Expecting a Secret [3/3]
Summary: After the events of 3x19, Killian is at his lowest after being rejected by Emma. When Snow’s labor turns out to be a false alarm, Zelena offers Killian a deal: she’ll leave the Charmings alone…if he gives her the baby she needs for her spell instead. There’s just one hitch: he has to keep it a secret. At least it will only take 10 days, right? a/n: Here’s the final part of my bday fic for @sancocnutclub !!! This is the full fic from the manip I posted last week. Hope you've enjoyed this little adventure! rated T | AO3 | 4.7k | part 1 | part 2
The next day was much of the same. Based on the book and his math, Killian was roughly around 32 weeks along—but found it hard to believe there was still time to go, based on his size. The new clothes he’d bought fit fine; it was just—so big, it seemed. His center of gravity had greatly changed and he felt terribly cumbersome. He didn’t think he was waddling yet, but he wasn’t moving with as much ease as he had just a few days ago.
He was just so keenly aware of all the changes going on within (and without, as he was reminded every time he passed a mirror—which was often) that he was losing in the effort to keep abreast of goings-on in the rest of town. Perhaps that was for the best; perhaps if he pretended he wasn’t here, others would forget as well and he could get through this without attracting any unnecessary attention.
He didn’t even draw the curtains to look outside, lest he risk anyone seeing him. But he didn’t need to open them to tell that it was a gloomy, overcast day; much the same as his mood. He was sore all over; it was impossible to get comfortable; the babe would not stop moving; and even the book he was trying to read couldn’t hold his attention (perhaps the title should have been Withering Heights instead).
Well, he was no stranger to brooding, so he gave himself over to that for the bulk of the day. By evening, he was in a terribly rotten mood that not even Oreos could soothe. He was looking forward to simply taking a bath—and hopefully getting some sleep—when there was a knock at the door. He sighed; he supposed that was inevitable—likely Granny ready to tell him off for all his pacing.
He cracked the door open enough to peek around and bit out a “What?” at his visitor.
“Jeez, I was just trying to invite you to dinner, not get my head taken off,” Emma rebuffed. “I thought this was Hook’s room; not Grumpy’s.”
“Ha,” he replied, unamused. “I’m afraid I’m still not quite fit for company.”
She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Okay, something’s up. You don’t usually avoid us like this.”
“Is a man not permitted his solitude at times?”
“Not when he’s being fucking weird. What aren’t you telling me?”
He nearly spat out the truth, but managed to close his mouth before he slipped. “Why does it matter?” he retorted. “I thought you couldn’t trust me.”
His heart nearly broke at the way her face fell at that; it was a low blow, but half his frustration came from trying to keep his distance. He hated keeping this from her, especially when there was a significant chance it was going to cause more trouble for her later. But he couldn’t risk more harm to her or her family.
“I told you—” she started, in a small voice, but he cut her off.
“Aye, well, I don’t quite believe it yet,” he said. “Don’t worry about me; just focus on the witch. Good night.” He punctuated the statement by firmly closing the door.
He waited for the sound of her footsteps to move away—and really hoped that wasn’t a sniffle he heard through the walls—before he himself stepped back from the door—and brushed away his own tears.
