some money in the neighboring machine, buying chocolate milk. God, her snack would be so nasty once it came up.
Shoving the last bit of pastry into her mouth, her phone buzzed and she saw it was Killian.
"Ehwo?" she garbled into the speaker.
"Have you eaten yet, love?"
She swallowed. "No."
As bad as she wanted a burger, Emma settled for a bowl of sausage potato soup and a dinner salad at Crab Shack. Dr. Whale said it was fine to indulge but not over indulge. Scarfing down a Pop Tart and washing it down with Nesquik was definitely the latter.
"Were you ill this morning? I thought I heard you being sick," Killian said, showing his boyfriend-ly concern rather dutifully.
"A little, yeah." Emma blew on her spoonful of sausage and took a bite. Her gag reflexes shuddered when a squishy, wrongly flavorful thing scraped across her taste buds. The soup went pouring back into the bowl, and she pressed her napkin got her mouth, snapping her jaw shut to keep her earlier snack dwelling in the back of her throat.
"Are you ill now?"
She bobbed her head up and down.
And then whipped it from side to side.
"Darling, I'm confused."
Breathing deeply through her nose, Emma slowly lowered her napkin just enough to whisper in a 'don't argue with me' tone, "Eat your grilled cheese, and we'll go for a walk."
"We've been walking for five minutes. Is there something you need to say?" asked Killian from a few feet behind her.
"You walk really slow," she said, tossing a glance over her shoulder. They were on the beach and close to the shoreline. The sun wasn't out, and the clouds seemed to thicken and threaten some snowfall within a couple of hours.
"Besides a rather boring insult directed at my flawless and handsome self."
Emma stopped and scanned the area and sighed in relief. No one was around. School hadn't gotten out yet, and the weather sucked, so no one was at the beach. It was just her and Killian. She turned around to face him and blurted, "Let's get married."
Much to Emma's devastation, Killian closed his eyes and dropped his head. Oh, God! He didn't want to marry her. He didn't want her anymore. Was there someone else?!
Jealousy struck her hard, and she vowed to rip the skank's heart out and…
God, that awesomely gruesome saying just wasn't cool anymore. Anyway, her fear of him finding someone else was irrational. He traded his ship for her, so Emma knew she was, like, numero uno on his VIP list.
"It will be Swan-Jones," she tried and then added softly, "You don't want to marry me, do you?"
As miffed as she felt, an overwhelming and probably hormonal wave of sadness rushed over her. Confusion, too, because in the dead of night last night, he'd gotten out of bed for a drink of water. When he returned, he'd pressed soft kisses to her nose, temple, and forehead. That was a very husband-y thing to do, right? She had thought so and knew they should get married. They were having a baby, anyway, and Emma kind of liked the idea of putting a ring on Killian. It was rushed thinking. She knew that. They only really started dating, like, four-ish months ago and naked cuddling for half that.
"Emma," he started, "if you're trying to be cruel, there are other ways."
"What? How is saying we should get married cruel? Would you've rather me be ridiculous and get on one knee? Have a rose between my teeth? Have a ring? Actually ask? Forgive me if I thought it was stupid asking something I thought I already knew the answer to. You said you were in it for the long run. You said you wanted me. You said you loved me. Typical for a man to backtrack when the prospect of marriage comes up."
"Because I want you."
"Because I l-l-love you. I know I don't say it. Ever. But I do."
Emma stomped her foot and stooped over and collected a handful of sand, throwing it at his chest in a fit of anger. "I'm pregnant, and it's all your fault, you horny pirate!" She grabbed some more sand and hit him again, this time in the crotch. "The least you could do is marry me!" More sand! Ha! In the face! "I'm dying to know what David is going to say about all this!"
About to throw another bout of sand in his kisser, she paused when Killian brushed off his face and raised his hook in surrender. "You're with child?!"
"Ugh!" She dropped the sand and started stomping away.
Killian came rushing after her. "Where are you going?! We need to talk!"
"I'm avoiding you!"
"No, no, no!" He grabbed her wrist, and she tried to get yank it back, but he held on tight.
"I need to go to work. Let me go."
"You weren't lying. You're…" He gestured his hook at her stomach.
"You think I'd lie about that?"
"And you were serious when you said…you know?"
"I was serious, but now I'm not so sure."
"I didn't bloody do anything wrong!"
"You thought I was playing a cruel joke! What am I, ten?!"
"Swan." He sighed and looked upwards like he was seeking something in the gross, clumpy sky before boring a hole into her face. "I'm going to be a father."
His words and the way he said them made Emma pause. They made her think because, yes, Killian would be a dad. She was having a baby, and it was going to be his, making her imagination run around like it was on acid. She pictured him holding a wriggling, solid weight wrapped in a soft, pink blanket. She pictured him grinning and leaning down to brush a soft kiss on a baldish, peach-colored head.
Emma licked her lips and ambushed him, forming herself to him and tucking her head underneath his chin. She encircled her arms around his waist and squeezed. "Well, yeah," she said and buried her face into his chest and repeated into his shirt, "Let's get married."