#cs divergent ff

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS24 ONe Shot: "On Wings of Storm"

This canon divergent AU was intended to be a shifter one shot, but I don't know that the character is a shifter in the strictest sense, as there is a curse and magic involved. It is set sometime post Milah's death in Season Two, and then embarks on a different path from there...

I apologize ahead of time for any errors that I might need to come back and fix; I was writing this right up to midnight and didn't have enough time to edit fully. My beta for this year's @cssns @myfearless-love did absolutely brilliant work, catching so many typos and run-ons and confusing phrases. She was invaluable and deserves so much love for all her help! Anything left over is 100% my fault for hurrying to finish.

**I am thrilled to be reposting now with the gorgeous cover artwork created for me by @motherkatereloyshipper! She captured so well the drama and intensity of the ship's danger during the storm and the petrel coming to her aid. I just love it!! Thank you, thank you, thank you SO MUCH @motherkatereloyshipper!**

Please enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think!!

Summary: Killian Jones has lost everything and everyone he ever held dear. All that is left for him is vengeance and pain. None could have expected the strange twist of Fate that would change everything, or the surprising companion that will come to touch his heart in ways he would have no longer thought possible.

“On Wings of Storm” 

By: @snowbellewells

“Attention, you bilge rats!” His angry voice rang out unmistakably over the planks of the majestic ship - carrying clearly despite the buffeting wind and rolling sea beneath. The power in the sharply accented words cracked like a whip, causing every member of his crew to flinch nervously and stand at attention to do their captain’s bidding and avoid his ire. Those who made their home and livelihood upon the Jolly Roger - even the few remaining grizzled veterans who’d once served on her decks when she was the Jewel of the Realm - knew her captain’s temper was perpetually on a knife’s edge. The harshness and cruelty of the lives they all lived, and the loss and betrayal Captain Jones had weathered, would bow and break many. It was understood not to cross those who had survived and been hardened by it.

Yet, even with that knowledge, the cause of his current tirade was unclear. When the ship had docked at the remote port, some had stayed aboard to handle various duties and keep watch while others went ashore to roam and shop, or to visit inns or brothels, but all had been attending to their assigned duties and nothing was amiss. However, the thunderous look upon their Captain’s dark brow spoke volumes. Something was amiss, and he would see it put to rights. Pity the fool who was found at fault. The cutlass at his hip bounced gently against his leg, and the still awe-inspiring metal appendage which had replaced his left hand mere months ago glinted menacingly in the low moonlight as he paced back and forth, eyeing each man with an intensity that would make anyone tremble.

It was old Mullins who finally dared to put the question to the Captain gingerly when no further explanation or action seemed forthcoming. “What is it that’s angered ye, Cap’n?” he queried respectfully, head bowed in deference as his speech drew Killian Jones’ attention. “We’ve been here aboard the Jolly and at our post since ye left. Did something happen on shore?”

Killian’s attention zeroed intently on the graying Mullins, who quickly gave another bob of his chin in respect or acknowledgement. Not about to contradict their captain, but also not knowing what had upset him, none of them could move to make it right. Those piercing blue eyes, like ice chips in Mullins’ shuddering imagination, beneath the dark, forbidding brows he used to great effect, seemed to be searching his subordinate’s face and sifting his words for any hint of dissension or deception. Finding nothing of the kind, the volatile man’s gaze swept over the rest of the crew assembled around him nervously for some time before offering the explanation in a menacing growl.

“It has come to my attention - and make no mistake, even a scoundrel such as meself has loyal allies - that some of you are dissatisfied with your position aboard this vessel. Let me be crystal clear; a place aboard the Jolly Roger is an honor and a prize - she is a marvel unmatched in speed and quality throughout the realm. However, your presence here is entirely voluntary. I have never, and will never, tolerate the enslavement of any crew member on the Jolly. Such dishonor shall not taint her decks. So, if any of you wish to depart, then by all means, leave now. But be warned; spreading false tales of captivity or coercion, thereby sullying our flag and reputation, will not be tolerated. Such lies will be rooted out and those responsible will face severe consequences.”

He paused, clearly waiting for any who might be bold enough to disembark under his watchful eye and be noted for their decision. None upon the deck moved or spoke, and old Mullins noted sadly that the only sound or hint of motion was the heavy breathing that escaped the Captain’s mouth and the heaving of his chest, evidenced by what had clearly been an angry charge from the town’s center and his impassioned outburst.

As Jones finally seemed to regain control, sending him back to work with a brisk order, Mullins couldn’t help thinking resignedly about how much the Captain had changed, in the past few months especially, but also in the years since his brother’s death. The man Captain Jones had once been - that promising but naive young lieutenant - seemed like a distant memory. Few of the current crew members had served under Jones’ proud and honorable older brother, Liam, who had been tragically struck down in his prime by treachery. Liam’s untimely death had altered the course of all their lives in ways none could have anticipated. Mullins found it painful to remember the wide-eyed, gangly lieutenant Killian had once been. That young man had spoken passionately of glory for the crown and the name of Jones, ready to follow his Captain anywhere. He had believed in righteousness and the power of individuals to shape their own destinies. That idealistic youth had hardened into a bitter and implacable man. The once-noble Killian Jones now sought only vengeance, becoming known and feared across the seas as the dreaded villain, Captain Hook. Mullins sighed and returned to his task; there was naught to be done for it.

Meanwhile, Killian Jones stood at the helm, staring out into the dark night. He sought fruitlessly for the rhythmic comfort of the waves against the hull of his beloved vessel, the solid planks beneath his feet, and the cool night air brushing over his face to ease his inner turmoil. These familiar elements had soothed him many times before, yet his agitation remained as he waited, forcing himself to take steady, regular breaths.

As he stood there, alone amongst his crew, Killian’s gaze drifted towards the gray, evening-darkening horizon. A shape materialized from the gathering twilight, drawing nearer - an unmistakable bird on the wing, yet not the familiar silhouette of gull or pelican often seen at sea. Morbidly curious, Killian watched as the creature approached, strangely silent compared to the trilling calls of most avian species he knew. Its relatively small body rose and fell on the air currents, rather than gliding with ease, weaving unsteadily in its course.

Despite having recently displayed harsh temper and callousness, Killian found himself holding his breath with each flap of wings that sent the bird painstakingly higher in the sky again, inexplicably concerned it might plummet into the rolling waves below.

As if drawn by his thoughts, the bird’s flight began to descend lower and lower. The men diligently working around him on the deck - and avoiding eye contact to steer clear of his ire a second time - seemed completely unaware of the creature’s plight. Killian finally released a tight breath as the dark-feathered bundle nearly landed at his feet. Though it seemed more a collapse than a graceful landing, it had found a resting place. He did not wish to closely examine why it mattered to him whether it had succeeded or not.

Glancing around surreptitiously, Killian stooped to gather the bird into his hand, his hooked arm wrapping around to steady and secure it against his chest. He hoped the dark attire he wore would partially conceal the fragile creature. Rescuing helpless animals contradicted the brash and dangerous pirate persona he had donned irrevocably, which had grown even more dark and forbidding of late. Yet, he simply could not leave the small, fragile bird on the planks, its strength almost spent and plaintively vulnerable.

Seeing that all was as it should be, he slipped below deck without a word, carrying the strange passenger in his arms into his cabin. Closing the door firmly behind him, Killian hurried to place the weakened creature on the table and lit a nearby lantern hanging from the ceiling to inspect its small form for injuries. It appeared fine, simply near the end of its endurance after a clearly long journey.

Just as when the bird was approaching the ship, he could not really understand why it mattered so much to him that the creature was alright. It did though, and so he obeyed his instincts and tried to tend to it as best he knew how. His new compatriot didn’t seem at all troubled by his admittedly anxious dithering and attempts at aid. The bird neither flapped nor made any attempt to flee. After a few full-body shakes to settle its plumage, the bird remained largely still, only moving with its breaths and blinking its dark brown eyes calmly at him, seemingly taking in its new surroundings. The creature exhibited an almost human awareness that it was safe, facing no threat from him.

As Killian watched, enthralled, the bird eventually seemed to settle enough that it tucked its head beneath its wing and appeared to fall asleep. Satisfied that his charge would be fine for a few hours, and needing to rest himself while his crew and ship were in order, Killian extinguished the lantern after preparing for bed. The churning anger and restlessness which had plagued him since boarding his ship was strangely lulled, and for the moment, he was too grateful to question it. Stretching out upon the Captain’s berth, he gave himself over to sleep, for once wrapped up enough in its comfort to be dreamless.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Killian rose with the sun the next morning, habit waking him early enough to see the gray pre-dawn melt into the peach and pinkish glow of a clear new day. He stretched his lanky frame, washed and dressed before moving to the table to check on his unexpected guest. As he neared the makeshift nest he had created, he was surprised to see his small stowaway still appeared to be asleep. Startled by how calm the bird continued to be in such confined surroundings, Killian merely smiled tightly, his hand unconsciously rubbing his chest. He tried not to dwell on why the peaceful sight of a bird resting on the table in one of his old rags lifted his spirits so, as if the whole cabin felt less lonely in its presence.

He had a litany of his usual tasks to attend to, and he knew the rest of his crew would soon be active - if they were not already. Killian exited the cabin swiftly, hoping nothing would disturb the creature until it was restored enough to wake on its own, once the heavy sound of his boots against the wooden planks faded away.

However, he couldn’t avoid one quick stop before heading topside. Killian was pleased to see Turley, the ship’s cook, alone in the kitchen. He ducked beneath the low door frame and cleared his throat to get the grizzled man’s attention amidst the numerous pots and pans bubbling and sizzling on the stovetop.

“Mornin’ Cap’n,” Turley offered, with a gap-toothed smile. “What can I get ye?”

Killian lowered his voice, stepping closer to the aging cook as he explained that the rations he sought were not for himself, but for the seabird he had rescued the evening before. As he pondered why the bird’s fate concerned him, Killian found himself unsure why he felt compelled to hide his anxiety for the small animal. Anyone daring to question or mock him would regret it – if not immediately, soon enough. Was he questioning himself then?

He discarded the thought almost as soon as it entered his mind. Turley seemed pleased with his captain’s request, assuring him they still had some canned herring in their stores which he could fetch after the noon meal. Killian nodded approvingly and thanked Turley before turning to leave. Just as he did, Turley added, “Sounds like you found a storm petrel, Cap’n.”

“Oh, aye?” Killian asked, tilting his head with renewed interest, despite his desire not to seem overeager.

“Indeed, for how you have described it anyways, Sir. They’re quite rare in these parts, or so’s I’ve always heard. They tend to nest much further north, preferrin’ the cold.”

Killian nodded his understanding but remained silent, encouraging Turley’s talkative nature with a patient gaze. He was rewarded when Turley continued without pause.

“There’re many folks who consider ‘em an evil omen, Cap’n. Portents of storms and such like, but they’re such wee buggers, them petrels. I always wondered meself if they weren’t just allowin’ the winds to blow them to safety rather than heraldin’ the blast.”

Killian shook his head with begrudging humor. Even after nearly three years leading a crew of pirates rather than the formal naval sailors they had once been, he was continually surprised by their superstitious beliefs. They claim to be black-hearted, fearless outlaws, yet frightfully unwilling to take a woman aboard (even Milah at the beginning), sail under the red morning sun, or set out on a Friday.. All due to tall tales of downfall and destruction. It was just a bird, wind-rattled and knocked off-course, needing to regain its strength; certainly not some ill stroke of luck.

“I heartily agree with you, mate,” Killian said when Turley’s words trailed off, giving him a clap on the shoulder before leaving the galley. “I appreciate you finding the herring. I’ll be back for it once lunch has been cleared.”

