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brucethegirl · 4 months ago

Text

Be known in its aching

by HundredTimes

Rated: E

Word count: 8,921

Killian has officially backed off of pursuing Emma, allowing Neal to make his mistakes and Emma to make her choice on her own time. He's stepped away and will not sway her heart or mind. He refuses to once again be caught in the middle and blamed for a woman knowing what she wanted from life.

In the time he has on his hands now, he refuses to be near the one woman who enraptures him. Instead, spending time with an old friend.

A/N: I want to be clear- there is graphic sex in this. It is NOT between Killian and Emma. However, this is still a Captain Swan story. Killian ends up imagining Tinker Bell is Emma during their encounter and it's all very sad times.

This is a bit of a character study of Killian, and who he was at this stage of the story. He was still ready to make bad choices, and this was one of them.

This fic also plays with the time line a bit. What appears to only be about two-three days in the show I've expanded to be more like a couple weeks.

Thank you to everyone in the Captain Swan Movie Marathon and Storybrooke/The Enchanted Forest discord servers for hyping me up and supporting me writing this. I wouldn't have had the guts to post this without ya'll.

Huge thank you to Kier (mockiery) who's conversation helped not only inspire this fic but heavily inform it. To Taryn for going over this with a fine toothed comb multiple times. And to Inês for beta reading and being another set of eyes.

Also available on AO3

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Killian quickly hid the smile that overtook him when he saw the lad’s face light up when his father approached their booth. He glanced at the boy’s mother and quickly went back to his drink. She looked bewildered but somewhat happy. It was that second emotion- no matter how much he knew it was for her son getting the chance to know his father and not for her own joy- that caused a sliver of doubt to enter his heart. A moment of regret for what he was doing.

He’d meant what he said. He would back off. Henry deserved the chance at a real family and to see his mother make the decision to not be involved with her past lover. Killian could not be visibly in the way and allow his presence to be interpreted as the reason the couple weren’t together. Not again. He wouldn’t be the target for Henry’s hatred when Bael- Neal- eventually left Emma. Again.

Killian was an observant man, with a keen eye for perception honed after too many years of being alive and outside of the law for most of them. He also knew a runner when he saw one, and after years on his own in the land without magic, Neal had become a runner.

He watched Neal join his family, Henry’s excited chattering, Emma’s tight and uncomfortable smile. The way her eyes sought him out.

No. He had no doubt that regardless of what Neal did or didn’t do, Killian was correct in his other assessment as well. Emma would choose him. Much as he knew he didn’t deserve it. But he’d be damned if he let anyone think he’d swayed that choice.

In the meantime, though, he would have to watch the boy he’d abandoned try to woo the woman he… No, he wouldn’t go down that train of thought. The woman that might finally inspire him to heal his heart. He took a large swig of what remained of his drink. That was enough of an admission for one evening.

He left the diner with its happy chattering without anyone the wiser, not looking over for one last glance of golden hair. He needed to accept the fact he was taking a step back from her, and the Lady Lucas was unlikely to let him drink the fill he required to do so.

The town was not that big, and during his stay with the Queen of Hearts, he’d stayed away from the popular hero haunts enough that he knew exactly where to find a rowdy bar that might serve him what he needed, and wouldn’t balk at his most recent misdeeds (or his less recent ones), the way most of Granny’s clientele did.

He knew the patrons of The Rabbit Hole included the judgy, grumpy dwarf, Leon or whatever his name was, most nights. But Killian had thankfully just seen him with his fellow loyalists surrounding the royal family.

One face he didn’t expect to see when he let his gaze slide across the large room was a certain green fairy with a surprisingly numerous amount of empty glasses around her. He ordered his usual, a tankard of rum, and left the bar to sit next to her.

“Shouldn’t you be over at the convent with the rest of your kind.” He greeted with a smirk.

With a glare, Tink looked up at him. “I’m not exactly welcome, remember?” She gestured to her back, “no wings.”

He sat down heavily and splayed his legs, laying his arm across the bench behind her, “This is the land without magic, love. No one has wings.”

She sighed and took a huge gulp of her beer. “Try telling that to Blue.”

“She isn’t letting you back in?” Tink shrugged, already accepting her fate. Killian found himself liking the sanctimonious fairy even less, somehow. “Where are you supposed to go?” He asked, looking around. The only reason he had a bed at night was his ship, if he lost her he didn’t know what he’d do. He was suddenly very thankful his ship had been able to travel across realms with him.

Tink shrugged again, this time much less sure of herself, “I was planning on sleeping here until they kicked me out. They don’t close until 3.”

He shook his head, “Granny’s is a decent enough inn, the Lady Lucas might dislike pirates, but I’m sure she’d have no qualms about displaced fairies under her roof.” If he were honest, he’d detected a shift in her gruff interactions with him since returning from Neverland, and he was no longer so certain his presence was entirely unwanted.

Tink propped her crossed arms on the table and leaned forward, clearly already mildly drunk, her bosom on display as her arms pushed what little she had up to crest the neck of her garments. “I’m only barely able to keep the drinks flowing,” she said, indicating towards her breasts, which he quickly jerked his eyes away from to see her quirked brow, a reasonable imitation of his own, arrogant manner when he was proven right. “I doubt the same charms would work on her.”

He uncorked his rum and lifted it to his lips, “no, I doubt it,” he mumbled looking away. The burn of the rum was a welcome relief. The beer served at Granny’s was sufficient in a pinch, but nothing calmed his nerves, soothed the fire across his skin, or quieted his mind like the spiced nectar he preferred.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments more. Then with a sharp clack Tink’s empty pitcher landed on the table and she began adjusting her top. He’d always appreciated how she was a woman ready for survival. He put his arm out to stay her, his hand gesturing for her to sit back down. “Keep your charms to yourself a moment. Here.” He poured a generous portion of his rum into what looked to be the cleanest glass.

She rolled her shoulder and sat more comfortably, “thanks,” she said quietly, an easy understanding between them. Tink would always do what she needed to get by. It didn’t mean she’d enjoy it. It was a creed he understood well. One he had lived by for far too many years to count. He tilted the jug to her in salute before taking a blissful swig. He swallowed and let out a relieved sigh.

Finally the weight of what he’d done earlier began to feel lighter. Stepping away from a woman he not only wanted, but knew wanted him. A woman who made him feel things in a way he thought he’d never be capable of again. A woman who loved her son so passionately and without doubt. Who saw him as a man with a semblance of honor. The first one to do so in too many years. Even Milah, who saw the adventure he thrived on and saw him as a savior in her dark world, hadn’t seen him the same way Emma did. Milah never called him on his bravado and overcompensation. Emma saw past a persona perfected, and had kissed him anyway. Had trusted him to help rescue her son anyway. But on top of that, had not given Henry up for a second, making him her sole priority even as the boy’s father put their rivalry over a woman first.

The more he drank, the more he no longer felt like the biggest mistake, and he was no longer overwhelmed by the magnitude of it.

He knew the more he drank, the more the weariness would leave his heart, then his muscles, and he’d be able to sleep. He preferred to do so in companionable conversation, though, and Tink would fill that role nicely. He’d learned long ago that to drink alone was to tempt the demon he kept barely contained below the surface. But now he had something that inspired him to tame that demon, to tame the thirsty beast that craved silence and an end to the burning pain radiating from his bones, his joints, his hand that had long ago decayed.

But there was no denying the fire rising from his wrist under the brace. There was no denying the way Pan’s never ending purgatory preyed on the old fears in his mind. There was no denying the way every ligament across his back felt like a rubber band a moment before snapping. In the Enchanted Forest, he would have found an inn, a brothel, somewhere with a bath and let himself ease into a tub of hot water in front of a fire. Something to help loosen the muscles and rid himself of the recent nights spent on a jungle floor.

“I saw your crocodile walking around,” Tink jumped into conversation without warning.

Thankfully, he had already swallowed his last swig and could only sigh from somewhere deep in his soul. “Aye, that he is.” He took another swig, this one more to quell the angry fire racing up his chest threatening to envelop him. Sure enough, as the burn of the rum battled the burn of his vengeance, the liquor won out.

