A/N: Based on spoilerish speculation for the end of the season.


(first comes love)

She kisses him gently, as though she might injure him further with the action. He looks just as lifeless as he did before she tried it; before she chose to take a leap of faith, unprompted and entirely of her own volition.

It's only when Hook lets out a loud gasp breath that she too begins to breathe again. Emma laughs joyously, choking on a sob as relief washes over her. She watches as he takes her in; as he becomes aware of what she did and why she succeeded.

Swan. "Emma," he whispers, voice still raw and raspy. His mouth twitches with unspoken queries that come rushing into his mind. He decides to silence them, however, and instead elects not to taint this glorious moment with questions he already knows the answer to.

She loved him. Truly loved him, in fact. But more than that—if her beaming smile and inability to remove her gaze from him were any indication—she had chosen him.

Hook sat up on his elbows, sighing contentedly before cupping her face with awed reverence. "It's about bloody time," he muttered as they lean into one another.

They kiss again. And again. And again, until Hook's back is pressed against the hard ground of his would-be prison. "I think you're awake enough now," Emma says as they reluctantly pull apart and make to stand. They still have a wicked witch to defeat, after all.

"Wide awake, love, thank you," he teases, his look of adoration transforming into one of pure smugness.

Emma whips tangled locks of golden hair over her shoulder as a subtle blush graces her cheeks. She gestures towards the cellar's exit. "Shall we?"

Hook leans in close to her, his proximity a very welcomed thing. "After you."

She scoffs at his echoed reply, memories of beanstalks and giants and hidden treasure appearing before her, transitioning into promises made—and kept—in the jungles of Neverland. One-time thing, she remembers having told him. How wrong she had been. Once in a lifetime thing, more like.

.

(then comes marriage)

There's a moment, lasting only about a minute, where they just stare at each other. They're in the captain's quarters, slightly out of breath and grinning from ear to ear. They chuckle sporadically, sharing in an inside joke that promises to make them both infinitely happy.

They're married; newlyweds as of ten minutes ago on the deck of the Jolly Roger. Neither Hook nor Emma can hardly seem to believe it.

It isn't until after they consummate their union—several times over and on every surface that permits it—and they're laying in his small bed that they feel it; accept it: they have found home, and their happy ending is only beginning.

Emma wakes before he does and sneaks out from under his embrace, towards the table. She picks at bits of uneaten cake and sips on the unfinished wine that he'd acquired for their secret ceremony. She scans the room, which is littered with discarded items of clothing, and selects his leather coat. It's a heavy piece that mostly covers up her nude form, and the smell of it—of him—makes her chest tighten.

She hears Hook's stirring, and soon he's wrapping his arms around her waist. The floorboards creek under his weight as he moves to nip at her neck and holds her tighter. "Good morning," he hums, turning her around. "Wife."

She really likes the sound of that.

.

(then comes...)

Emma rushes out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, where she finds Hook leaning on the counter, cup of coffee in hand. He regards her with concern at first, urging her to tell him what's wrong, until he notes that her frantic state is untinged with worry or anxiety.

She's made a discovery, it seems, and is all too eager to share the news.

She holds up a rounded stick while he places down his mug. "What's that?" Emma points to a white, translucent circle at the center of the object, where he can make out two faint red lines crossing.

"I'm—" she starts to answer before she giggles—actually giggles—and rubs affectionately at her stomach. Hook immediately understands, and all the air rushes out of his lungs.

"Pregnant?" Emma nods repeatedly and is immediately assaulted with quick kisses to her temple, her nose, her jaw. His reaction exceeds her expectations, memories of jail cells and adoption forms and cuffed ankles soothed away by his words of praise and adoration.

And when he tells her he feels a happiness he's never known, she believes him. Because she feels the same.

.

.