Turley assented readily and turned back to his task, humming idly. The Captain seemed in a better state of mind than he’d been in since losing his hand, and witnessing his love’s death. To Turley it seemed nothing but good luck, and he was simply glad for it.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Feeding the petrel at noon was a more awkward and messier business than Killian had anticipated; first he was struggling to open the sealed tin with just one hand, then handling the pungent small fish and their juices in his attempts to coax the bird to eat. Once it snatched the first bit in its delicate, curved bill, however, no more coddling was necessary. Soon, the petrel was grasping tiny herring right from the can, swallowing chunks as fast as it could manage. It emitted a rough sort of squawk in his direction once it finished its meal. Chuckling, Killian could certainly admit it was no nightingale’s song, but he chose to see it as an enthusiastic thanks all the same.

“I’m afraid that’s all for now, you shameless beggar,” he chided gently while clearing the empty tin away and wiping the table clean. To his surprise, the bird stepped nearer, lightly pecking at his fingers, almost playfully or in gratitude, not at all sharply enough to hurt. Holding his breath, Killian turned his hand open and palm up; the petrel nuzzled against his warm skin. Improbable as it seemed, the gesture could almost be called affectionate.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” the pirate murmured, scratching one finger lightly over the bird’s dark gray cap. He chose to ignore how his voice sounded equally fond.

When he returned that evening, the shadows outside his cabin’s windows were already long, and the sun had long sunk in the west. After its performance at midday, Killian was sure the petrel would be hungry again and eagerly awaiting its dinner. Yet, upon entering his cabin with canned anchovies, hoping they would not prove too salty for his animal guest, he found the bird absent from the center table altogether. Instead, it flitted for one spot to another at the desk in the room’s far corner near the window. It fluttered, then paused to alight upon the various open books strewn over the surface, cooking its tiny head and peering down intently at the pages. Had Killian not known better, he would have thought it was actually reading the words in Liam’s beloved tomes.

By this point, Kilian was charmed by the petrel’s odd antics, his lips stretching into an ill-accustomed smile as he watched before he moved to lay out his offering. The dark cloud that had hung over him before the bird’s arrival had dissipated. Though he couldn’t explain why, Killian welcomed the lighter mood, hoping it signified better days to come.

The petrel let out its brash trill a few more times before fluttering over to feed quickly on the anchovy, as enthusiastically as it had eaten the herring. Upon finishing, however, it did not relax as it had done previously. Instead, it flitted across the room, hovering near the window and making its distinctive call. The bird then fluttered around Killian’s head and shoulders before returning to the window, its desire for freedom as clear as if it had spoken the words aloud.

“Of course, little one,” Killian sighed reluctantly, no longer embarrassed about speaking to it as if it were human. “Naturally you would wish to return to the air.”

As he opened the window pane, the bird uttered a softer note, unlike its previous raucous cries. Killian smiled ruefully as he watched it slip through the opening and fly away. He had never considered refusing to let it go free; still, he missed the petrel’s presence in his cabin almost immediately. It might have been only a lost bird, but for a flicker of time, he felt a connection, a kinship, that had been sorely lacking in his life.

Yet, to Killian’s pleased astonishment, it was far from the last he would see of the storm petrel. While he would have expected the bird to be gone, never to return again, as days and weeks at sea went by, the small bird reappeared often - usually at first light, near the wheel where Killian was often steering, taking the night’s last watch upon himself as captain to be certain all was well when the Jolly was perhaps most vulnerable. After his intriguing initial encounter with his new feathered friend, he had learned that petrels were largely nocturnal and - like pirates and sailors themselves - rarely came ashore unless nesting. Again, that strange sense of kindred closeness swept over him; more than he had known for entirely too long. He had also learned that pairs of storm petrels were largely monogamous, and he could not help but wonder if the small gray co-pilot had lost its mate, leading it to return to the ship and humans where it had been shown kindness, strange as the attachment might seem. At any rate, once “his” petrel had begun to make recurrent appearances, Killian deliberately took the shift which found him at the helm when dawn’s first light crept over the horizon.

Though wise enough not to voice any notice or question him, the more observant and early-rising members of Captain Jones’ crew began to notice the bird’s repeated arrivals at the wheel near their captain. It seemed the small creature came solely to visit Jones and to snag a brief ride perched on the ship’s side, the sea breeze rustling its feathers until it either fluttered below deck to follow Killian at the end of his watch or took to the sky again.. Killian naturally sought to avoid seeming overly fond or doting on the petrel. For the leader of a band of miscreants and outlaws who lived a rough life by their wits and the sweat of their brows, it was dangerous indeed to show any sort of weakness. Any appearance of “going soft” could be a death sentence if his crew began to doubt his capabilities because of it.

All the same, those who worked nearby sometimes saw glimpses of his twinkling eyes or more mischievous smiles from time to time - things that had seemed lost to the past before the bird’s arrival. The cabin boy Killian had taken aboard at a port several months before - to save him from a life of abuse and privation - sometimes thought he heard snatches of the Captain singing or humming shanties under his breath when the petrel was present at Killian’s side. The boy’s loyalty, however, was unassailable and absolute. He’d never dream of breathing a word.

This continued for some time, the petrel’s comings and goings becoming an expected part of the rhythm aboard the Jolly Roger. Its diminutive gray form and rapid flight over the nearby waves became an easily recognizable sight to all who sailed upon the ship. What was more, the bird’s presence was gratefully welcomed - Captain Jones was less volatile and less prone to strike out against those who displeased him.

If the petrel had not yet proven its worth to any sailors reluctant to accept it, then one stormy night it would have silenced any doubts once and for all…

They had not taken an enemy vessel in some time, and the cargo taken in their most recent haul had been offloaded at the last port nearly two days prior. It was a good thing, too, because as shadows began to lengthen in late afternoon, wind whipped up wildly, frothing the waves and rocking the ship violently. The extra weight of a full cargo might have caused them to take on a frightening amount of water as the hull rose and fell. 

At first, the men manned their posts with calm determination. A storm at sea was always serious, easily spelling the difference between life and death in how one met its ravages. They had faced many such squalls, and Jones guided them through with an indefinable but comforting mix of experience and assurance. This gale, however, seemed different, bent on their destruction as the walls of water rose and then dropped the Jolly as though it were a toy in a child’s bathtub. As they dipped, the rising swells threatened to pour over the sides and sink them permanently. The crew gripped their ropes or boards, holding tightly to whatever piece they manned, but more and more fervently sending prayers for mercy to Poseidon, Davy Jones, or the sirens that would greet them below the surface.

Amidst the rolling chaos, the rapid beating of wings swept low over their heads as a dark,  familiarly recognizable form sailed across the deck and landed heavily, talons clinging to the worn leather on Killian’s shoulder. Though it had clearly fought mightily against the drafts, their petrel was claiming its place heedless of the danger.

Hardly able to acknowledge the delicate weight where it roosted at his side, even nearer than usual, Killian quickly raised his hook from the spokes of the wheel, brushing its curve over the bird’s downy underbelly in a single stroke of greeting. The bird trilled and seemed almost to rub its head against his rough cheek in affection. The exchange lasted only a moment, and in their heightened anxiety, few, if any, bore witness. Then, Killian gripped the wheel tightly once more with hand and hook, roaring out orders and encouragement, exhorting the men not to give up the fight, though the storm raged on and endurance flagged.

The petrel, not content to merely watch and ride along, was hardly finished - nor did it perch silently idle. Instead, it took to the air again, if only just, fluttering rapidly about the captain’s head, repeating its sharp, strident call, almost in his ear, and making itself nigh impossible to ignore. At first, Killian instinctively waved his hand to ward off its advances, calling out in consternation at its unusual behavior. However, it quickly became clear the tiny bird’s determined efforts would not falter.

Brow furrowed in thought, Killian squinted in concentration at his companion, finally sensing that it was trying to tell him something. Swiping the driving rain from his vision, Killian gave in and murmured low under his breath, “Alright, little one, I understand. What is it you wish to show me?”

Again, reacting as if it understood his every word, the petrel chirruped a sort of agreement and took flight again. It had to dip and bob against the lashing wind and rain in order to stay aloft, but it flapped madly, its wings battling back against the heaves of the storm. Valiantly, it hovered within sight, just ahead of the ship’s bow and almost seemed to look back expectantly, as if asking whether or not he meant to follow its lead.

Despite the tension in his shoulders, the worry and responsibility weighing upon him as the storm attempting to break them apart and bear the pieces to the depths, Killian couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter at the bird’s assumed insistence. “Aye, we’re with you,” he uttered aloud, turning the wheel just slightly to accommodate the direction in which the petrel led, shaking his head in disbelief even as he did so. It seemed a mite crazy, true enough, and yet birds survived the wild, its brutal conditions and weather, all the time. And what other chance of survival did they have at this point if the tempest didn’t slake soon? He could not see the way before them clearly enough to navigate by any of his normal methods. At the end of the day, they were all at the whim of Mother Nature, whatever their skill or experience, so the chance or fate that had brought this small creature to him and the feeling in his gut that urged him on seemed as good a course to follow as any.

Some few further agonizing minutes followed, as they still rose and fell in the grip of rolling waves. The entire crew seemed to hold their breath as the ship bobbed and soared, up and down, over and again, eyes riveted on the dark clouds and forks of lightning ahead of them and straining to glimpse in time the jagged rocks that lurked portending their doom.

Slowly, and yet more and more certainly as they persisted, the wild rocking, the careening to and fro, lessened, as though the churning water itself had begun to loosen its massive grip. They were moving into miraculously calmer waters, Killian noted with a breath of relief. The storm still howled around them, but in a bright flash of lightning, he saw that the ship had entered the sheltered lea of a hidden cove. The tall rock faces rising on either side as the Jolly sailed into their cover lessened the buffeting of the waves and allowed the ship to maintain its ballance once again. He would not have seen the entrance with the elements obscuring vision as they’d been - not without the petrel. It had led them to safety.

As if on cue, the bird came to rest atop the wheel, perching on the curve of wood between the two spokes where his hand and hook were placed. Blinking placidly, it seemed to look at him with a bit of pride before cooing softly and burrowing hits head and beak under its wing to snatch a moment’s well-earned rest.

Nodding and allowing himself a look around to take stock, Killian saw the reassurance on his crew’s faces as all realized they had made it through. Killian called out a few orders to check various parts of the sip for any damages and make certain the ship would stay in place until the storm blew itself out. This petrel with its almost sentient ability to sense when it was needed, come to his aid, and raise his spirits, would always have a safe place to rest with them on the Jolly Roger.

~~*~~*~~

Until the day it didn’t return.

The storm petrel had taken to arriving regularly every two or three days, wherever they might be sailing or how much distance they had covered, but then one evening it failed to appear. It didn’t come that night, or the next. Soon a week had passed, and still it didn’t come back to the Jolly, worrying Killian more than he dared let on.

He could not simply drop anchor and wait, nor could he leave his post, his men, and his ship, to search for his tiny companion - far dearer than even a pet could ever be. He had no way to call the bird; it had always come to him of its own accord and in its own time… but it had never stayed away for so long.

His men noticed as well, whispering amongst themselves when the Captain began taking his evening meals alone at night rather than joining them in the galley, when the door to his cabin slammed with such heavy finality that all knew it was a barrier not to be crossed until the Captain emerged again. They shook their heads in dismay when orders were bellowed more harshly or conversations were more clipped and terse. Killian Jones was too diligent a man to shirk his duties or lead them astray, yet all felt his unease and knew its cause. Many of them were aware enough to know the petrel had saved them from the storm, just as Killian did, and had grown to enjoy its visits and watch for it in their own ways. Its absence had stretched on long enough that it seemed clear something must have happened to the poor bird - not that any would say such to the Captain.

Turley and the cabin boy were the only ones genuinely close enough to ask Killian about it, and the youngster only dared question hesitantly one night as he brought the Captain his dinner tray if he had seen his gray bird lately. The dulled acceptance in his expected denial bowed the boy’s head and forestalled any further inquiry.

But that night, as young Billy left, Killian heard a light rapping sound at the small window above his bunk. Even knowing better, his heart leapt with a small flicker of hope. It was the portal by which his petrel had entered and left his cabin so many times. Scuffling and scratching followed, so weak and soft as to have gone unheard if he hadn’t been sitting alone and quiet at his desk. Hustling to the window, Killian unlatched it and carefully opened the glass pane.