She blinked at him, “you’re different,” she observed quietly as her eyes bore into him. Seeing him in a way that was familiar but not quite the same as a different golden haired, apple cheeked beauty. He shifted in his seat to better assess her, trying to gauge if he should be offended. She only laughed heartily at his response. “You act like I don’t know you.” She finally calmed, wiping a tear from her eye and Killian grumpily slouched in his seat. “Oh, come on,” she pushed him before she threw her arm around the back of the bench, her fingers brushing his shoulder absentmindedly.

His eyes flicked to her fingers and back to her face. She was paying him no mind, though, and finished the glass he’d poured her. He gave a good natured roll of his eyes and refilled her glass without being asked. Let no one say he wasn’t a gentleman.

“It’s those heroes, isn’t it? They’ve somehow tamed the wild Captain Hook into someone who plays by the rules.” She took another swig, and shrugged her shoulders, “impressive.” She genuinely sounded amazed and Killian leaned closer.

“I wouldn’t use the word tamed .” With every word, he invaded her space. He watched her breathing stutter and her eyes jump down to his lips,“that implies I have an owner. And I belong to no one.” He caught her eyes when they bounced back up and smirked, letting her know he’d caught her.

“No, you were always so very free,” she snarked back and his grin slipped momentarily. He took another swig and the burn felt stronger than it had before.

It had been a number of years since they had last seen each other- almost 30 for him- but with the way time distorted and bent in Neverland, he was unsure how long it had seemed for her.

He’d learned while with the heroes on that cursed island that she had only been exiled since The Evil Queen’s own history, a far more recent time than when he first met her in his own life. For him what had been hundreds of years under Pan’s thrall, had coincided with her own much shorter banishment. His head was already swimming too much from the rum, he had very little clear thinking available and couldn’t make sense of the way time shifted and churned there. He deduced to leave it for a more lucid day.

What he decided to use the remainder of his lucidity on was the way Tink leaned into him, the way she was familiar with him and the camaraderie of an old friend who also offered warmth in the small town with a chill coming in from the ocean.

They’d spent a century learning each other, but also talking and he knew no one else alive who had seen so much of the inner workings of his mind. So when he winced again without having taken a shot of the rum to cover it, she took over pouring their drinks without question, falling into the role historically taken by scantily clad wenches leaning their low cut bosoms into his face. Only Tink didn’t play into it as seriously as they had. It was as though she could take or leave his presence. Which, considering her ability to eat that night didn’t rely solely with the coins he might supply, made sense. But it was a balm nonetheless.

Over the next few days, they each developed a routine. While Killian had no idea what Tinker Bell was up to before they met at The Rabbit Hole before sundown, he would walk aimlessly around town. He’d see Neal talking animatedly with his son, as he leaned in close to Emma. He’d watch the Charmings chat causally and at ease with the boy Killian had once known. He’d watch David clap the man who’d left their daughter’s heart wounded and bloody on the shoulder like they were old friends. He’d watch Snow White giggle at the way father and son would race out the front door of the ice cream shop as though the older man hadn’t been the reason her daughter had walls higher than a beanstalk around her heart.

He would also watch Emma out of the corner of his eye. The way her shoulders would raise around her ears, the way her gaze would slide away, the way her smile never reached her eyes unless she looked to her boy - she really would do anything for him.

Killian would then continue to look straight ahead, pretending he couldn’t see when her head swiveled in his direction. She would take a step towards him, and he would clench his jaw so hard he felt his teeth ache, but it was minor pain to what he felt in his chest. Anything to not look back at her. But because he was weak, he would always fail. He’d wait until he was safe from being caught and let his eyes slide over to her. Except, without fail, she wouldn’t turn away. He’d watch the corner of her lips tilt up, his own mirroring them, until someone from her little group caught her attention again. He would be long gone before anyone could follow her gaze or see he’d not stayed away like he’d promised.

He’d head to The Rabbit Hole and drive his attention to darts, to drinking, to riotous singing until the bartender threatened to call the sheriff, where he would then sober quickly and disperse any crowd that he had incited.

Tink would watch it all, amused at his antics. He’d realized he’d missed her in a way. Missed the conversations they’d have while sweaty and catching their breath. While not entirely soul bearing, they were more similar to ones he’d have liked to have with a friend.

When he’d dispersed his latest group of rabble, he felt the muscles in his back pull, the fire in his joints ignite, and he sank into the leather bench in a way that made everything feel deflated and swollen at the same time now that he’d lost his distraction. He drew more than one gulp of the spiced rum down his throat before he felt a pressure against the bottom of it. He heard Tink’s gentle voice, “easy there, that isn’t water.” He had to let the jug slip from his lips if he wanted to avoid dropping it as she maneuvered its weight into her hand and away from him.

“If you wanted some, asking is typically socially acceptable even among the faeries. But maybe you’ve forgotten,” he teased. There was only a mild amount of ire in his voice, but it was enough that she caught it and raised her brow. Her lips thinned, showing her displeasure at his comment. “Sorry,” he said forlornly, glancing away.

Tink handed the drink back to him. “You’re in a foul mood tonight,” she said, straightforward and without hesitation. Killian shook his head, his lip quirking in a well-worn self-effacing smirk. He opened his mouth to reply, but she was faster, “no you are.”

He rolled his eyes skyward and conceded. “I’m just getting used to letting go of my happy ending,” he finally offered.

She sat back slowly, taking in the information he was offering. “You’re giving up on your happy ending?”

He took a quick swig, “considering it involved something most people call ‘murder’, I thought you’d be happy about that.”

The look that crossed Tink’s face showed she remembered their very first conversation. “Well, no. I am. But I had hoped you’d found something else to- to hope for,” she said quietly.

Killian didn’t know when they’d shifted their conversation to a private one, but he did know he didn’t want anyone to overhear his admission. He looked around, wary of the other patrons. “I didn’t realize you cared,” he heartlessly teased.

Her face turned sober. “We’ve been through a lot together. I know you. You deserve a better happy ending than some plot for revenge. That would likely have ended with your death, I might add. That man is much more terrifying than you gave him credit for,” she shivered.

He shot her an annoyed glance, “he’s basically powerless here. Between his wife and his son, he-” Killian broke off, realizing he didn’t want to talk about the crocodile, Neal, or the inevitable journey his brain was already making towards her .

“Right,” Tink didn’t push, letting him break off mid sentence and drown his racing thoughts in another gulp of rum. That’s what he always liked about her, she never pushed. Not emotionally anyway. “I’d just thought maybe you’d found a new happy ending.” her eyes flicked to his knowingly when she added, “with Emma.” Well, she didn’t used to push.

The sigh that escaped him was from the depths of his soul. He wasn’t about to explain everything to Tink, not in a bar full of unsavory characters, but he could share something. “It’s complicated.” He took another swig. Tink knew Bae, had known about Killian’s own history with the boy. “He’s the young lad’s father, the one Pan wanted.” He raised his brows in a significant way.

Tink sat up straighter, “Oh, right.” She pursed her lips, “right.” She blew out a big gust.

After sitting in silence for a beat too long, Killian gave a laugh. Bitter to even his own ears, but hopefully the significant amount of liquor Tink had already imbibed in would dispel her from noticing. “It really is a happy ending for all.” He wasn’t about to explain how the boy they knew was gone and in his place was a man afraid of the world they came from, afraid of being needed and seen for who he was. How Neal was a man unable to see what others needed from him, and only saw what he wanted.

Killian was ashamed by his behavior on the island when Neal had riled him up, but he also knew Neal wasn’t . They’d put Henry in danger, and he had never heard Neal apologize for it.

He also knew Emma was trying to appease her family. Her parents and her boy. He wasn’t sure who would snap first. Would Emma finally try to reach out for what she wanted instead of desperately trying to make everyone else happy? He doubted it. Or would Neal remember why he left in the first place? The weight of his fears leading him to attempt to break Emma’s heart.

