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“All right,” Maleficent sighs shaking her fingers out over the pile of papers. She’s accustomed to writing spells with a quill, not trying to fill out tiny delicate forms. “I think that’s it.”
Killian sets more coffee in front of her and grins. “Now I exist?”
She closes her eyes, calling on the residual magic of the curse, winding that into her own. Dragon fire embraces the papers, wreathing them in flame, and then they pop. "That should do it."
He nudges them and looks up at her, still confused. "Do what?"
"I've created records for you. Birth records, school transcripts, dental records, a credit score...all of it is now part of the curse, and would have been earlier if the third Dark Curse hadn't been so rushed."
He winces. Right. That's a soft subject.
"I'm sorry." She reaches for the coffee and takes a sip before raising her eyebrows at him. "This isn't decaf."
"Dammit." He grabs for the coffee with his good hand and she clutches it to her chest.
"It won't hurt me."
Killian shakes his head. "I'm not supposed to give it to you. Regina was very clear."
"One cup is allowed, and this was quite a bit of paperwork."
"Creating a life." He glances down at the swell of her belly and smirks. "Two, really."
"Making you a paper life has far less side effects." Mal sorts his paperwork into a file and hands it to him. "Here you are, everything Killian Jones has been up to, for the last thirty-seven years."
"Only thirty-seven?"
She shrugs and sips her coffee again. Funny how she didn't know it existed before Storybrooke and now it's an essential part of her daily existence. Even if Regina's currently forcing her to drink decaf. Everyone knows decaf is inferior, even if Mal doesn't know why. "I liked thirty-seven. I don't think you look forty."
"Two score and a century or two is more accurate." His eyes really do twinkle when he jokes like that. Emma's right.
"The state of Maine would not think it was funny if I insisted you were several centuries old." Mal sits back in her chair, shifting to try to get more comfortable. "Now that you exist, your business does as well. Have you come up with a name?"
He pages through the file on his life, seemingly amused that magic has made some much of him. "I did well in school."
"Emma said you know some Latin, so I put it in there." Mal points at a section of his fictional report card. "Regina told me the adoption agency went through everything before she adopted Henry, and this way...you have an everything to go through."
"I took art," he says, looking up with pride.
"You own an art gallery."
"So I did well in art."
"Henry said As and Bs, maybe a C or two would be normal. I gave you the As in subjects you approve of."
"Art, and Latin."
"Aye." She mimics him and he chuckles.
"'Aye, love', get it right."
She snaps her fingers. "I knew I missed something." The baby stirs, perhaps because she had coffee, and she flutters while Killian examines the other parts of his life. Mal moves her hand to cover her and he notices. He's sharp.
"That's probably why you're supposed to drink decaf." He starts with a grin, but it softens. "Does it hurt?"
"She's too little for it to hurt. It's more of a flutter." Holding up her hand in an offer, she shifts so he can reach better. "Emma said she's like a bat. Regina keeps rolling her eyes and reminding everyone she doesn't have wings."
He shyly extends his hand, and she moves it firmly against her belly. "I seem to remember the mayor was rather enamored with her moving, even if she was trying to seem calm."
"Can't be mayor and soft." The baby kicks again, sharp enough that his eyes widen. They sit in silence for a moment, and perhaps this is the first time he's felt such a thing.
"Is softness allowed in running an art gallery?" He meets her eyes and then starts to look away, his eyes shining.
Squeezing his hand, Mal holds it tight. "I believe so. Your child will be so lucky to have you and Emma as parents. He or she will be so loved."
His gaze drops from her eyes to her belly where the baby continues to flutter against his hand through her shirt. "It means so much to her, to us both, we were so alone."
"Now you won't be. Your little one won't be." It's his fault her eyes sting, of course. Lily, Emma, even Killian, so many of them grew up in terrible situations, but here, together in this strange little town, they'll mend that.
He starts to pull his hand back, but she shakes her head. "It's all right, you can stay there as long as you want. I think she kicks more when someone's giving her an audience."
Killian chuckles. "Well, someone is a little queen, isn't she?"
"That's what I told her mother."
They sit without speaking, the birds calling outside the window while the sea laps at the pier. The baby has their attention, and like her, his thoughts wander away.
"Brightwork."
Her coffee's gone cold and she has no idea how long they've been enamoured with the little one. "Pardon?"
"I want to call the gallery Brightwork. It's a bit of a play on words--"
"That'll go well with the crowd you're meant to be attracting."
He smirks. "Hipsters from the city."
"The kind of people who would flock to a nautical art gallery with a rum bar."
"That was Henry's idea."
"He's a clever one."
They share a smile about their step-son. He's a truly wonderful young man, about to be a big brother twice over. The baby stills, running out of energy for the moment, and he removes his hand almost reverently.
"Thank you." He stands, taking her empty cup. "I'd offer you more coffee but I have no desire to tangle with the Evil Queen."
"Two cups of coffee would truly bring out her dark side."
"Aye, love."
That's how he says it.
She has a form for him. For his gallery, she nearly forgot. Mal digs it out of her briefcase and sets it in front of him. "Here, fill in the name, sign here, here and here, then the building and the liquor license are yours."
"It's a good name."
"An excellent one."
He finishes filling out the form with neat penmanship. No one from this world writes as well as those from the old world. "Does that do it?"
Maleficent nods with pride. "Killian Jones, you are now the proprietor of Brightwork, an art gallery and rum bar." A flash of magic turns the form into a license that flies to the wall to nest between two oil paintings of sailing vessels. "There."
"Much easier with magic."
Picking up her briefcase, Mal glances once more over the shop. "That it is."
"Thank you."
"You've been so helpful, both of you. With the baby, the wedding, everything. It's my-" she pauses, she can speak for Regina here, "-our pleasure."
"Goodnight, dragon."
"Goodnight, pirate."