To his astonishment and joy, quickly followed by rapid alarm, the storm petrel toppled from its weary perch on the windowsill and landed on the ledge just inside the room. Its tiny frail quivered, its little feathered breast rising and falling rapidly. It wasn’t a large bird to begin with; Turley’s familiar voice echoed in Killian’s head at the thought, needlessly rambling about petrels being some of the widest ranging seabirds known to man, despite being naught bigger than swallows. ‘Hardy little critters, they are,’ Killian could still hear the cook yammering internally until he finally shook his head clear. What he needed to do now was ascertain what the bird needed and what he could do to help.

Having been small already, the petrel looked terribly frail on the dusty, cushioned ledge amidst heavy tomes, navigation tools, and the other detritus of several years. It was obvious the poor creature had not been eating and was wasting away half-starved as a result. Along with that, it was soaked, its feathers in bedraggled disarray and missing in places. The bird lay still for so long without uttering any sound or even trying to right itself of explore the space that Killian feared for a horrible moment that it must be near death.

Peering closer with careful, gentle movements, he saw that the petrel was injured as well as weakened. Not immediately apparent because of how ruffled in was in general, Killian noted that its wing was bent at an awkward angle along its side rather than folded up properly in repose.

The bird hardly lifted its head as Killian stroked one finger down its back, hoping to soothe and offer even the tiniest bit of comfort. Striding urgently across the room, he swung the cabin door open, calling urgently down the hall for Whale, the ship’s doctor, to come on the double; he was needed in the Captain’s quarters.

Whirling to re-enter the room, Killian’s eyes quickly passed over the space, noting the crust of his bread left from supper and the seeds which had been baked atop it still littering the plate. He brought it quickly to his patient, then poured some water for the pitched by his washstand into the empty saucer which had held soup, hoping he might coax the petrel to eat even a morsel and gain some nourishment.

Next, he grasped a plush cotton dressing gown, hanging untouched on the door of his closest, purposefully out of easy sight. It had been Milah’s favorite to wrap up in after the rare luxury of a bath, and the sight of it or the feel of its material beneath his fingers had wrung his heart until now, bringing the hot, raging need for vengeance back to the fore. He was suddenly glad he had not parted with it though. He didn’t dare jostle the injured bird overmuch for fear of hurting it further. But while he couldn’t rub it down to dry it fully, he could tuck the robe’s downy layers around it and warm its shivering frame.

“There now, little one,” he crooned gently. “Take a bit of food and catch your breath. You’re safe now…” his voice caught and he swallowed before adding, “We’ll put you back to rights, don’t fret.”

Killian didn’t actually know if a ship’s surgeon could set a bird’s wing as he would a human man’s broken arm, but he could hear Whale’s footsteps pounding down the hall toward his cabin, and knew he would find out soon. Before Whale - or anyone else - could arrive to see him, Killian bent to carefully lean over the bird’s small form, not sure what possessed him, but following the instinct before he could question it. As delicately as possible for someone who’d had no cause for gentility in longer than he could remember, for just one breath, one single heartbeat, he brought his lips to the bird’s tiny head. Maybe it was brought on by some long-buried memory of his own mother, lost to his mind’s eye other than a voice whose soothing singing sometimes echoed in his sleep, but the kiss seemed an offering to ease fever pain and fear with hope and good wishes.

It was the barest brush contact - a mere moment’s touch - but the air in the room abruptly changed. Something seemed to shrink and then expand; the atmosphere held its breath. Glittering rainbow hues flashed in front of his eyes, and Killian jerked backwards in alarm. The petrel’s shape went a bit hazy as Killian strained to understand what was happening right before his eyes, and then his small friend began to grow and change, forcing him to take a few more stunned steps backward and wonder if he had somehow hit his head and addled his brain. His accustomed companion was transforming even as he watched.

He heard a shout as Whale - and probably a few curious others too - came to a halt behind him. Exclamations of awe and surprise were heard but left unacknowledged over his shoulder. Killian blinked, trying be sure he could trust his vision and to reconcile what shouldn’t be possible, but sat before him.

Where the storm petrel had lay near death just seconds ago, stood a blushing, beautiful young woman. She was equally soaked to the skin, long blonde hair plastered to her head and shoulders. Her lithe, slender frame trembled where she stood clutching the dressing gown around her tightly. Still, there was something about her eyes as she stared back at him silently; something that he knew deep within despite never having seen her before.

She cocked her head curiously, as if she too was trying to understand where she was and what had happened. With that motion, Killian knew without a shadow of a doubt. This young woman had been his petrel; his long lost avian friend was this lovely woman. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he was absolutely certain. And he was drawn to her just as he had been to her former guise. She took a cautious step toward him, and he held out a hand to draw her near and hold her close. Whatever had brought them together, whatever magic was at work, she was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.

~~*~~*~~

By the time rays of morning sunlight came slanting down the walls inside Killian’s cabin, he and his soulmate - he knew that now - had talked the whole night through. She was no longer a storm petrel but a princess what had been cursed to take on avian form, and his act of True Love - aware of it or not - had set her free. The jealous witch who’d cast the spell had falsely believed the princess was luring her chosen partner away rather than accept that he had a roving eye. Petrels were a migratory species, keeping her far from all she knew and loved - and of course, unable to speak or gain help for her affliction. For hours they sat side-by-side on his bunk, hands clasped tightly as this woman - Emma, her name was Emma - told him what she’d experience ever since the curse took hold, shifting her very reality to something unfathomable. Tears pooled in her eyes, glistening on her lashes, both while recounting her own trials, and then again while listening to the betrayal and loss that had shaken Killian’s world to its foundations as well.

The connection between them from Emma’s first appearance on his ship drew them ever closer as they talked, and touched, and inevitably joined in another kiss. This time it was two souls meeting on equal footing, and they drank deeply of the perfection that shook them each to the core. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way; the two of them bound to meet long before they ever knew. Neither could explain the pull, but it also couldn’t be denied.

As they went topside the next morning and Killian began to introduce her to an eagerly enthusiastic crew, he didn’t even try to explain, but simply savored the moment, thrilled that all the heartache and pain had finally brought him there, with Emma at his side. Her smaller frame tucked seamlessly into his side as she beamed at his new ally and charmed them one and all.

When they stood at the wheel - just the two of them again at last - Killian behind her, his arms encircling her as he steered the ship, he felt the same joy he had when she’d kept him company perched on the wheel so many times before, but magnified exponentially now that they could fully communicate and understand one another. With the salt air in their faces and the horizon in view, they set sail - a happy new beginning stretching out ahead of them.

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @anmylica @scientificapricot @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @lenfaz @jonesfandomfanatic

@eastwesthomeisbest @grimmswan @stahlop @belovedcreation @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic

@winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @caught-in-the-filter @resident-of-storybrooke

@the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @goforlaunchcee @mie779 @kday426 @iamstartraveller776

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

4th of July Reruns: Independence Day

Happy 4th of July week to all who celebrate it! I have a couple of old 4th of July themed CS fics that I thought I'd share with all of you, and if all goes well, I'll have a new 4th of July fic to add to Fluffy Fridays this Friday!

Word Count: 2082

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew4 @annaamell @flslp87 @emmateo26 @bethacaciakay 

@ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones @kat2609 @brooke-to-broch 

@missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich @jennjenn615 

@laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @daxx04 

@nickillian  @gillie  @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst @kmomof4

 @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious 

@laughswaytoomuch  @allyourdarlingswans  @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 @therooksshiningknight 

@lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @jrob64  @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv

 @i-will-sing-no-requiem @bluewildcatfanatic @laianely

Summary: This fic was originally posted to my Fluffy Fridays collection sometime around season 6. At the time, it was a "future fic", but now it is more of a slight canon divergence. With the Black Fairy defeated and the final battle won, Storybrooke is enjoying it's happily ever after and trying to make new memories. Emma has some exciting news for Killian.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Independence Day

CS Genre: Future Fic

Spring slowly sizzled into summer—a particularly hot and humid summer in Storybrooke that had Emma grateful that they had indeed decided to stay in the Land Without Magic, a place where air conditioners were a thing.

Ever since the Black Fairy was defeated a few months ago, she and Killian had responded to far more “cat stuck in a tree” or “Leroy double parked in front of Granny’s” calls than “weird, fairy tale villain intent on world domination just destroyed something” calls.

In fact, they’d had no calls about fairy tale villains.  It seemed Storybrooke had finally settled down into a peaceful, sleepy little town, with its requisite cast of eccentric characters.

It had never been the kind of life Emma had imagined she would lead—sheriff in a small town where everyone knows everyone else, married to her true love and so happy she thought she might die from it.  But though it might not be the life she’d expected for herself, it was a life she loved with every fiber in her being.

Even when Regina decided to institute regular town meetings to discuss town business.  (Seriously, they really were turning into Stars Hollow.)  It was at one such meeting about a month ago, that the whole big production had been decided on.

“Now that we’re not, you know, fighting villains every other day,” Leroy had said when Regina called on him to speak, “I think we need to start participating in normal society things.  The 4th of July is coming up.  Let’s do it up right.  Parade, fireworks, the whole shebang.”

Killian leaned over to Emma.  “Perhaps I’m missing something love, but what exactly is the significance of the 4th day of July, and why would it call for an unusual amount of festivity?”

Emma smirked, so glad to get back to the business of enlightening Killian about the modern world rather than, you know, trying not to die or trying to keep him from dying.  “It’s Independence Day in the United States, which is technically the country we live in.  Lots of celebrating goes on that day.”

He’d, as usual, wanted to pepper her with about a million questions.  Seriously, her husband wanted to know everything about everything.  Usually, Emma dealt with it by telling him to go look it up on the “magic box”, aka Internet, but that wasn’t exactly practical during a town meeting.  Seriously, Regina was as strict about “no talking!” in her meetings as the most demanding teacher. 

“Shhh!,” Emma had said as various members of the town began brainstorming ideas for the best (and, honestly the first) 4th of July Storybrooke had ever celebrated.  “You can look it up later.”

In the end they had decided to go with, as Leroy put it, the whole patriotic “shebang”.  There would be a parade through the main street of town in the morning—complete with the Storybrooke high school band and various prominent citizens dressed in their Enchanted Forest finest.  Emma wasn’t sure exactly what their Enchanted Forest attire had to do with the 4th of July, but she’d long since learned not to question these kind of decisions.  It only led to confusion and headaches.  Oh so many headaches.

(And to be honest, as the meeting was really ramping up, Emma realized kind of vaguely that she’d been having more headaches lately…along with way more nausea at weird times…and moments where she felt faint…and so much exhaustion she felt like she could barely get out of bed some mornings.  Maybe she should make an appointment with Dr. Whale to see what was going on with her, but she thought she’d give it a few more weeks.  After all, she’d been under a lot of stress since….well, basically since she moved to Storybrooke, and these weird symptoms were probably nothing more than her body sloughing off the stress and trying to get used to this strange new phenomenon known as “peace”.)

Anyway, the festivities would continue with a town picnic around noon and then fireworks as night fell.

And so it was that Henry and Killian spread out a blanket on the hill overlooking town on the evening of the 4th of July.  Emma set her picnic basket on the blanket, and then sat down beside it, reaching for the ginger ale she always had at the ready lately.  With a small, secret smile, she put a hand on her flat stomach, both excited and terrified about the news she’d received just the day before.

“And you’re sure we’re quite safe, here, love?”  Killian asked as he sat beside her.  “I must admit to being more than a little uneasy at the thought of the dwarfs setting off explosive devices for our amusement.  It seems like a terrible idea.”

They’d talked about fireworks as soon as they’d returned from the town meeting back in June, and Henry had been amazed that Killian had never seen a fireworks display.  “Are you serious?”  Henry asked.  “You’ve never seen fireworks?  Fireworks have been around for like…ever.  I know they were a thing in the Enchanted Forest.  I saw them in my storybook—during Cinderella’s wedding!”