Killian realized the spiral of his thoughts and laughed, bringing the mood back up, “What say you to another tankard?” He slapped his hand on the table top and Tink laughed.

“Here here!” She cheered, and he was buoyed by her smile.

He needed to forget about Emma. He’d said his piece. He didn’t bow out, but he was out of the running. He wouldn’t sit around and wait for her. It was inevitable, yes, but it wouldn’t be anytime soon. Why should he play church mouse while she was trying to make things work with an old lover? Why shouldn’t he also find comfort in someone?

He’d told Swan once that he was done with her. That hadn’t been true even then. But he’d been able to get his mind off her, very easily. Maybe he just needed to do the same thing again. He didn’t have a quest per se to focus on, but he had a beautiful woman who may be willing to share a night with him. They’d been sating their thirst for forgetting the world together, maybe they could sate a different thirst. It wouldn’t be the first time, that was for sure. He could use the workout.

When he came back to their booth, he adjusted his posture in the bench seat. Years of seafaring may have been a balm to his soul, but it was murder on his body. The longer he lived on the ocean, the more damage was done. Eventually, it became something like hair of the dog. If you kept indulging, the pain never had a chance to creep up. As soon as he’d stop moving however, the aches got worse. And he hadn’t had to tighten a downhaul in weeks before their trip to Neverland. If he wasn’t careful he’d craft quite the sedentary lifestyle, something he needed to avoid at all costs.

Killian stretched his arm across the back of the booth and leaned into Tink’s space. He opened the new bottle with his teeth and as they shared a breath he took a swig before offering it to her. “It’s getting a bit loud in here. Why don’t we bring this one to the Jolly and have ourselves a night cap?”

She glanced down, but not far enough to be staring at the bottle. Her own lips smirked in a tiny, delicate way. He ignored the fluttering in his gut that wanted a wider smirk, not afraid to hide her teasing. “I’d say that might be a sound plan.”

Killian had long since offered one of the cabins on board his ship for Tink to bunk in, but as they walked to the dock, he knew she would be splayed across his bed by morning.

Both of their steps were uneasy. Hers from the drink, which was convenient as his was from the pain radiating up through his back. His limp was more pronounced now that he hadn’t had to keep it hidden and busy on the ship every day. As he grit his teeth and continued their path, he kept an eye out for anyone who might still be out. Anyone who might see him. He felt foolish to feel so ashamed; their walk was no different than any other night. They walked back to the Jolly Roger drunk all the time. He may have known he had different plans that night, but surely no one else would.

And even if they did, he was within his rights to take a woman to his bed. He was allowed the embrace of someone else. He wasn’t doing anything wrong.

It was that mantra that he repeated in his mind as he limped just a little faster, the stabbing fire in his thigh growing more incessant. He needed to rest it. He also needed to remove the brace on his wrist as well, the sweat and tingling from the leather rubbing against his skin was beginning to grate; but that wouldn’t be happening for, hopefully, a few hours still.

He needed a distraction.

When they made it to the deck, Killian sent Tink ahead to the captain’s quarters as he looked around one last time to make sure they would be undisturbed. He knocked on the wood at the gangway as he stepped on board, and followed.

He expected a few more shots and maybe an attempt at conversation. Instead, he was greeted with a vision of long loose blonde waves. His breath caught and his heart skipped. For a split second, he thought-

Then she turned around, and Tink twined her arms around his neck before reaching up to meet his lips. He fell into the old familiar routine easily enough. Though he did falter into the kiss at first, he wasn’t so far out of practice that he couldn’t find his footing.

His hand framed her rib cage, then slowly rose, lifting her shirt with it. Tossing it to an unknown corner, he reached back down, cupping her breast as he leaned in to draw the other between his lips as he sucked. “Hook,” she whispered as she shuddered in pleasure. His brows creased, concentrating harder as his thumb flicked over the hardening peak. He let the other slip out of his mouth before licking it with a hard swipe of his tongue as he continued to feast on her chest.

He felt her hands in his hair, pulling and twisting. Raising his hook from where it rested gently on her hip, away from any soft flesh, he snagged her wrist in its curve. He pulled her hand down and pressed it to his chest and to the lapels of his leather vest he had yet to remove. She gripped it tightly in her fist and he groaned around her nipple. Responding to his silent request, the other hand slid down to the other side of his chest to tangle in his clothes and she hoisted him closer, pulling him to her chest. “Aye, just like that,” he grumbled against her as he shifted his attention to the other breast. She let out a mulish cry, and he shushed her instinctively, the warm air of his breath slipping past his teeth, brushing against her wet nipple that made her shiver and break into a throaty moan.

This was what he needed. He walked them carefully to his desk and when she reached the edge, he picked her up and set her upon it. He may have wanted Emma Swan, but she was someone he couldn’t have right now. He couldn’t even attempt to woo her, to show her how he would be willing to care for her, show her affection, tell her every second how wonderful she was. He couldn’t even appear to be the better man for her because he knew how his actions would be perceived by every one that she cared about. He had to wait for her to come to him, and hope that their kiss on Pan’s island had meant just as much to her as well, and that she saw the man underneath the villainous persona he’d spent centuries carefully crafting, and even threatened her with. Killian hadspent years hiding his hurt and pain and rage behind the mantle of Captain Hook, a sharp weapon in more ways than one. It was a mighty quagmire he’d fallen into thanks to his own impetuous and idiotic past, and it was those actions he’d be more than happy to answer for and prove better than once she rejected Neal outright. But there was nothing he could do until then.

Tink pulled away and he realized he’d lost his focus. Her brow creased and she watched him for a moment. “Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to not give you the full attention you deserve,” he said before she could catch on. He sank to his knees, cringing slightly at the stabbing ache that shot up his thighs to his spine. He would be distracted from it soon enough.

He slid his fingers and hook up her thighs, slowly, and with the barest hint of touch. When he reached the ragged hem of her skirt, he slipped just enough of his digits underneath and continued his ghostly exploration, pushing the skirt up as he went. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he leaned forward and buried his lips against her. His tongue started slowly and attentively as her muscular thighs clamped around his ears in response to the first touch of wet on wet. He let them, his hand wrapping around from underneath to grip and stroke the crease where leg met hip. He could only vaguely hear her cries of pleasure, and let himself drown in it. He felt the moans and cries she gave when he licked into her like his tongue was a compass and her wet heat was north.

When Tink finally grasped his hair and pulled him off her, Killian smirked as he invaded her space, pushing in close and letting his breath kiss her lips, even as she tilted her head and reached for him. He slid his arms under her legs and lifted her, she could barely protest the sudden movement as dazed as she was. “We’re not done yet, love,” he whispered into her hair and set her on his bed.

“I forgot how damn good you were at this,” she whispered, when she finally sat up and reached for his pants as he shucked his vest and silk shirt. She took a break from his belt to run one hand up and back down his chest, her nails scraping the soft hairs on his chest in the most delicious way. He tossed his head back and enjoyed the sensation. Emma’s face suddenly flashed in his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t here with Emma, he was here with Tink. A woman who knew what he liked, as he knew her. A woman who could fill this need he felt in his bones the same as Granny could feel his need for food.

Oh no, that wasn’t a good thought to have right now . Killian looked back down at the blonde hair cascading across her shoulders, all soft natural curls but too white. No, it was fine. Tink didn’t have golden hair like the sun, she had a color like wheat. Softer and darker. And he was here with Tink. He wanted Tinker Bell.

In this moment.

Sure enough the wingless fairy was enough to bring his libido right back up to speed as she undid the laces keeping him tied down. The relief he felt was instantaneous and he bent down quickly to kiss her in wordless thanks. She pushed him off playfully and pulled him out of his leather pants before pushing them far enough down she could gain unfettered access.

With one long drag of her tongue on the underside of his shaft, she kept him on her tongue as she wrapped her lips around him.