Killian shrugged.  “Oh aye,” he’d said, “I’d heard of them, of course, but as a slave I’d not had much occasion to observe them.  And then once I’d become a pirate…well, I was far more interested in causing the explosions than viewing them.”

“But fireworks are way better than just explosions!” Henry had assured.  “They’re colorful and sparkly.  Sometimes they have special designs.  Some of them light up the sky, and others are like…little bursts of bright light and sound.  And fireworks displays always have a grand finale and it’s just…I can’t explain it, but it’s awesome!”

“How precisely do they work?” Killian asked.  “One lights a fuse and there is an explosion, aye, that I understand, but how do such explosions result in different formations and colors?”

“They just…do,” Henry said, with a little shrug.  “I don’t know how it works.  I just know it’s amazing.”

“I believe I shall consult Mr. Google, then, lad,” Killian said.  “I find it far preferable to understand the mechanisms of my entertainment.”

Of course he did.  Emma should have known.  It had been two weeks after they’d moved in together before they could have their first family movie night because Killian insisted on researching what movies were, how they were made, how they were projected on screen, and how thin, circular discs inserted in a machine could cause said movies to appear on the “moving picture box”.

Her husband was a full-fledged nerd.  A hot one, for sure, but a nerd nonetheless.

“Yes, Killian,” Emma said, coming back to the present and laying her head on her husband’s shoulder.  “I’m sure everything is totally safe.  Leroy’s got everything organized.  Just relax and enjoy the show.”

“I shall attempt to do so,” Killian said, “but I fail to see how colorful lights can elicit as much excitement as you and the lad…ooooooh!”

Emma giggled as the first firework—a large one that changed color from red to white to blue, lit up the Storybrooke night sky.  Killian looked up at the display in wonder, his eyes wide as saucers, a soft, boyish smile draping his face.

Sometimes she looked up at him and it just overwhelmed her all over again how much she loved him.  Now was one of those times.  She felt the tears come to her eyes, and Killian looked down at her in concern.  As usual, he could sense her moods.

“Is all well, Swan?” he asked in concern, reaching up to catch the single tear that fell from her eye.

“It’s more than alright, Killian,” Emma said.  “It’s perfect.  All of this is perfect.  I just love you so much, and I love our life together, and I don’t know what I ever did to deserve it, but life is just about perfect right now.”

He smiled tenderly, and leaned in to kiss her, but just before their lips connected, another firework went off, and Killian turned back to the light display.  Emma smiled, laying her head once again on his shoulder as Henry wandered off to find Violet and watch the show with her.

The fireworks went on and on, and as they moved closer to the grand finale, Emma heard one of the dwarfs (she thought it was Happy’s job?) start the music.  It had been decided that they would end the fireworks display with the 1812 overture, complete with the big finale coming during the cannon fire in the music.

Of course, as soon as it had been decided, Killian had gone to the library and pestered Belle for any information she could give him about the piece of music.

“The customs of this land are incomprehensible, love,” Killian had said that night as he helped her make dinner.  “Why is it customary for this ‘1812 Overture’ to be played at celebrations of this country’s founding?  The founding did not happen in 1812, but a generation before.  What’s more, the piece was written to commemorate an event that has nothing to do with the United States.  That Tchaikovsky fellow wrote the piece to commemorate the moment the Russians defeated Napoleon in his attempts to take over Russia. (Incidentally, is it only me, love, or does this Napoleon sound significantly like the Crocodile?  Small in stature, lust for power, dreams of world domination…)”

“I really don’t know why the 1812 is so popular,” Emma said as she carefully pulled a casserole from the oven.  “It just…is.”

“And it’s full of nationalistic anachronisms,” Killian had continued.

“What’s full of…what?” Henry asked, filching a roll from the bread dish and sitting at the table.

Emma rolled her eyes.  “Your step-dad was about to explain about all the nationalistic anachronisms (whatever those are) in ‘The 1812 Overture’.”

“Quite so,” Killian said.  “The piece features the French national anthem, La Marseillaise, for example, but in 1812, the song had been banned by Napoleon (the total ponce).  Furthermore, the piece utilizes the Russian anthem ‘God Save the Tsar’ near the end, but it had not yet been written as of 1812.  Not much of a historian, this Tchaikovsky.”

Henry groaned.  “Mom, I think we need to ban him from the library.  I already have to suffer through history lessons in school.  Don’t need them when I get home, too.”

A particularly loud volley of fireworks brought Emma back to the present.

“So, are you enjoying your first 4th of July?” Emma asked.

“It’s been quite enjoyable, Swan,” Killian said, “but then any day I get to spend with you and the lad is.”

Emma’s nerves began dancing within her stomach (or was that just the nausea again).  The moment was just about here.  As soon as she’d learned the news from Whale, she’d decided she’d tell Killian just at the climax of the fireworks show.  She wanted to make this moment special.

She just hoped he was as excited about the news as she was.  They hadn’t talked much about it.  This wasn’t something they’d planned; it had just sort of…happened.  What if this wasn’t what he wanted?

“Anything the matter, Swan?” Killian asked just as the cannon began to boom in the music.

“No,” Emma said, taking a deep breath.  “Something’s actually pretty great.  At least I hope you think it is.  I mean, I do, but we haven’t talked about it and…”

“Swan,” Killian said, looking more concerned than ever, “out with it, love.”

Emma took a deep breath, and then leaned in and whispered in his ear.  “Killian, in about 7 ½ months you’re going to be a daddy again.”

His eyes got round again, as he sat up abruptly.  “A father?  I’m to be a father?  You’re with child?”

She smiled tremulously.  “Yeah, Whale thinks I’m about 6 weeks along.  Are you…are you happy about it?  I mean I know we haven’t really discussed it and this is a surprise and…”

He cut her off with a swift, passionate kiss, his hand moving to rest on her still flat belly.  When he pulled back, there were tears in his eyes.  “How can you even ask that, Swan?  Of bloody course I’m happy.  A baby!  A product of our love!  I do believe my life is now absolutely perfect!”

Emma leaned over and kissed him again, the tears streaming from her eyes as overhead the fireworks celebrated right along with the Savior and her Pirate.

[everything-person]

Just when they thought they could move on the past comes back to them. Starting with Marian the Graham appearing in the sheriffs station. Soon Storybrooke becomes a place of inbetween life and death. The Savior tried to juggle the towns epidemic with her own personal conflicts that come with it.

[exhaustedpirate]

i'm your dead girl walking

if you recognise the title, welcome to my heathers the musical brainrot! the song definitely influenced this absolute smut fest of a fic but there is a very fluffy ending! one day i'll learn to just give you smut but today is not that day! i give my heart to @belovedcreation for her amazing support and beta services for this fic, you're the best, babe!!

rated E | 8127 words also on AO3

summary: Regina manages to delay Peter Pan's curse for a few hours during which she spends time with Henry. Emma, having spent quality time with her family, decides to spend time with another equally special person. With only 6 hours until she is separated from Killian what else better to do than get "freaky"?!

Storybrooke’s Main Street was empty. All lights were turned off and the only source of light was the full moon. It was both eerie and peaceful, knowing what was to come.

Pan was defeated. Rumplestilskin was dead. There was a curse coming.

Emma sighed in the quiet night. Maybe she should be used to it, this impending doom every year, but really, who could? 

According to Regina, the curse would hit at dawn. She was glad for the extra time Regina gave them, time to say goodbye, time to just be together. After that, Henry and Emma were off to an adventure of their own and they would be separated from their family.

Right, there was no getting used to that. 

But now, with her parents asleep, Henry at Regina’s and everyone else making use of their last hours in the modern world, Emma felt restless. They had had a nice dinner at Granny’s, drank, and talked. There had been no tears, no frowns, no goodbyes. 

But he had been there, sitting in the furthest corner of the counter. He had shared a drink with David, smiled at something Granny told him. Had spoken to Neal, hugged him. Had looked at her, watched her and turned away when she looked back. And yet, no word to her.

Well, if that’s how he was going to play it then- Emma sighed again, interrupting her own thoughts. They had 6 hours before their whole lives would be disrupted, before they were all separated once more. 

Fuck it.

It was easy to reroute her wandering path. Before she knew it, Emma had stopped in front of Granny’s inn, her foot hovering over the first step. There was a faint light coming from the door, just like it had been two years ago when she first arrived in town. Walking through that door would be like proclaiming to the whole town what she intended to do and that was a mood killer.

Taking a step back, she saw one more light on. It was just as faint but it was on the second level and she could feel it, deep in her gut, that that was the window she was looking for. Emma took a deep breath as she looked up at it. Was she really about to do what she thought she was about to do?

Was she drunk enough for this? She could still feel that last drop of liquid courage in her stomach but really all that walking had sobered her up. Hopefully it was enough to give her that push. And really, it was a wonder she didn’t fall to her death as she climbed the trellis on the back wall, her only goal that faint light in the window. If she was thinking of anything but her destination, she would have laughed at how she wasn’t climbing with him but to him this time.

The window was locked because of course it was but she could see him lying in the bed with his back on the headboard, a beat-up book open with one hand, his hooked arm over his thigh. Hook was the picture of relaxation, his billowing black shirt unbuttoned, black leather trousers and bare feet on the bed. He really was making use of Granny’s offer of modernity on their last night in town.

It was now or never. Later she should have a chat with Granny about how easy it was to snap the window lock but it boded well for her tonight. Before she took a breath, Emma was stumbling into the room with an incredible lack of grace. 

“Swan.” As she fumbled to stand up, she watched Hook put down his book unhurriedly. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Shh.” She brought a finger up to her lips as she fumbled to remove her boots. “There’s only a few hours until everything goes to shit.” She took a mental picture of the amused and confused smirk twitching his lips as she approached the bed. “Now is the perfect time for you to give me that ‘fun’ you promised.” His eyebrow hitched before the other joined in shock when she straddled his lap. “Or was that all talk?” His book was thrown to the floor in a flash, his eyes never leaving hers.

“No,” Hook answered quickly. “I just didn’t think-”

“It’s like I said,” Emma interrupted. “We understand each other. This world is really unfair so I say we make it beautiful here.” Leaning over him, she placed her hands on his shoulders.

She saw lust, desire, confusion, sadness, affection in his eyes and that should have made her run out of that room. But how could she when this was what she wanted most? His hand found her hip and she deserved an award for keeping it together at the touch of his strong, warm hand. “What do you say?” She urged.

“That works for m-” 

Not wanting to waste any more time, she pressed her mouth against his just like she did in Neverland. And just like in that jungle, it only took a second for Hook to reciprocate the kiss, his mouth opening under her ministrations and giving just as good as she gave. His hand left her hip to thread into her hair while hers gripped his shoulders tighter, before she moved them down his shirt. 

She had never seen him so undressed before, not even in the sweltering heat of Neverland. Her fingers found the open parting of his shirt and felt the surprisingly soft chest hair underneath. His responding moan to her touch had her hand clench in his chest, a wave of arousal wafting over her. His lips left hers and for a split second she was going to complain before she felt his lips on her jaw, on her neck, by her ear. Her mouth opened in silent pleasure as she felt his hand on the small of her back pressing her closer to him. Her hands were trapped between their chests but she wasn’t complaining.

His lips found her ear and she gasped at the feel of his teeth nibbling her earlobe before his tongue soothed the sensitive skin. A moan escaped her lips as her nails dug into his chest, his skin warm under her touch and making him gasp against her skin. Pulling away enough to free her hands but not so much as to stop his ministrations, she slipped her hands inside his shirt and began to slide it down his arms. 

His hand left her back to completely remove his shirt and throw it god knows where. Without the distraction of his lips or her anxiety at starting this tryst, she took her time to look at his chest, her hands absent-mindedly following the path of her eyes. She took in his strong build, the muscles originated from hard work while at sea, his dark chest hair and the way it led down to a treasure she was excited to plunder tonight. 

“Looked your fill?” Her eyes wandered up slowly to where he was watching her with interest, his lips red and full from the kisses they shared, his cheeks pink. 

“Nope,” she answered, watching as his eyes widened in surprise before crossing her arms in front of her and pulling up her sweater and undershirt in one go. Boy, was she glad to have left her coat at home. She threw it behind her without looking, focused instead on the way his eyes took the same path her eyes had. His gaze felt like a touch and her skin broke into goosebumps at the thought. “Have you?”

He shook his head slowly as his hand ghosted its way up her back. She arched at the soft touch and she could swear his eyes darkened at the sight of her chest so close to his face. Before she could straighten her posture, she felt him pull her to him and then his mouth was on her collarbones, on her shoulders, on her chest, on the curve of her breast, pressing open mouth kisses on her bare skin. She fumbled behind her to unlatch her bra, removing it without disturbing his excellent work. She keened loudly when his lips latched onto her nipple, tongue lashing relentlessly and causing her to grind slowly against his lap.

She felt his responding groan against her flesh and his impressive erection between her legs. Her whole body lit up like the freaking fourth of July, her hands grabbed onto his head to keep him where she wanted him, to keep his talented mouth on her breasts. She had heard rumors of women orgasming just from this and thought them liars but this man was making her believe.

His hand, redundant in keeping her close to him, moved down her bare back until it reached the waist of her jeans. She wondered if he even knew what jeans were, if she should say something, if she should help him. All thoughts vanished from her head when he pressed his thumb hard against the ridge of her jeans, right on top of her aching clit. Was there like a clit magnet in that man’s finger? Her loud moan silenced any other noise.

With his left arm around her waist, his mouth on her other nipple and his thumb causing friction against her clit, she was almost sure that she was about to come like this. But there was something missing, and it wasn’t the way his teeth nibbled her flesh.

Her hands left his head and without the pull, he unlatched his mouth from her breast, looking up at her with dazed eyes and heavy breath. God, she wanted to commit that face to memory, engrave it in her brain. On instinct, she fused their mouths together, her nibbling on his lower lip just as he had done on her breast. He whimpered under her attention and, regrettably, his hand stopped moving. But that was probably for the best because it gave her the clarity of mind to reach for the button and zipper of her jeans.

“Emma…”

The way he moaned her name against her lips drew a shiver up her spine, her skin trembling in anticipation. With a last kiss to his swollen lips, she pulled away from his lap, sitting perpendicular to him on the right side of the bed. Glancing at his face, she saw the worry on his brow and the fear mixed with the lust in his eyes. But she couldn’t look at him any longer if she wanted to get out of these jeans. After a short struggle, she managed to peel the denim off her as well as her socks. Maybe she should be more concerned over where her clothes were going to end up but really, looking up to see the dark gaze of a plundering pirate just made everything else disappear.

Gone was the worry and fear, there was only desire in his eyes. Her mouth was parted as she breathed heavily and she leaned back on her hands, leaving her chest prominently out and vulnerable to his intense gaze. His hand landed on her ankle where it had landed on his lap, his thumb rubbing on her skin and causing goosebumps to rise up. Seemingly fascinated with her response, he moved his hand up her leg slowly before stopping on her thigh. His thumb reached the inside of her thigh and began to massage it carefully. An unexpected moan left her lips and she opened her legs wanting more of his touch and wanting it where she craved it most.

Swift as a cat, she blinked to find him on his knees between her legs, his eyes never leaving her underwear-clad center. His hand continued its upward motion on her leg, stopping at the apex of her thigh. His gaze met hers and his thumb met her clit, rubbing it in a slow circular motion. She moaned, throwing back her head. His thumb pressed firmly and she found her moans silenced by his desperate lips. 

“You’re so wet, Emma,” he whispered against her lips, his thumb circling softly while his fingers quested to her center. Her hips stuttered under his touch. “Can I taste you?”

His desperate question had her letting out a quiet moan before nodding her head. Her head was full of fantasies of what his touch and kisses merely hinted at. He hooked his finger and metal substitute on her underwear, the cold of the appendage causing her skin to tremble. She raised her hips to allow him to remove them and he surprised her by placing a kiss above her clit, a small hint of what was to come, his breathy chuckle making her shiver as it hit her skin.

She couldn’t stop looking at him, couldn’t stop watching the way he kept his eyes on her center, on his focused frown, on his adoring lips. Damn, why hadn’t she done this before?

She watched as he laid down between her legs, as he raised her hips to place his arms underneath her ass, as his eyes darkened when her folds opened under his gaze. She watched as he lowered his head and yet still let out a gasping moan when he dragged his tongue from her center to her clit, wrapping his lips around it just as he had done with her nipples.

“You make the most delicious sounds, love,” he murmured and she felt the vibrations against her center making her thighs tremble. 

“Please.” She begged quietly, unused to the feeling but knowing that there was nothing else she wanted to do. She begged for his touch, for his mouth, for him. “Please, Killian.”

She felt his eyes on her before, with a loud moan, his tongue returned to her aching center, flicking over her clit and taking her breath away, her hands grasping for his head, tangling in his hair. His hand grabbed onto her ass cheek, bringing her as closer to him as he could, kissing her below as he had up top. And what a talented mouth that man has.

“Say it again,” he asked desperately against her before his tongue flattened against her clit and wiggled.

She wasn’t even sure what he wanted or had enough breath to ask but when she cried out, “Fuck, Killian,” it must have been the right answer. Suddenly, he raised to his knees, bringing her hips up with him, keeping her against his mouth. Her legs fell over each of his shoulders and his arms wrapped around her waist. Fumbling to grab onto the sheets, onto something, she settled in for a loud ride. His mouth was relentless against her cunt, licking against her clit, penetrating her with his tongue. Her moans were ringing in her ears but all she cared about was how she could keep his mouth against her forever. When his lips wrapped around her clit once more and sucked, everything shattered around her, back arching as she called out his name in her climax.

Her breathing was heavy, her legs turned to jelly and she didn’t even know how she was going to move after that. His hand and hook gently lowered her to the bed and she brought her hands to her hair, trying to get a hold of her breathing. Damn.

“Alright, Swan?”

His voice caught her attention and she opened her eyes to watch him looking down at her, his eyes burning with desire, beard glistening, chest heaving and hand shifting his cock over his tight trousers. That vision caused a fresh wave of arousal to pool at her center. 

Fuck. 

She must have said it out loud because his hand tightened and his lips parted in a quiet gasp. Drunk on the way he was watching her, Emma lowered her hands down her chest, passing across her nipples. The short contact had her biting her lip as it sent a spark down her body. His eyes followed her hands as she slowly ran them down her belly to stop at the top of her thighs. His tongue passed through his lower lip and he closed his eyes in a hum. 

The realization that he had likely tasted her in his lips had her circling her clit with her right pointer finger. He opened his eyes and she bit out a gasp at the way his pupils dilated at the sight of her pleasuring herself in front of him. Without taking his eyes off her circling finger, he unlaced his barely laced trousers, his cock springing out thick and hard. He took hold of it, his fist tightening around his base, and her mouth went dry. 

Two of her fingers slid easily inside her and she delighted in the way his head tilted and his teeth dug into his lower lip. She brought them out to circle her clit and back inside a few times, with the same rhythm he ran his hand up and down on his cock. Satisfied with how much of her fluids she managed to accumulate on her fingers, she sat up under his watchful eyes. 

Carefully bringing her fingers to his face, she smirked with the way he dutifully opened his mouth to welcome them. Her mouth parted as she breathed in sharply at the way he sucked and ran his tongue between them, cleaning all evidence of her arousal off of her fingers. Seemingly satisfied with his work, he released his hold on them but not before nibbling on her digits. 

Biting her lip, she manhandled him until he was sitting back against the headboard. His eyes widened and his brow furrowed in confusion but, as she began to pull on his trousers, he bit his lip in excitement and lifted his hips to help her.

“Damn trousers,” she muttered in impatience under his amused grin.

“Never heard you complaining before.” 

She rolled her eyes and his whole face lit up in mirth. Wanting to stop his amusement and proud that she had finally removed the leather, she ran her tongue across the length of him. His teasing stopped as he let out a guttural moan, his hand clenching into a fist where it rested on his lap. She grinned victorious as she took hold of his shaft to bring his tip into her eager mouth and sucked.

“Fuck.” 

She preened under his unveiled pleasure, moving her hair over her shoulder, licked into his slit and moaned at the way his hand dug into the back of her neck. She took him further into her mouth and felt his hand clench in response. Taking hold of his wrist to urge him to take that control he so wanted, she relaxed her jaw and slowly lowered her head. He gasped and she felt him pull on her hair, inching her closer and closer to the base of his cock and she groaned in pleasure around him. She could feel herself getting wetter as she took more and more of him until her nose ghosted over his hip bone.

She felt him quickly pull her away from him and her bottom lip jutted out in an instinctive pout. She wanted more, needed more. He grinned over his heavy breathing and ran his thumb over her lower lip. She licked its tip and his grin widened. 

“I’m afraid I would spend myself in your lovely mouth if you kept going.”

She rubbed her thighs together at the image he made appear in her head and she pinpointed the moment he noticed by the glint in his eyes. Maybe next time. 

But there wouldn’t be a next time, would it? 

She could feel her spiraling thoughts get out of control and before they could ruin this next, her last night, she straddled his hips, a knee on either side of him. Before he could take his next breath, she slanted her mouth over his, letting the feel of his mouth and her lingering taste in his tongue overwrite any thoughts that weren’t about him and his talented mouth.

Her hips ground against his length, slathering it with her arousal, and his hand left her head to take hold of her ass, fingers tightening against her flesh and urging her to keep moving her hips over him. She moved her lips over his scruffy jaw, his mouth free to encourage her with his heavy breathing and quiet moans, until she carefully bit into his earlobe.

“Killian,” she whispered, receiving a louder moan in return, her hand running down his chest until she felt his tip on her fingers. “I need it hard.” 

As she bit more firmly in the flesh behind his ear, she raised her hips and lowered herself onto him. He entered her fully, taking away her breath and making her arch her back in one swift move. His moan was echoed in hers as she felt his left arm wrap around her waist to keep her close.

She tried to control her breathing, her body adjusting to his length, to the wonderful feeling of being connected to him. She joined their foreheads with a satisfied sigh and moved her hips in a tentative thrust. The feel of him inside her had them moaning in unison and she wanted nothing more than to hear that sound over and over again. Grasping onto his shoulders, she raised her hips until only his tip rested inside her.

“Tonight, I’m yours,” he whispered against her lips, his hand returning to the side of her neck, his left arm still heavy around her waist.

Tonight, she was his. 

She slammed her hips down on his and didn’t wait before she raised them again. Her movements were helped by his returning grip to her hip, urging to move as fast as she wanted, to take as much as she needed. He gave her control and she took it, moving up and down in his lap, taking her pleasure. She buried her face against his neck, her moans silenced against his skin, thighs trembling as she felt her orgasm build up. 

His thumb against her clit had her tumbling down into her climax, her back arching and head thrown back in a loud moan of his name. With a growl, she found herself on her back, his still hard length deep inside her and his mouth on her neck bringing her back to the present. 

She dug her fingers through his hair, keeping him against her skin, his almost imperceptible thrusts along with his hardworking lips preparing her for another round. Never had it been like this. She pulled his head up to look at her, wanting to look into his eyes, wanting to see his face when he came. She ran her thumb over his swollen bottom lip like he had done before and felt the rush of affection mirrored in his eyes overtake her.

“Make me forget,” She pleaded, her eyes reflecting the anxiety and panic she wanted to push away. All she wanted was to forget that soon, she would have to leave this town behind. She would have to forget her family; she would have to watch the only people who had ever wanted her disappear.

His hand trailed from her shoulder down and up to her wrist. He moved one of her hands away from his neck so he could kiss her palm, a kiss she felt all over her eager body, before he placed her arm more firmly around his neck. Knowing what he wanted from her, she moved her own arm, holding her own hand behind his neck. His lips ticked up in a small smile and he urged her to wrap her legs around his waist.