The groan he gave as his hand and hook framed her face was animalistic. He watched as she pushed her head forward as far as she could go, felt the tip of him reach the resistance at the back of her throat before he felt it open slightly as she adjusted. Then he felt a quick flutter of pressure that he realized was her throat working a swallow before she pulled back with a suction that nearly lost him his soul. “Shit,” he whispered hoarsely. She repeated the action a few times before she pushed herself nearly to his groin and sat for a moment, her eyes flicking up to his.

He knew what she was telling him, and he gave a small thrust on his own. The moan she gave reverberated through his entire body. His thrusts gained depth, but not momentum, not yet. When he was confident she could accommodate his length without hurting her, he let loose. His hand tangled in her hair as he tilted his head back with abandon. The sounds she made spurred him on, her hands on his hips and her lips moving in a sinful rhythm to the pace he set. He lost himself in the pace. No thoughts but the warm heat surrounding him. No thoughts but the pleasure he was chasing. He wondered if she’d lick her lips when he finished, the way he’d seen her do with the ice cream she’d gotten that morning. He wondered if she would stay in his arms the whole night, let him hold her the way he wanted to after that kiss in the tropical heat. If she would let him shower her with praise. She’d seemed shocked when he told her he believed in her, as though no one had ever told her that before. He would shower her with praise the second he finished. Actually, why wait, as mindless words spilled from his lips, his muscles so tense he could barely speak as he murmured, “so good, take me so good. Swallow me so good, love. Aye, I knew you would.” When he felt the light tap at his hip he pulled back instinctively, slipping from her lips. Coming back to himself, he realized who he was looking at andfelt ashamed before coming to a steadfast resolution. If he couldn’t be with Emma, he needed to forget her. At least for tonight. He needed to focus on Tink.

Pulling back, Killian hoisted her up further on the bed and leaning over her, kissing slowly up her body, laving affection over scars and marks as he rose to her lips. While he devoured her, he lined himself up and drove into her in one harsh push. The sound that escaped his lips was entirely out of his control. This was what he needed. A willing woman blissfully moaning his praises as he pressed into her. Entirely enraptured by the snap of his hips. He lifted her waist, his hook grazing his own thigh as he slipped her corresponding thigh into the crook of his elbow while his fingers tightly gripped the other. She wrapped her left leg tightly around his hip to keep the angle.

Tink’s gasps became sharper and Killian felt the beginnings of the fluttering he knew were preceding another orgasm. He thrust harder and just as she started to scream out, he removed his fingers from her, shifting his waist so his body continued the pressure against her while never wavering from his tempo. She threw her head back in release, and he spread his fingers wide as he palmed first her mound, then across her stomach. When he reached her breasts, instead of giving either one the attention they deserved, he closed his fingers and slid his palm between them. Up, up, up to her neck. Wrapping his hand around the delicate column, his thumb pressed against the frantic beat of her pulse, like a little hummingbird beating its wings. His fingers wrapped around and brushed into her hair. He leaned forward and whispered into the shell of her ear, his voice raw and breathless, “just like that, princess. So good for me. I knew you would be.” He didn’t know where the nickname came from, it was never something he’d called her during the many many times they’d slaked their desire for companionship in each other. It didn’t phase her, though, as she continued to moan. When she came down from her high, her lips sought his.

Killian tightened his fingers and brushed his nose lightly against her ear, nipping it lightly before he gave her what she asked for, stilling his hips for a moment to take in the sensation.

The kiss was wrong, too much teeth and not enough pressure. He opened his eyes out of an instinct to discern the problem and immediately regretted it, slamming them closed again. He was assaulted by the wrong round cheeks, the wrong colored eyes fluttering open, the wrong shade of yellow hair across his sheets. “Shit,” he whispered desperately, and hoped instead of realizing he’d caught himself thinking he was inside someone else, she merely thought he was overcome. He tucked his lips to the junction between shoulder and neck and bit down. The wrong smell- nature and earth instead of cinnamon and sweet pastry. With one final stroke of his tongue up the column of her neck, he whispered in her ear, “Flip over,” before leaning back on his heels and tilting his head back to avoid seeing her face but which he knew looked like a display of being overwhelmed with desire as he dragged his hand through his hair then down across his face, wiping the last remnants of her off his beard. He even let out a heavy hiss as she brushed against him.

When he felt the unmistakable pressure of a backside against his groin, he finally looked back down. This would do. He trailed his fingers along the ridges of her back, small scars dotting it here and there that he pretended to not be familiar with despite centuries of familiarity and desperation. Instead, he focused on the glimpses of blonde locks draped across it, allowing him to pretend they were golden thanks to the shadows hiding their true color. He focused on the strong arms,- the features his Swan also possessed.

He ground his teeth and groaned deeply as his fingers tangled loosely at the base of her skull, the texture of her hair just barely too coarse, but having only brushed his fingers through it once, maybe he was remembering wrong. He tightened his hold and she moaned. Spurred on by her pleasure, he leaned forward and lightly bit her shoulder before gently brushing his hook along her side. The cold metal was a shock on her heated skin as she instinctively jerked away from it before relaxing again.

When she spoke, it was mindless words of pleasure that he normally would have basked in. But this time, the vowels were wrong. Long when they should have been short, sliding into extra vowels that wouldn’t normally be there. He let go of her hair and reached forward, marginally grateful he knew what she liked from practice. He covered her lips with his hand, his thumb brushing her tongue when she opened her mouth to draw it past her teeth and sucked. The way she’d drawn him to the back of her throat when they first entered his cabin. When he’d been able to grip her hair and look away. Before he’d needed to pull her off so he could take his time to properly forget the very woman he was pretending she was.

With a growl of frustration, Killian pulled his hand away to position himself against her. He slid back in slowly, pushing only slightly before pulling out, adding more of himself on each successive stroke. He clenched his jaw tightly to keep himself from moaning the name on the tip of his tongue when he was finally seated as far as he could go, her hips flush against his own.

Tink felt amazing, and for a few blissful thrusts, he was lost to the sensations of her wet heat surrounding him, the feminine grunts as he slapped his hips against hers, the soft skin against his palm as he ran it down her back, the smell of sweat that began to fill the cabin. He reached forward to her shoulder and gripped it, leveraging himself to better keep his vicious rhythm. He was Captain Hook. Debaucher of women, thief, pirate. Drunk on the rum in his veins and the pleasure of the woman in his bed.

He slipped his hook around her, careful to keep the end pointed away as he rubbed against her with the curve of it. She gasped and he leaned forward to press his lips to the curve of her back, not once slowing his pace. He pressed his hook harder and slid his lips in lazy kisses down to her neck where he opened his mouth wider to lightly bite at the skin there. He took a deep breath and realized just in time he was about to moan a name he had no business saying.

The daze he’d been in slipped away, and his thrusts faltered. She also paused and started to turn her head toward him. He tilted his own and brushed his forehead against her shoulder gently, his hand quickly reaching up to guide her face back into his pillows. He hoped she took it as an invitation to scream louder into the muffling feathers.

When she did exactly that, he mouthed the name he wanted to shout against her skin. Not daring to give his vocals any pressure or air, for fear he’d slip. He understood women more than enough to know that would be a terrible mistake on many parts, least of all his own adherence to the most basic sense of decency.

He found that while his intentions when they’d boarded the Jolly Roger hadn’t been to forget Emma between another woman’s thighs, he was now doing the even more egregious thing: imagining Emma beneath him, moaning in time with his thrusts, pushing back into his rhythm and urging him deeper and harder. Killian squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the starbursts behind them would be enough of a distraction.

He imagined Emma. Imagined her hand reaching back for him, and her mouth open in ecstasy. How she would have come for him, would squeeze him, pump him, scream his name. His name, not the strained “Hook!” that echoed through his cabin.

“-ma, Emma!” He finally groaned, unable to keep his lips sealed as his hips stuttered and jerked, coating her inner walls as they pulsed against him. He tightened his hold on her hip, his fingers so tight on her flesh that he knew there would be bruises as he held her against him and hoped she hadn’t noticed what he’d said.

The way Tink stiffened as she came down from her high told him he wouldn’t be so lucky. Her breathing heavy and labored, she stretched her arms underneath her before turning to face him, causing him to slip out of her as she did.

She shifted to the edge of the bed and scoffed. “Right,” she said lightly as she shook her head and he continued to stare blankly at where she’d been lying just moments before.

He’d hurt her. She was his friend and he knew what he had done was so far removed from good form he could feel the shame absolutely overwhelm him. He felt like the disgusting creatures scraped off the bilge when dry docked. He sat, not covering himself as she put her clothes back on, her movements suddenly steady, no doubt her anger sobering her.

“Tink, I’m-” Killian started as he reached for her.

She sighed heavily. “Don’t. I may have lost my wings. But I’d like to keep my dignity.” She stood up and walked out of the room, straightening her skirt in a single fluid moment.

He heard her sure footsteps as they walked to the first mate’s cabin, only stumbling slightly when they got to the door and she fumbled with the handle.

Killian ran his hand over his face, his head swimming as his shame-induced sobriety faded. His fingers itched for his flask hidden in his coat pocket, across the room. Under normal circumstances, he would have liked to finish a barrel of rum to dissuade himself from feeling so horrific. However, being that was what got him in this predicament, he found the idea of losing himself in the bottom of a bottle less than appealing.

He finally got out of bed to clean himself, splashing water on his face from the bowl in his cabin. He ran the water through his hair and avoided his reflection as he swayed and tried his best to scrub the sweat and sex from his body. Then he leaned heavily on the stand, fighting the urge to pull it from the wall and smash it to the ground.

This had never been a problem for him before. He’d forgotten the pain of losing Milah many a night in the flesh of a willing partner. The next morning, the pain would return, but never this wrenching pain that felt like his heart was physically outside of his body.

He dragged his eyes slowly up to face himself in the mirror. He’d done this to himself. The bitter feeling in his stomach, the hollow look in his eyes, it all made him sick. He felt like he’d betrayed someone, and when he thought about it he had. He’d betrayed Tink, most obviously, but also Emma, at least in his heart.

He hadn’t seen Tink in years, but even then he’d counted her as a confidant, if not a friend. Yet, despite knowing his heart was with someone else, he tried to forget that by being with Tink, by pretending Tink was the woman he wanted. He hadn’t been disgusted so immediately by his own actions in a very long time.

He had no one to blame but himself.

Unable to look at himself any longer, Killian lay down on his bed, his hand going to his hair and raking through it, down his face, and across the scruff of his beard. He knew this feeling, it had been a few hundred years, but he knew it well. He’d felt it when he met Milah in that tavern and sat down next to her, when his heart sank as she told him about her husband. He knew it when his heart soared upon seeing her again and telling him she was coming with him.

His brother had always said Killian had a soft heart, something he’d spent years trying to prove wrong. But here was proof staring at him through the silent cold night, no moon shining through the window of what had once been his brother’s room although the truth was illuminated all the same.

He was falling for Emma Swan, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t let anyone know about it.

When he runs into Tink in the hallway of Granny’s she takes mercy on him. She asks if he’s alright. She was too good for those fairies that excluded her. Too good for him and the way he brushes her hair off her shoulder and pretends the night before didn’t happen.

He deserves it when her eyes shutter closed and she tells him again she was planning on keeping her dignity rather than have another romp with him. He knew he wouldn’t see her that night at The Rabbit Hole.

But he’d seen Neal sitting at the booth Emma typically sat at with her family, turning to the door at every ding the little bell gave. Waiting for Emma. Killian’s stomach swooped at the knowledge that Emma was already showing Neal where her choices lay. However, if Neal was there, it also meant that Emma hadn’t outright told him no. It was that little detail that had Killian seeking out Tink, even knowing he would only end up embarrassing himself. Even as his body rebelled against trying to touch the smaller woman.

Then a scream pierced the quiet of the little town he was beginning to call home. And with his blood pumping, he knew he’d find Emma at the end of their search for the source. He tried not show his excitement when she crawled out of her father’s vessel, his mind instead remembering the forlorn Neal sitting alone inside the dinner clearly waiting. That took the smile from his face faster than a wrong wind at sea.

“Were you two…” she started to ask, gesturing between him and Tinker Bell.

While Tink immediately answered a firm “No!”, he took advantage of the unease he saw on Swan’s face and answered, “Maybe.”

When another scream pierced the air, TInk took off along with David. Emma stayed for a moment, though. And for that moment Killian regretted implying anything other than how much he wanted her. She looked at him and in that moment he remembered her ability - she knew when people lied to her.

Had he lied? How did she perceive what he’d said. He had been with Tink, but not just now. He’d been trying to seduce her, but not seriously. How would Emma interpret his lie? Could she tell when he was lying to himself?

However, when he looked into her eyes, she just looked annoyed. He bit his cheek as she ran off in the direction of the screams. Well, that probably didn’t help him prove he was the better choice . Killian gave himself a further moment of self pity, rolling his eyes at his own idiocy before chasing after her.

While he buried himself with helping the royals recapture Pan’s shadow, he risked his life. He had hoped no one would comment, but then Tink pointed out what he’d come to realize the night before. He’d risk everything for love.

He was deeply in love with Emma Swan.

Tink knew it, so she didn’t hold what he’d done the night before against him.

He thanked every god he had ever heard of that Tink was a romantic before anything else. She didn’t seem to be willing to hold his indiscretion the night before against him but then she stopped him with a hand to his chest, “you should probably let her know that, sooner rather than later.” She gave a significant look over his shoulder to where David was clapping Neal on the shoulder, asking if he was okay. Killian tried not to let it boil in his stomach, but then David walked over to him.

With a smile.

And a hand out to shake.

“Good job, Hook.” A smile.

Killian easily recalled the smirk David had on Neverland. How he never thought his daughter would fall for a pirate. How Killian could only take his words like wounds to his chest, unable to block them with any denial.

Now he had a handshake and an acknowledgment of his good deed. Maybe all hope was not lost.

Until it was. When they had to say goodbye.

When he watched her say goodbye to her parents. When her son said goodbye to his father. “I just found you,” she’d said to her family. He’d just found her.

He stayed away, on the side lines, unwilling to intrude. What he wouldn’t give for one more minute with his brother. And he’d had a lifetime with him. Emma had only had her family together for weeks, and she was losing them again.

His heart broke. For himself, but for the pain he saw in her eyes.

Learning she’d remember none of them, that she wouldn’t remember Neverland.

He was stepping forward before he realized what he was doing. He was complimenting her vessel because once her attention was on him he had no idea what to say. Only that he wanted to keep that attention on him. But he couldn’t.

“There is not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you,” he finally admitted, his heart pounding so loud in his ears he almost didn’t hear her when she whispered her reply.

“Good.” He remembered that she knew when someone was lying. She knew he wasn’t. She gave a barely there smirk, her eyes showing more emotion than her lips.

He returned the gaze, wanting so badly to take her lips one more time. For that heated kiss in the jungle to not be the only time he would know her. But he also knew they were not in the place for that. Not in front of her family, not with him about to go back to the Enchanted Forest with them as she drove away with no memory of any of them.

With no memory of being loved and cared for and believed in.

With no ability to come back to them.

But he knew in that moment, her son’s father standing back and not saying a word, that Emma was also telling him what her decision would have been.

She would have chosen him.

And now he gets to live the rest of his far too long life knowing that he could have had her, and she slipped through his grasp. Because she chose her son above everything.

Really, that just made him fall in love with her even more.

He watched her drive over the town line, the boy swiveling in his seat to watch them as the purple fog from the curse swallowed them all up. He watched her for as long as the fog allowed, his eyes squinting against it even as the boy turned back around and she kept driving.

Taking his heart with him.

Except this time, losing his love, he wouldn’t resort to revenge. He would live his life away from her, knowing she was happy and healthy and safe. He had no one to blame after all - except himself.

He also knew nothing would be able to take his mind from her. While he’d drowned in women and booze after Milah, he knew he could do no such thing after Emma. He knew his men would notice before long. They weren’t a bright bunch, but they wouldn't be good pirates if they couldn’t smell blood in the water in the form of their captain nursing a broken heart that showed no signs of healing.