She let out a gasp when he shifted his hips adjusting his position. He smirked before he planted a lingering kiss on her lips. “As you wish, Emma.” The sound of her name washed over her and lit up the smoldering fire inside her.

Her moan was loud and deep at the way he began to thrust against her, a slow, deep grind made to fan the fire into a hot blaze. His chest rubbed against her nipples and her breath quickened. She could feel the hum inside her telling her that this orgasm would be just as good as the others, even if he just kept that touch, that speed.

To her displeasure, he stilled his hips and moved his chest away. Her nails dug into his back, desperate to keep him there, desperate for the release. She whined, opening her eyes to complain but fell silent when she saw his wrecked expression, his mirrored desperation.

Waiting, feeling the buzz of expectation under her skin, she watched as he took a deep steadying breath. She watched as he kneeled on the bed, his thighs glued to hers. Her hands fell to the bed as he straightened up, fisting the sheets at the look of hunger in his eyes. He ran the side of his hook down her thigh, the sensation making her bite her lip and moan when the tip rubbed carefully over her nipple. So lost in pleasure, she barely noticed when he maneuvered her legs until they were straightened against his chest. His hook left her breast so he could lift her hips up off the bed and slide a pillow under her ass, aligning them perfectly. 

Without warning, he reared his hips before slamming against her causing her to scream out. “Oh, fuck!” His lips pulled into a dirty grin, she could feel every inch of him inside her and, unable to gain any traction, all she could do was hang on for the delightful ride.

With unrivaled gusto, he slammed his hips again and again, the sounds of slapping skin, of his heavy breathing, of her loud moans, filling the room. The world around them vanished, all that existed was him and her, his touch, his moans and groans, her whimpers and shouts, his skin, her skin, them. 

The speed at which her orgasm hit her should have surprised her but he felt so good and filled her up so well that she was more surprised that it had taken that long. She clenched around him and his hips stuttered before he threw his head back, the veins in his neck straining with his restraint.

“Come, Killian,” she begged, needing to feel him, needing to see him. “Come for me.”

As if he had only been waiting for her order, his deep groan preceded the twitching of his cock inside her as he spilled his release. The feel of him filling her drew out her orgasm, making her feel so full, so right, so complete. His grip on her legs loosened as he came down from his high and, no longer restrained, she let them drop to the bed on either side of him. Grabbing his wrists, she eased him down on top of her until his warm body covered every inch of her, his head nestled on her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair as they took control of their breathing, as she felt him soften inside her, as their bodies cooled down, unrushed.

Her fingers drifted onto his back, running up and down the light welts of scars she could feel, the marks of his long life, of his difficult life. She felt him placing chaste kisses on her skin as his breathing returned to normal. He touched on her own scars with those gifted lips, touched on the scars of her loneliness, her abandonment, and created another, a deep cut down her chest, and cauterizing it with the warmth of his breath. Her sigh was deep and satisfied as she cupped his head. His teeth nibbled on her stomach and she let out a breathy chuckle that he returned.

“I hope you weren’t thinking of sleeping tonight,” she warned, his mouth on her keeping the fire inside her alive. “It’s not morning yet.”

He hummed a denial, the vibration against her nipple making her bite her lip. “With you in my bed? Not bloody likely.”

Her laugh turned into a moan as he sucked a mark on her breast, her nails digging into his shoulders. His hum of pleasure guided her into dragging her nails down his back, likely leaving red marks in her way. Still inside her, she felt his cock twitch. Interesting.

Taking hold of his hair and pulling his face to hers, she took a mental note of their mutual enjoyment of hair pulling and landed a smacking kiss on his lips. She pulled away to find him grinning at her, his eyes soft under the blaze of renewed desire. She clenched around him, drawing a hiss out of him and a grin from her.

“I need to go to the bathroom but-” She gestured with her head before pushing against his chest and against her will, causing him to slip out of her. He moved away slowly, reluctantly until they were both sitting on the bed. She pulled him to her for a dirty kiss, swallowing his moan with her lips. “Get yourself ready for me, won’t you?” Her innocent question was accompanied by a not-so-innocent drag on her nails over his hip bone, his responding moan feeding her growing arousal.

He nodded dazedly, watching her under hooded eyes as she slipped out of bed. She turned around to step to the bathroom, stopping when she felt the swat of his hand on her ass. She looked over her shoulder to see him settling down on the bed with a poor imitation of an innocent smile. She rolled her eyes to mask her smile before carrying on her way.

When she exited the bathroom, she found him still splayed on the bed watching for her return, his hand moving slowly up and down his half-hard shaft. Leaning against the doorway, she saw his cock twitch under her interested gaze, her hand moving up her body. Under his wicked grin, she sauntered to the bed, settling into his inviting lap, kissing the smile off his face. 

The next hours passed much like the previous, his talented mouth and cock dragging several orgasms out of her, his body full of marks from her own mouth, her nails and palms. His hook had created its own set of marks on her body, marks that drew a symphony of moans from her before it ended up digging into the mattress, cutting into like a hot knife through butter. They didn’t talk, nothing except moans, praises and demands escaping out of their lips. 

“There’s not a day that will go by that I won't think of you,” he’d whispered against her temple as she came down from another earth-shattering orgasm and she wanted nothing more than to return the sentiment, to assure him that she would think of this night, of him, everyday. 

But she couldn’t, so she kissed his chest instead, moving her lips higher and higher until she found his lips, leading them to another round, to another orgasm, to another memory. And at dawn, she kissed his parted lips and slipped unnoticed from his slumbering body. 

She met her family at the townline, almost thankful for the sadness of the moment as it stopped any questions they might have for her whereabouts that night, or why she winced with every step she took and how it masked her anger at having to say goodbye to something she was already missing. And she missed him. Missed them. Missed her family. Missed Storybrooke.

But still, she drove away from the town she had called home with her son beside her and sent a silent goodbye to the man she wished to remember, the man she had left asleep in his room. She said goodbye to Killian Jones and to the future he could have given her. She was almost thankful that she was losing her memories.

---

When he appears at her door, a bright happy smile on his face and her name spilling from his lips, she is surprised to find him in front of her. For so long, he was the main character in her dreams, in her fantasies, the first and only person she would think about at night, the man whose mere idea was enough to have her refuse that furniture seller’s invitation. And feeling his lips against hers sparks something inside her, a feeling of right, of balance, of peace. 

But she pushes him away, she brings her knee up to his crotch and she closes the door on his face. It’s impossible and she refuses it, ignoring the way her heart is still pounding on her chest.

But he’s persistent. Deep down, she knew he wouldn’t give up. He says his name is Killian and she can almost feel the way her mouth would wrap around it in the throes of passion. His name is Killian and he tells her impossible things. He begs her to trust him and damn her, she does. She takes the vial from his hand and downs the liquid in one go. The memories assault her all at once - her parents, her son, Storybrooke, him.

“Killian?”

His eyes soften with his smile. “Did you miss me?”

She hears the teasing tone in his voice but she also sees the way his eyes plead with her, burn into her, and she does, she misses him so much that it’s almost like a physical tether pulling her to him. She takes hold of his face, vial forgotten on the floor, and pulls his lips to hers, hoping her desperate kiss answers his question. His arms wrapping tightly around her waist tells her it does.

“Emma-”

“I’m sorry for leaving you,” she interrupts, her forehead touching his, her eyes clenched shut. “I wasn’t going to be able to leave if you were awake, and I-”

He silences her with a kiss, this one a mere press of his lips and she feels his smile against her mouth. “I know, love.” His hand cups her face, his thumb caressing the apple of her cheek. “I missed you too.”

She pulls him for a deep kiss, her tongue finding its way into his mouth, their moans lost against their lips, her fingers buried in his hair. She can still feel the way he touched, the way he held her, the way he marked her, the way he filled her. There is a burning inside her and she yearns for him just as she did that night a year ago.

“Wanna come to my apartment?” she murmurs against his lips, grinning at the way his hand tightens on her hip. 

“I’ll follow you anywhere, love.” And she believes him.

The walk back to her apartment isn’t long and she has done that path many times over the past year but now, hand in hand with the man she wants nothing more than to see naked again, it feels like an eternity. As they reach her door, she sends a silent thanks to Henry’s sleepover plans before opening it. She pulls Killian inside by the lapel of his coat, his back slamming against the door and closing it in a quick movement. His pleased grin tells her he likes it when she takes control but she is much more interested in what his mouth can do when it’s kissing her.

She has eliminated any space between them, letting her feel his moan reverberate against her chest. Her hands have found their way inside his coat and she is grasping and pulling at his shirt and waistcoat needing him naked. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” She complains before she slips his large coat from his shoulders.

“So are you.” His hand grasps at her jean-clad rear while his hook digs into her sweater. She hums in agreement and grins at his displeased moan when she pulls away from him.

“I need space to take off my clothes, don’t you think?” With a pointed gaze, she drops her coat and pulls off her sweater. 

“I’m incapable of thought around you, love.” He speaks towards her breasts and she would roll her eyes if she didn’t feel the goosebumps his intense gaze caused. Wanting to expedite the removal of their clothes, she began to walk backwards into her room and away from his grasp. 

Almost like he is reading her mind, he unbuttons his vest one-handed, the sight reminding her of his masterful fingers and the way he played her. He unbuttons his shirt only enough to pull it off by the collar. Her hands fall to the button of her jeans just as his find his laces. She kicks off her boots and throws them somewhere in the room, his bigger ones receiving the same treatment. They stand in the middle of her bedroom when she finally removes her jeans. His trousers fall to the floor and she is reminded of how the Enchanted Forest probably doesn’t have boxers when his cock is free to be admired by her lustful gaze.

“Swan.” His hoarse voice makes her drift her gaze up to his eyes and she is reminded of their fire, of their lust, now and then. “You’re looking at me like you want to devour me.” There’s no complaint, it’s almost like a wish he doesn’t want to admit to but she does.

Slowly, she steps up to him, his cock so close to her. Her eyes remain on his and the way they darken at her proximity. With a smirk, she grasps his length in her fist and nibbles at his parted lower lip. “That’s because I do.” 

Swiftly and silently thanking her carpeted floor, she sinks down to her knees, wasting no time in dragging her tongue along the underside of his cock, the memory and the feeling of how he feels inside her mouth causing her to moan against him. His hand wastes no time in grasping onto her hair and she rewards him by welcoming him inside her mouth.

His moan echoes in her room and she closes her eyes in pleasure, in happiness. Her mouth works around him slowly but determinedly, his loud response spurring her on. Her hand slips between her legs to find her already wet center and circles her clit with her finger. His hand flexes on her hair and she drags her teeth over his underside dragging a loud curse from him. Tongue lapping over his slit, she looks up to find his eyes on her, burning with hunger.

“Pull my hair,” she orders before taking a deep breath and taking his whole length down her throat. His shout is loud and she slides two fingers inside her. She smiles internally when his fist twists in her hair and pulls, moving her up and down his length, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

“Fuck!” he curses before she feels him pull her away from his cock. She looks up at him breathing heavily and with her fingers rubbing small circles over her clit. “Fuck…” he repeats in a dazed whisper before he pulls her to her feet by her hair and crashes their mouths together, moans lost in the intense kiss. “What a heavenly mouth you have, Swan,” he whispers when they pull away, his teeth pulling on her bottom lip.

“I need you inside me,” she whimpers, grinding her hips where his cock is pressed against her belly. “Please, Killian.” 

His growl is the only warning she gets before his lips slant over hers and his hook tears at her bra. She moans against his mouth as she removes it the rest of the way and her nipples rub against his chest hair. She feels the bed against the back of her knees but is not allowed to fall with the way his left arm holds her against him. 

“I won’t last long,” he warns, looking into her eyes, his lips swollen and red like hers must look.

“Me either.” She can feel it, deep inside her, that earth-shattering orgasm she knows is about to be pulled out of her. They have all day, all night, forever. That thought has her pull his lips to hers, her nails digging into his back, his moan reverberating in her chest, in her heart.