Then a bird appeared at his window. And for the first time in a year- a year that felt longer than the decades that had bled into centuries after Milah- his heart soared.

#captain swan #tinkerhook #ouat #ouat fic

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spartanguard · 1 year ago

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EVERYONE GO WISH DEV A HAPPY BDAY AND CELEBRATE BY READING THIS EXCELLENT STORY

this chapter was SO FREAKING CATHARTIC. WE NEEDED this in canon.

and I live for the Tinkerhook bit. and self-aware Neal. PLEASE.

imperfect boys. perfect ploys. (this is a song about tragedy) [5/6]

“My ‘story’ is that I left a fucked-up situation and it kind of fucked me up,” he’d said. But it was the way he’d said it, like it hadn’t broken him. Like it was just a fact. But Emma’s life was a story, too. A fucked-up situation that had kind of fucked her up. She wasn’t that kid anymore. Confidence could be learned. And maybe—maybe—she wasn’t broken, either. Not if she picked up the pieces. Not if she told herself a new story. About who she was. About what she wanted. Roots, family, friends, a sense of the familiar—these did not have to be fairy tales. “You owe it to yourself,” Mary Margaret said. “Happy endings always start with hope.”

–

S3 post-neverland canon divergence. 20k of no-curse renaissance.

read it on AO3

to @wistfulcynic and @thisonesatellite who sat with me while we daydreamed on a hilltop in cornwall on the summer-iest summer day england has ever seen. it took me eight months but i got there in the end.

thank you to @shireness-says for time and feedback and kindness to the IAS @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @idoltina @initiala @thejollyroger-writer @phiralovesloki for always giving me a cheer when i needed it

sixteen. 'a pleasant conversation'

She booked them both because she could. Because she wanted to.

Filing a false police report. Loitering. Theft. Piracy.

Three mugshots in a row after David insisted on hanging them next to hers, from when Graham had booked her. Then it was into the cells for both of them.

“If you wanted me in handcuffs, Savior, you know you have only to ask.” Hook’s eyes glinted with mischief and threat—promise?—that she ignored as she felt the weight of her father’s appraisal behind her.

“Is this even legal?” Neal draped an arm through the bars. The affected casualness overtook Emma in a wave of familiarity. Eye-fucking from the one side and the comfort of nostalgia from the other. Neal grinned. Hook batted his eyelashes.

And then there was her father, watching. Still.

“We live in a magical town ruled by an Evil Queen who doesn’t seem to like you,” Emma said, dripping false sweetness. “But if you need to file a complaint, I’d be happy to direct you to the appropriate form.”

“Emma.” David spoke gently. His head tipped toward the corner.

That’s where Henry was sitting. Totally fine. Like it was a totally normal day and not less than a week after he had been kidnapped and then traded his heart to a demon. In another realm.

“Right.” Emma imagined the candle. Calm. “All of this because Henry was on a boat?” A hypothetical more than anything but all three of them spoke together to answer.

“A ship.” Henry’s voice chimed in with Neal’s and with Hook’s.

Then Neal said, “Did you know he was there?”

“I was only trying to help,” Henry muttered.

“I know you were, kid,” Emma said.

Hook leaned against the bars. “The boy presented himself at the docks and asked about our journey home—if anything had been damaged,” he said smoothly. “We were undertaking an inspection of the main sheet when it occurred to Henry that no one had been apprised of his whereabouts. Of course we wanted to correct that immediately.” He winked at Henry in his corner, and Henry straightened in his seat. Emma couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Did you know he was there, Em?” Every trace of casualness was gone as Neal leaned forward, as if to push the bars and walk through.

“You can’t possibly think that Hook would hurt Henry,” Emma said.

Neal shrugged.

“No.” Emma stepped closer to the cell. “I know—and so do you—that Hook would never hurt your son. I know—and so do you—that he would never hurt your mother’s grandson.” The air left her suddenly, and she was tired.

She was tired of running from the past.

“Come on, Henry. Let’s get out of here, okay?”

Before Henry could move, there was David’s hand on her arm. “Hey.” His fingers closed on her wrist and she froze; she wanted to jump out of her skin. It was a gentle touch—a casual touch—a touch meant to soothe and to comfort.

A parental touch.

Emma looked at him, eyes wide, as he let go, slowly. Backed away—slowly. She wanted to say something. Anything. “Dad, I—”

“Hey.” He smiled. No pushing, no pressure. No disappointment. Just that megawatt Charming smile. “It’s fine. Henry’s fine.” He took the keys from her. “I get that we’re all still a little on edge after what happened. It’s barely even been a week.”

“Six days,” Emma said. Six days. A lifetime. She looked around the room—at her father with his hopeful smile and the way he watched her, and at Neal with his wounded aggravation, and at Hook. In his new clothes. He ran his tongue across his lips but his eyes never left hers.

Enough.

Hook nodded. A slight movement of his head, as if he’d heard her. She held out her hand—pictured the tumblers, the tension rake, the wrench. Felt the warmth under her skin. The cell locks popped and the doors opened. “You’re right,” Emma said, speaking to her father. “Come on, Henry. Let’s go.”

“What about Dad?”

“Yeah, he can come with us. The three of us can take a walk,” she said. “And he and I will have a chance to talk.”

Tink was waiting for them when they returned to the camp.

It had not been what one would call a triumphant march back. Emma didn’t speak, not a single word. Neither did Neal, nor Killian. He was sore in places he hadn’t known existed—sore, angry, disappointed. His heart hurt.

Strange to think that it could, still. Or again.

“Bae?” Tink whispered. “Is that really you?”

“Yeah.” Neal smiled. It was the smile of the boy Killian had once known, now grown up. A man. Neal held out the coconut with its lid secured by vine. “We did it. Let’s go.”

There was no point in delay; they set off at once. Snippets of a murmured conversation between Emma and Neal floated around him as Killian began to walk. There was an air of tension between Emma and her mother as David advanced ahead and fell back at intervals, trying to catch up one very determined, very skeptical fairy as she led them through the jungle. Only his belief in Tink kept Killian calm as he heard the rush of foliage and the weight of footsteps approaching. Regina and Rumplestiltskin pushed their way through, but he left his hand on his sword-hilt all the same.

And drew it, without thinking, as he heard Neal speak of his father’s plans.

“My father’s not here to save Henry,” Neal said. “He’s here because of a prophecy—that Henry will be the cause of his undoing. He came here to kill him.”

“I won’t hurt him,” the Dark One pleaded. All of these years—centuries—and he still whinged when he could fight. “Without me, you will fail. I’m the most powerful amongst us.”

“That’s why we can’t trust you,” Neal said.

“If I could give you the dagger—”

“Give me the box,” Neal said. “I don’t have to trust you if I can stop you. Look at me—” he pointed a finger at his father “—you so much as lift a finger to perform magic and you will spend eternity in this box. Let’s go.”

As they set off once more, Neal clutching Pandora’s box in a fist with white knuckles, Emma came along beside him. Killian braced himself.

“We need to talk,” she said. Her hand on his arm was the first time she’d touched him since The Kiss.

“I’ve found when a woman says that, I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

“Hook. Killian. He told me about what happened. With your brother. I know it can’t be easy to talk about—”

“Then let’s not,” he said.

“—but there has to be a way for David to leave the island.”

There it was. He kept walking, heedless of the foliage and greenery in his face, still feeling the place where her hand had been. “There isn’t. The water that cured David from the poison has connected him to the island. If he leaves, the connection is broken. The poison will kill him.”

“What if we take some of the water with us?” She asked. “That way, he stays connected. He can stay alive in Storybrooke.”

“Aye, but for how long?” Killian stopped and turned to face her. Emma’s face was pale, her eyes wide. He knew that face and that look and how much what he was saying would hurt her. No matter how much he wished he had a different answer. “Once the water runs out, the dreamshade will take his life.”

“Unless there was another cure.” The Dark One stood casually behind them. Killian and Emma both turned to face him and immediately he pressed his advantage. “Oh, are you suddenly interested in what I have to say? I thought I wasn’t to be trusted.”