He nods with closed eyes before he turns her around and she finds herself face down on her bedspread, feet on her carpeted floor and nudged apart by his. Her hips sway in expectation, in the feeling of him filing her once more, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. She feels him peeling off her underwear and then his lips at her lower back, at her hips, kissing at the uncovered skin of her plump cheeks, her hands fisting her sheets at his touch. 

At the same time her underwear slips down to her ankles, his mouth finds her center, pulling a gasping moan from her lips. His pleased hum vibrates against her folds and she moves her hips closer to his face. “You’re so ready for me, love.”

She nods and looks at him over her shoulder. “It’s been a long time.”

A shadow passes over his eyes before he nods. “Then let’s not wait any longer.” 

“Please.” Her hips wiggle and begging becomes easier with him, when she knows she can lower her walls and he’ll keep her safe.

The world rights itself when he slowly drags against her walls and she feels like she found the missing piece of a puzzle. His chest is heaving as he waits for her to adjust to him, his eyes burning against her skin when she clenches around him. “Take me, Killian.”

His hips pull back and she is already waiting for the moment they’ll return to her. Her moan is lost in the plush quilt when he bottoms out inside her. His pace is relentless against her and it almost makes her forget the year they were apart. Almost. His brace keeps her hips in place while his hand on her upper back keeps her chest against the bed, her nipples rubbing against the fabric with every thrust. His hips stutter against her at a particularly deep thrust and she wonders how long he’ll be able to last and if it’ll be long enough for her to join him.

Before she can move her hand to her clit to help her along, his hand runs up to the back of her neck, fisting her hair and pulling. The pain mixed with pleasure is delicious and she needlessly places her hands on the bed to hold her up. “Yes! More, please, harder!” 

His fist tightens in her hair and it’s almost perfect, she just needs- The curve of his hook on her clit, pressing against her bundle of nerves, brings her to a loud climax, his name echoing in the hot room. She is pulled to an upright position and his arms wrap around her waist, slamming one, two, three more times against her before he comes with his mouth against her shoulder. His chest heaves against her back, his breathing is hot on her shoulder and she can feel their release drip down her legs. It’s perfect.

“Emma,” he whispers as his lips kiss their way up her neck. “I missed you so much.” His voice is wrecked over more than their straining activities and she lets her head fall over his shoulder to kiss his jawline. 

“Come with me,” she mumbles against his skin, wincing when he slips out of her. Taking hold of his hand, she pulls him to her ensuite. “We need a shower.”

They are quiet as she guides him inside the glass case before she follows. They are quiet as the warm water runs down their bodies, as they slather their bodies in soap, as he massages shampoo in her hair with his hand, as she does the same for him, as they let the water clean them of any remaining product. It’s good - feeling him so close, his touch, his presence. She wants it everyday. She wants him, not just his body, him.

Still without talking, she guides their dry bodies under her sheets, not caring for the afternoon sun still shining outside her window. She needs to lay with him, she needs to have this slow moment with him, to have this time. His eyes stay on hers as they lay on their sides facing each other under her cozy sheets and his hand leaves her grip to move her still damp hair behind her ear, his fingers ghosting over her jawline until his thumb runs over her bottom lip.

“You came to bring me home, didn’t you?” She doesn’t wait for his answer, knows it already. “Something happened.”

“I came back for you,” he answers, his hand taking hers back in his grip. “Something has happened but to be honest, I was just waiting for an excuse to come back to you. Someone sent me a memory potion and a message that a curse was coming, so I took the Jolly Roger as fast as I could away from its purview.”

Her eyes widen. “You outran a curse?” 

“I’m a hell of a Captain.” His smirk is small but it still makes his eyes shine and she brings her free hand to his face. His eyes flutter closed at her touch. “As soon as the dust settled, I knew that the barriers were down and all I needed was a magic bean to find you.”

“Magic beans are not easy to come by.” Her eyebrows rise in surprise and suspicion.

“They are if you have something of value to trade.” His words are careful and his eyes lower to her shoulder.

“Like what?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head before returning his gaze to hers, pain hidden beneath resolve. “Now that you have your memories back, we can return to Storybrooke and see what the damage is. All that matters is that you remember.”

There is more to the story, she can tell. She had seen his desperation for her memories to return and now she sees the grief he tries to hide. “What did you trade for the bean, Killian?”

His eyes and mouth widen at her unrelenting questioning and for a moment, she wonders if he is going to lie to her. “It really is of no consequence, Em-.” 

With her hands on his shoulders, she forces his back onto the mattress while she sits looking down at him, her eyes drilling into his. “What was the price?”

He sighs defeatedly. “The Jolly Roger.”

Her breathing stops and she feels her lips part and eyes widen. His ship, his home, and he traded it to bring her back, for her. She can feel her heart slam against her chest at the realization but instead of panic, there is something else, something scarier, something that had ruined her before. 

But as she looks into his eyes, those loyal, determined blue eyes, she realizes that this is different, she is different and he is different too. And suddenly, it all comes down to a simple truth. “I love you, Killian.”

It comes unrestrained, the words wrapping around the silence that fills the room. His eyes are bright and wide, an overwhelming hope and disbelief making her want to repeat those words until he believes in them. So she does, her voice stronger than before, more confident. 

“I love you.”

She is an open book to him. He reads her heart in her eyes and she sees the moment he finds that simple, wonderful truth. His lips stretch out into a dazzling smile, the definition of happiness. “I love you, Emma.” And how could you not smile at such beautiful words?

Their lips meet in a soft kiss, softer than any kiss they had shared but just as good, if not better. The kiss is more than skin connecting with skin. She feels whole as his arms wrap around her and her hands cup his face. She loves him and he loves her. 

It is perfect.

Tomorrow, she’d worry about fairytale parents, villains and curses. Tomorrow, she’d be their Savior. Tomorrow, she'll go back home. Tomorrow, she’d worry.

Today? Today, she is going to enjoy the feel of Killian’s arms around her. Today, she is going to let him love her with his mouth, with his body, with his words, with his actions. Today, she is going to be Emma Swan, the woman who loves a fairytale pirate and is loved in return.

[overlordofthelollipopguild]

Trying Something New: Chapter 2: The Healer and the Thief -- a Captain Swan, Once Upon a Time fanfiction

Summary: 

After Rumplestiltskin traps Emma and Killian in the past, they manage to escape him and realize they will have to live in the past in order to catch up to the future.

Read on fanfiction.net or AO3 or below.

Note: Remember that Emma and Killian have given themselves the aliases of Emily and Colin, and they told Marian that her name was Maria. So any POVs that aren't Killian or Emma with an exception or two, will call them Colin and Emily and Maria. I know it will be confusing for a bit, but that's partly why I chose names so close to their actual names, not just to help Emma and Killian remember but to help readers as well.

For my own sanity, Marian's POVs the narration still calls her Marian, but she will call herself Maria. 

Also, while I was writing the muse went wild and decided to bring in a character from a certain kingdom that I wasn't prepared for. 

And the muse decided Killian's new backstory, not me. I don't know why I let the muse out of the kennel, because she always goes wild. 

Hope you guys enjoy. 

Chapter 2: The Healer and the Thief

When they arrived in town, Killian led them to an inn further away from the docks where it wasn’t all that busy. The small inn looked quite cozy with its brick facade and warm light shining through the windows. 

He opened the door for Emma and Marian, allowing them to enter first. 

Emma was relieved to be inside where it was warm and where she was one step closer to a bed. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could’ve spent walking, even with Killian's support. She felt like a freight train hit her and she'd collapse at any moment. 

The late fall chill was settling in and soon enough winter would be coming. Emma hoped they’d be back home by then if she could get that stupid wand to actually work. 

“May I help you?” An older woman with a kind smile, but sharp brown eyes, looked at them from behind round glasses. 

“Yes, milady.” Killian stepped forward with a charming smile. “My wife,” he motioned to Emma, “our companion,” he motioned to Marian, “and I were all traveling on our way to your lovely town when our horses were stolen.”

The old woman’s eyes widened. “Oh my dears, I’m so sorry to hear that.” 

Killian played his part well as he asked her for two rooms; one for Marian and one for them. 

The older woman looked at Emma softly, clearly pleased that a young, newly married couple (according to Killian’s story) were planning on making Marawick Harbor their home. As Killian laid on the charm, Emma smiled small and shy, acting the part of the blushing bride. Honestly, she was too tired to try to speak and add to their act.  

Marian smiled as well, but with her memories gone, she wasn’t too confident in her interactions. 

“Of course, dear.” The old lady smiled a little bigger. “I’m Mrs. Wright. How long will you three be staying with us?”

“Well, we’ll be here for a while.” Killian said. “It might take some time to find more permanent lodgings.”

“Oh how wonderful.” Mrs. Wright smiled. “Since you don’t know how long you’ll stay, perhaps pay for five days and should you find more permanent lodgings before then, you’ll be reimbursed.”

“A lovely idea.” Killian said. “I’ll be paying for both rooms. Poor Maria here lost the most in the robbery. She helped us when we needed it, so it’s only fair to return the favor.”

Emma looked around as the prices were discussed and the room paid for; it was very clean and tidy, which gave her hopes for their room. It was then that Emma realized a flaw in the marriage plan. They’d be getting one room which very likely would have just one bed. Even if it was a big bed, it was still one bed. They’d slept near each other before, camping out in the Enchanted Forest and Neverland, but this would be different. They’d be in closer quarters for one thing. He’d probably be a gentleman and take the floor, but having slept in worse places, Emma didn’t want him to suffer a full five nights or longer if they couldn’t find a place to live. 

“Ready, my love?” Killian asked, turning to her. 

Marian was already following Mrs. Wright up the stairs. 

Emma smiled and took his arm again. Her heart skipped hearing the “my” before love, but she knew that it was just for show for the old lady. Of course, he had feelings for her, but he couldn’t love her so soon? Well, all right, they’d known each other for over a year and a half, but the better part of it they were separated and she hadn’t even remembered him. 

They were led to a room on the second floor, the lady unlocked one for Marian and then the one across the hall for them. One key went to Marian and the other to Killian. “A hot bath will be brought up shortly for both of you young ladies.”

Emma and Marian both thanked her. When Mrs. Wright disappeared, Emma stepped towards Marian. “I could heal your head if you’d like.” Really Emma felt obligated to since they caused her head injury, but she wasn't sure if she could stand to use more magic. 

Marian shook her head. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. Besides, you’ve done so much for me already. Both of you. I don’t even know where to begin thanking you.”

“No need to worry about it.” Killian reassured her. 

Marian smiled before entering her own bedroom. 

“So what do we do now?” Emma asked once they were ensconced in the sanctuary of their private room. Emma unbuttoned her cape, glancing at the single bed at the center of the room. It looked to be about full sized. That would be close sleeping quarters. Emma draped her cape over the back of the armchair by the fire, which was low, but still burning. She ignored the singular bed for now, moving instead to sit in the armchair in front of the fireplace. It was a great relief to sit down. 

“Well, if we’ve learned anything on this adventure, we can’t mess with the main timeline.” Killian said, leaning against the mantle of the fireplace. “So best thing to do is stay low. We’ll need to find work and a place to live since we don’t know how long we’ll be here. Marawick is a busy port, but it’s far from your parents and Regina.” He explained. “I can guarantee my crew only docked here in emergencies, and since we know my ship, should that happen, we can easily avoid that.” 

“Okay.” Emma nodded. “What job is low profile?” 

“What skills do you have?” Killian asked. 

“Well, I’m a former thief, waitress, bail bonds person, and sheriff.” Emma said. “I doubt the Enchanted Forest has many female law enforcement officers.”

“Well the military is the law.” Killian said. “But you’re not wrong. Female soldiers are unheard of. I’m not sure about waitresses, but a barmaid might be too risky, especially if someone we knew or my past self showed up.”

Emma could agree with that. In her time, bar brawls were a constant, so she expected taverns in this day and age would be full of fights that would draw way too much attention. “So that leaves me with nothing.” 