“You’re not,” Emma said. “But I’ll take my chances.”

What choice did she have, really? What choice did any of them have?

“You’ll remember that I too was poisoned with dreamshade by a cowardly pirate.”

Killian stiffened and froze his face into a pleasant mask—a faint, painful smile.

“We know how you cured yourself,” Emma scoffed. “David is not that selfish.”

“I’ve learned much about the poison since then,” Rumplestiltskin continued, “and I believe I could create an elixir. Back in my shop.”

Emma said it just as Killian thought it. “What’s your price?” She was frozen, too, her shoulders tense. The tension was in her voice. Tension, fear, doubt.

“It is quite the favor—” the Dark One said, drawing out the words. “I’d expect one of equal weight in return.”

“No.” Neal stepped in. “No deals, no favors. When we get back to Storybrooke you will save David. Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Killian’s eyebrows went up. Instinctively he turned toward Emma—and found her looking at him, a mirror of his own surprise. It was over so quickly he might have imagined it.

It was a moment that felt momentous. Neal and his father stared each other down just as Tink emerged into the clearing, David and Snow behind her.

“We’re here,” she said simply. “Pan’s perimeter.”

“Then it’s time,” Emma said. She squared her shoulders. “In and out, simple.”

Suddenly the Dark One’s hand was on Killian’s sword while he stood, watching. A shudder rolled through him but he did not let himself react until Rumplestiltskin pulled the sword free. Then he moved—to catch the knife David tossed at him.

“In case your good looks fail you,” he said.

“Thanks, mate,” Killian said, clutching the blade in its sheath. Meaning it.

The sounds of the Lost Boys’ camp drew them onward—Tink in the lead, Neal at his father’s side. The box stayed clutched in his hand and he flinched as Regina performed the spell to silence the boys.

But they didn’t find Henry.

They only found the girl. Wendy. Pale—the color of her nightdress—and trembling. And she confirmed what they were all afraid to hear: “When Pan lives,” she said, “Henry will die.”

Killian took his time building up the fire. Slow trips back and forth for firewood; deliberate, careful kindling of the flames.

Tink watched. Bemused. Silent. She waited until he’d thrown off his coat and settled his back against a log. Waited until he’d pulled out his flask and pulled the stopper. Waited until he lifted it to his mouth and lowered it immediately.

Being drunk when the rescue mission returned and pivoted to exit strategy would be exceedingly bad form no matter how much he wanted a drink.

That’s when she dropped down to sit next to him. She took the flask right from his fingers and helped herself. “I haven’t had this since you left,” she said. A long, appreciative sigh accompanied the statement. When he looked at her she smirked and said, “Fairies can’t get drunk. And I like the taste. You know that.”

“Aye,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

“Well then. Isn’t this a blast from the past?” Another sip. “You and me, drinking. Brooding still looks good on you, you know. Just like the old days.”

“That’s not all we did in the old days,” Killian muttered.

Tink laughed. “Is that a proposition?” He shrugged, uncomfortable. She laughed again. “That’s what I thought. It’s you and Emma, isn’t it? Care to explain?”

“No.”

She took another sip. Loudly. The fire crackled around them but there was a strange stillness in the air. A quiet. The Lost were silent; unconscious and scattered about the camp and still under the effects of Regina’s spell.

“I’ve been watching you,” Tink said. “I saw you go up Dead Man’s Peak. Her father was shot, wasn’t he? And you took him up there for the water. Is it really a good idea for him to try and leave? You know what happens.”

“The Dark One has agreed to formulate a potion for David. He wants to try to go home. Hence their current task, which you know already. But by all means, keep asking annoying questions.”

“Bae’s father.” She shook her head. “You knew, didn’t you? This entire time? Who he was?”

“I did.”

“What was your plan there, Hook? Use the boy against his father?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“Oh, no, Killian. And he found out, didn’t he? That’s why he was so angry.”

“As was I.”

“He was a child.”

“I’m aware.” Killian shifted. “I’m trying, Tink. Henry is his son. Henry is why I’m here.”

“You and Bae and Emma.” She capped the flask with a laugh. “Buck up, mate. She doesn’t love him, you know. Not the way they want her to.”

He knew that. He’d seen it in her eyes when she’d chained him and left him on the beanstalk. When he’d left her in that dungeon.

When she’d told him who Henry’s father was.

But—“She’s made her choice,” Killian said. And—“I thought you didn’t have any magic left.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t notice things. And she trusts you. Don’t muck that up. Be worthy.” Tink put her hand on his shoulder. “I believe in you.”

Killian turned to face her. “I’m trying, Tink,” he repeated. He blew out a long breath. He opened his mouth to speak again—

—and felt the ground heave beneath them.

Tink dropped the flask into his lap as they both struggled to stand up. There was an instant of near-total darkness that dissipated with another great heave.

A thud echoed from the bushes as David Nolan stumbled back into the camp, clutching a water skin against his body. Behind him strode Snow White, an arrow nocked.

“What just happened?” David asked.

Killian looked at Tink. “Nothing good,” he said.

No diner. Not this time.

This wasn’t that kind of conversation, the ‘dinner and a floor show’ conversation that everyone at Granny’s would be watching and waiting for—the dwarves, Ruby, Tink. Mary Margaret.

This needed to be just for the two of them. No performance. Just truth.

But here—now—this moment, it was the three of them. They walked along the shoreline by the harbor. The sun was setting behind them. Henry was too big to hold hands but Emma kept him close, touching, her hand on his shoulder. Neal walked on the other side, their son in between, and it was a Moment. A Moment worth having.

She and Neal had never been ‘holding hands in a mall’ kinds of people. She was not—by nature, or by nurture—a casual touch kind of person. But there was something Emma had noticed since they’d come back from Neverland.

It did something to her magic, to feel the comfort and warmth of physical touch. Of affection.

So she was working on it. She was trying.

She tightened her grip on Henry’s shoulder for a second before she let go, watching him kick at the rocks along the beach. He had a small, contented smile on his face that turned wider when Emma suggested he get back to Regina’s. “She’ll be waiting for you,” Emma said.

“It’s lasagne tonight,” Henry said. He was an eleven-year-old boy and he could not contain his excitement at the thought of that much food. He wrapped his arms around her waist and Emma hugged him back, hard. “Bye, mom. See you later.”

His hesitation as he turned toward Neal was—almost—imperceptible, but Henry was a hugger and Neal was family and in the end that seemed to be enough. Neal ruffled his hair for a second before Henry pulled away and peeled off in pursuit of warmer, tomato-sauced pastures. “Bye, dad.”

“See you, kid,” Emma called. She pointed toward the picnic table overlooking the beach and then jammed her hands into her pockets against the wind. The table looked like it had been there since before the curse and according to Mary Margaret it was where the dwarves liked to eat their lunch. Or maybe that was over now that the daily diner matinee was on the menu, Emma wasn’t sure, but what she was thinking of was the familiarity in Mary Margaret’s voice. Memories of realms past, no doubt.

Of course, Mary Margaret had also been at the diner every day this week. Not just for her 7:15 AM coffee date but to keep an eye on Emma. On Emma and Neal. Because Snow White just wanted her daughter to get her happy ending. With Neal.

Every night at dinner was a dance. A game. question and answer. Cat and mouse. Like everything Emma was already doing wasn’t enough—not fast enough, not hopeful enough. Snow White so loved her Prince Charming that she had been willing to condemn herself to an eternity away from her family but Emma was the one letting the side down by taking her time when it came to Neal.

It had been less than a week, for fuck’s sake.

But if it was a game, then she could win. Emma was determined to win.

Emma had waited her entire life to meet her mother, but she really missed her friend.

The picnic table bench shifted and groaned as Neal swung his leg over the wood and faced her. From where they sat, the gently bobbing masts of the Jolly Roger were impossible to miss.

“How?” she said, finally. “How did you end up there? You’ve never told me that story. The real one.” Shut up in his cave, away from the world, looking at the drawings he had made to give himself a sense of home—had he cried out in the dark, Lost? After everything Hook had done for him? Had done to him?

Emma hadn’t even known he could draw until she’d seen the scratches etched into the walls. Seen the expression on Hook’s face and heard the break in his voice when he’d spoken of Baelfire and his love for art, for drawing, that he’d gotten from his mother. The sadness in his voice when he’d boasted of Baelfire’s skills at celestial navigation.

How did the story end?

They hadn’t talked about it, her and Neal. Not about this or any of the other things; the way she had cried in the night, swallowing her tears and her screams within the cinder blocks and bars of her prison cell. Emma wasn’t a child anymore, ready to be swayed by a story. She wanted the truth.

“Wendy,” he said. “I went there because of Wendy. Because of her brothers. When I left my father, I didn’t go straight to Neverland. I ended up in this realm. In London. Wendy, she—” he sighed “—she found me. The Darlings took me in—gave me a home—until one night, the Shadow turned up. I went there so they wouldn’t have to.” He didn’t look at her as he said it. There was him and his voice and the pain in his words as they both stared at the harbor and the ship that rolled with the incoming tide and made everything else in the harbor look small.

Emma felt herself smile. Just the corner of her mouth as she blinked back a tear. It was such a Henry thing to do, after all. He would approve, she knew.

So did she.

“And how long were you with—um, on the Jolly Roger?”

“I don’t know.” Neal ran his hand through his hair. “A while? Time in Neverland, you know—”

“I know,” she said.

“And Hook, they way he acted. Like he wanted me there. Like he cared. My mom had left. She’d died. And my dad was—” he blew out a breath, struggling. Because his dad was. “So I wanted to be there too. But he was just using me. It was all a lie. I was just some pawn in his game against my father.”

“Yeah,” Emma said. “Hook, he does that, doesn’t he?”

“I was a fucked-up kid. And he was—I don’t know.” Neal shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“He loved her. You should know that. It was one of the first things he told me.” She laughed a little. “One of the first true things he told me. And then, after, when we thought you were dead, when I told him who you were, that you were Henry’s father—” The look on his face when she’d said it—everything stripped away except grief. Sadness. Regret.

“You said he left. You asked him for help and he left.”

“He did. He walked right out of the diner and onto that ship and was halfway out of the harbor.”

“But he came back,” Neal said. “He came back because of me.” Everything stripped away except grief. Sadness. Regret. “Hook—Killian—asked me to stay. Begged me. And I’ve always wondered, you know? If he meant it. I guess he did.”

“But you left,” Emma said. It wasn’t a question. That was just what Neal did. What he does. He leaves. He’d left. “Do you miss it?”

Their eyes met.

“Every day,” he said. “And I’ve been running ever since.”

“And now? What are you doing now, Neal?”

“I’m looking for Tallahassee,” he said. “I care about you, Em. I always will. And I want you to be happy.”

“We were happy. Once,” Emma said. “But what if this isn’t that? I’ve been to Tallahassee, you know. I went there after I got out of prison. After I gave up our son.”

“I can’t ever take that back, can I? I can’t ever make that better.”

“You left,” she said simply.

“I still want you to be happy,” he said. He looked out at the harbor. At the ship. “Even if it isn’t with me.”

Emma reached out. Took his hand—squeezed it tightly—and retreated into her pockets. Neal smiled and stood up. “I’m gonna head out,” he said. “Lunch tomorrow?”

Emma tilted her head. “Seriously?”

“I’m kidding,” he said. “Saturday, then. With Henry?”

“Yeah. You know, Neal—” he turned back to face her “—we still have Henry. What if Henry is our Tallahassee?”

“Then I’d call that one hell of a happy ending,” he said with another smile.

She walked back to the loft and walked in to an ambush—an ambush in the shape of a real-life Disney princess, a brown-haired blur who wrapped herself around Emma, squeezing too tightly. Green eyes shone like mirrors of her own and—like her own—they glistened suspiciously.

The hug was an attack. Her senses definitely took it as one, recoiling—

“I’m so sorry,” Mary Margaret said.

—and then something happened, a release, as Emma dissolved into the hug.

“Gosh, Emma, I’m so sorry,” Mary Margaret said again. “We didn’t—” she looked at David “—I didn’t know. I didn’t understand. I didn’t—I just. Didn’t.”

Immediately Emma’s defenses went back up. She removed herself from the hug and took two very large steps back until she felt the edge of the kitchen island cutting into her spine. “Um. I don’t know what—I don’t understand. What are you talking about?” Mary Margaret and David were standing together. David’s hand on Mary Margaret’s shoulder. Mary Margaret’s hand on David’s. One unit.

Watching.

“Neal came by,” Mary Margaret said. “To, um, talk.”

“Oh.” She’d been sitting where he’d left her, watching the masts of the Jolly Roger. Listening to the waves. Listening to her heart. There was so much noise in her head these days. Grumpy shouting in the diner. Neal’s laughter. I’m never gonna stop fighting for you.The crashing of the bridge as it built itself in the Echo Cave. The howling in the Dark Hollow. When I win your heart, Emma…it will be because you want me. Hook’s screams. The cries of the Lost. The quiet crackle of a fire.

Her mother’s voice, whispering in her mind.

You owe it to yourself. Happy endings always start with hope.

That’s why she was doing all of this, wasn’t it? Her mother’s voice. Snow White—her expectations, her assumptions. But standing there in the loft—her parents’ loft, her home—what she felt was a buzzing in her fingertips. It wasn’t magic. It was a kind of—nervous anticipation.

Hope.

Because this—all of this—had been a long time coming.

“Emma.” It was the softness in her mother’s voice that might be her undoing. “Where was Henry born?”

“Are you sure? You’ll never be able to not know, after.”

Mary Margaret nodded.

“He was born in a prison maternity ward. That’s where I spent eleven months after Neal left me to take his fall.”

Her mother’s eyes were shut. It was resignation, Emma thought, not refusal. Just like the map. “You never told us,” Mary Margaret said. “You never told me.”

“Why would I tell you?” Emma said. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“I’m your mother.” It was a whisper.

“And you used to be my friend,” Emma said. “My friend, who used to listen to me. Who trusted me to know what I want. If I had told her that seeing Neal broke my heart—” Emma sniffed “—but you told me I needed to give it another chance. You told me that I didn’t need to be an orphan anymore and then you—even though it meant losing me all over again. But Neal—”

The sound she made was not pleasant, but Emma couldn’t help it. She was laughing. The buzzing in her fingertips, it was a little less hope and a little more magic and emotion but it was past time they did this. And she wasn’t going to apologize for her feelings. Not this time. If what they had was unique and special then just this once it could also be honest. She could be honest. Emma was tired of being a stranger to her parents.

She wanted to come home.

“Neal left me because Pinocchio told him to and I spent eleven months in jail. He’s known all this time—eleven years—who I was. But he never came back for me.”

“He was afraid of you. Of the curse,” Mary Margaret said. “He knew what it meant, didn’t he? He was afraid of his father. I’m sorry, Emma. I didn’t understand before. I didn’t want to. I shouldn’t have pushed you where you didn’t want to go. I should have listened. Emma—“

She was ready for the hug this time. Welcomed it.

“—I owe you an apology. What I said in the Echo Cave—”

“It was the truth,” Emma said. “And it was the right thing to do. That’s what heroes do, isn’t it? We saved Neal that day. We saved Henry’s father. I’m glad he told you the truth. Mom. I just—if he told you all of that, why are you asking me? What changed?”

That was when David spoke up, stepping forward so that he had an arm around each of them. “After Neal left, I told her about Hook.”

“What about Hook?” The sudden smile on Mary Margaret’s face made her suspicious.

David chuckled. “Fine, about you and Hook. That you’re together.”

“That we’re—”

“You look at him the way I look at your mother. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Yes.

That was exactly what she’d thought. In fact—that had been the plan.

#cs fic rec #ohmightydevviepuu #imperfect boys perfect ploys #no curse reniassance

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