“We’ll figure it out, Swan.” Killian reassured her. “We just have to stick together.”

Emma couldn’t help but smile. “I’d like that.”

His heart stuttered a bit in surprise before he smiled shyly at her.

Emma’s own heart skipped a beat. They were interrupted by a knock on the door. 

Hurrying over to the door, Killian opened it to find maids with the bath. Once it was settled and they were given towels, rags, and soap, the women asked if anything else was needed. 

“No, thank you.” Emma smiled, allowing Killian to usher the maids away.

Killian set up the privacy screen. “I can leave if you’d like.” 

“The privacy screen is enough.” Emma said, walking behind it. She saw Killian’s silhouette through it due to the firelight behind him. She watched him sit in the armchair, which had its back to Emma. As she took off her clothes, hanging them up, she realized that they didn’t have clothes for bed. With how much magic she used today, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to use it anymore. “What about you?” Emma asked, making conversation to distract herself from that line of thought.

“I can live without one.” Killian said. He took a seat in another armchair and closed his eyes. It had been quite an exhausting couple of days. 

“Why don’t you use the bath after me? I’ll be quick so the water will be warm.” Emma suggested as she soaped herself up. 

“Don’t worry about me, love.” Killian said. “Also, soap in this time isn’t used in hair. You’ll have to use hair oil. Over there on the vanity.” 

Emma glanced over towards the vanity where there were a few bottles of oil, a hairbrush, a comb, a hand mirror, and other items sat ready for use. “Killian, we can both take a bath. We both need it.”

Killian wasn’t too sure about that. Then he looked over at the bed. The lone bed. That was an easy enough fix. “You can have the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

A huff of frustration left Emma over the subject change. Why was he being so stubborn? “We’re adults, Jones. We can responsibly share a bed.”

He sighed, sensing that they’d only end up arguing more about it if he didn’t concede. Maybe she’d fall asleep first and he could sneak onto the floor. It probably wouldn’t effect her as much as it would him for them to share a bed together anyway. “Fine.”

Emma knew the conversation wasn't over and he was still going to fight her on this, but Emma was tired enough to take whatever victories she could get. Sinking into the warm, steaming water, Emma bit back a moan of pleasure. It wouldn’t do to make sex sounds in mixed company, particularly company she knew would enjoy hearing those sounds. Despite the warm water, thinking about sex and Killian in the same go sent a thrill down her spine. Stop it, Emma. Come on, you can’t think about this. When you get back home and things settle down, then you and Killian can have a long talk. 

Emma continued to lather herself up, trying to dismiss the man from her thoughts, despite him being only feet away. 

Killian stared into the fire, desperately trying to block out the sounds of water splashing behind him. The last thing he needed was picturing Emma naked and wet. Shaking his head, he thought about the next steps that needed to be taken. They needed more clothes. Emma couldn’t keep conjuring things or transforming items. She was hiding it, but he could tell that her magic was draining her. Perhaps in the morning, they could go to a tailor and order some clothes. He’d also have to give some money to Marian as she was as much his responsibility now as Emma, even if he felt Emma was his priority above all else. 

He walked over to where he left his coat and took it back to the armchair. Going through his pockets, he emptied everything out onto a small circular table beside the armchair just to double check how much he had after paying for the rooms in advance. A handful of gold and silver coins, which would last them awhile. Various jewelry pieces with diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and opals. Those would fetch a good price. He’d probably use up the coin they had while job and house hunting and save the jewelry for emergencies. He returned everything to his pockets and realized the room was silent. He looked over at the privacy screen. “Emma?” 

There was no answer. 

“Emma?” He called again. When there was still no answer, Killian hesitated, but he had a feeling she’d fallen asleep. Carefully, he peaked around the screen, trying not to see anything he shouldn’t. As he looked, he saw Emma was asleep, her head bent back over the tub rim, hair cascading out. Knowing how tired she was, he was loathed to wake her, but it wouldn’t be appropriate to get her out of bath without her consent. He walked over, kneeling next to the tub. Reaching out his hand, he gently shook her exposed shoulder with his hand. “Emma, love, wake up.”

It took a few more shakes and calling her name for her eyes to flutter open. “Killian?” 

“You fell asleep in the tub.” Killian explained. He stepped away and grabbed a towel as Emma moved to sit up. He held it out for her, diverting his eyes. 

Emma sleepily stood up in the tub and took the towel from Killian, shakily wrapping it around her body. She swayed a bit as the fog of sleep refused to clear. Damn, her magic took more out of her than she thought.

Realizing that Emma was still tired, Killian held his hand and fake hand out to her. “Here, love.”

Emma took his hand and allowed him to hook his arm around her to help her out of the tub. “Thanks.” As she steadied herself, she looked up at him. “We don’t have sleeping clothes.”

And she was too tired to conjure any. Killian understood her meaning. “Go ahead and dry off. You can sleep in my shirt.”

Emma nodded and walked over to the bed. 

Killian quickly unbuttoned his vest and hung it up, before pulling off his shirt. He walked over to find Emma sitting on the bed, wrapped in her towel. “Here you are.” He set the shirt beside her and turned away. 

Quickly Emma shrugged on the shirt over the towel. She stood up, straightening the shirt, and dropping the towel to the floor. She pulled back the covers and fell into the bed, letting sleep claim her once more. 

Killian turned after a few minutes and saw Emma passed out, the covers haphazardly over her. His brows drew together with concern. He shouldn’t have pushed her to use her magic so much when she wasn’t used to it. Walking over to her, Killian properly tucked her in before taking his own bath. The water was lukewarm, but that was fine. At least he’d get clean. Once he was done, he took a throw blanket and the other pillow and made a pallet on the floor. It wasn’t comfortable, but he’d slept on worse. Finally letting the days catch up to him, Killian let his exhaustion take over and he soon fell asleep. 

****************************

After her bath, Marian realized since they were robbed, she had no other clothes. She dried off and decided to sleep in her tunic and undergarments. There was no money on her, so she wasn’t going to be able to buy much of anything without a job. 

Colin had been too kind to pay for her room for the week; he and Emily both did so much for her that she felt she could never repay them. 

Still, her lack of memory didn’t sit well with her. Her head ached, but it dull now. Colin and Emily looked so surprised at her amnesia that Marian doubted they were involved. They’d been so kind she doubted there was anything nefarious motivating them to help her. 

But why could’t she remember anything? Even her own name eluded her until Colin told her it was Maria. Her name didn’t feel quite right, but if that’s the name they knew, surely it had to be her name? Who was Maria though? Where was she from? Why had she been on her way to Marawick Harbor? Did she have family here? Or had she left family behind her?

It was all so confusing and overwhelming. 

Dressing for bed, Marian tried hard to think of anything. What was her mother’s name? Her father’s? Did she have any siblings? Aunts? Uncles?

Nothing came to her. Her mind filled with absolute nothingness.

She fell into bed, her dull ache pounding as her mind fought to uncover its secrets. 

Tears filled her eyes as a deep sense of pain and loneliness overcame her. No one knew who she was, not really, and she had no memory of those who knew her. Colin and Emily, kind as they were, were strangers. Even they admitted they’d only just met her on their travels; likely they’d known her for a day or two at most. 

Why had she been traveling alone before? Perhaps she was independent and stubborn. Had she decided to go out on her own? Had she left a home behind to forge a new path?

Her pillow muffled her sobs as Marian allowed the emotions of the day to possess her. 

****************************

He was up before the sun, still feeling exhaustion in his bones. Pushing himself up, Killian looked up at the bed from his position on the floor, finding Emma still asleep. Good, she deserved rest after everything that she’d been through. Unfortunately, that also meant that he couldn’t get his shirt back just yet. He hoped to get some things done this morning, but he didn’t want to wake her. Perhaps he could don his vest and coat, but that would get him some strange stares. It wasn't cold enough to have his coat fully buttoned up. No, he’d just have to wait until Emma awoke. 

Killian rose from the floor and stretched away the soreness from the past few days and sleeping on the floor. After a good stretch, he went over to where the water pitcher was and poured a glass. Leaning against the dresser, he watched Emma sleep while he drank the water. Sometime in the middle of the night, she moved to the middle of the bed, her arm stretched out over one side. Her face was relaxed in sleep, not peaceful, but at least open and unguarded. It was a nice sight to see. One day, he hoped to see her unguarded in her conscience state as well. 

He wondered if Marian was doing all right. Before they headed out into town, he’d need to give her some money to buy herself some things. While they had to look out for Marian, Killian wished he could keep his focus on Emma. Even though Marian had no memories, surely some things from her life still stuck with her, but Emma was completely new to this world and he had to help her learn. It would be hard to help her with Marian around and not raise Marian’s suspicions. 

When he finished his water, he perused the room for something to do. There were a few books, but nothing piqued his interest, so he chose to sit in the armchair. Once Emma was awake, they’d dress and get Marian and then get some breakfast. Then they’d get clothes and much needed items. After that, permanent lodgings would be a priority. Jobs would be another matter. Since this was a port town, perhaps he could be a fisherman or find some job on the docks. Those were the ones he was best qualified for. For Emma, that would be a little harder. Marian was another story altogether. 

They agreed a barmaid was too risky for Emma. There weren’t truly any jobs that her bail bonds or sheriff skills would be of use. It truly was unfortunate how limited jobs for women were in the Enchanted Forest. There had to be something that Emma could do. Though they wouldn’t know what jobs were even available until they ventured out in the town.

He watched the sun rise through the window of the inn, lost in thought as his mind turned to ways to return to their future. Rumplestiltskin wasn’t a viable option, but Killian didn’t know much of other sorcerers or witches around who could help. They still had the wand, of course, but Emma hadn’t gotten it to work. He wasn’t sure if Rumplestiltskin had been lying or not, but if he’d been telling the truth and Emma’s magic was back, then why hadn’t it worked? What was keeping them here?

As the morning sun rose higher, Killian's attention returned to Emma. Concerned that she wasn't waking, he walked over to the bed, sitting at her side. Gently, Killian brushed a few errant locks away from her face. "Emma?" 

No response. She was breathing; her chest rising and falling steadily. 

That was a relief, but Killian wondered if her magic use had unintended consequences. "Emma, love, can you wake up for me?" 

Not even a groan or grumble left her. She was warm to the touch, but not feverish. She was sleeping, just not waking. 

There was a knock on their room door.

Killian silently cursed. Clearly her magic exhausted her, but it wasn't something he could explain to the maids. Not if they wanted to keep her magic secret. "Who is it?"

"It's Maria." Marian called through the door. 

Killian waked over to the door and opened it, pulling her inside, before shutting the door. 

Marian registered that he was shirtless and tensed up. "Now just wait a minute, you cannot just manhandle..."

"I know, I'm sorry." Killian said, cutting her off. "Emily isn't waking up." He headed back towards the bed, not sure what to do. 

"What do you mean she's not waking up?" Marian followed him, concerned. 

"I think she used too much magic." It was the only thing Killian could think of for Emma's state. "She's not use to using it so much."

Guilt settled in Marian's gut. Hadn't she pushed Emily to use her magic? "What can I do to help?"

Killian brushed his hand against Emma's cheek. He figured she'd be all right for now if she was just sleeping off the ill effects, though Killian worried about just how long Emma would stay like this. "For now, I don't think there's anything we can do." He turned to Marian. "I need to go around town and get some things done. Since we didn't have sleeping clothes, Emily borrowed my shirt. Can you help me change her into her undergarments?" 

Marian nodded, walking over to the vanity where Killian folded up Emma's clothes the night before. 

Killian leaned over Emma and whispered. "Forgive me love. I'll be on my best behavior." His joke fell flat even for him. 

When Marian brought Emma's undergarments and tunic over, they worked together to undress her and redress her, Killian keeping his touch as light and noninvasive as possible without causing suspicion. After all, he was meant to be Emma's husband. This wasn't supposed to be the first time he ever saw her fully unclothed. With Marian's help though, it was a quick process. 

"Could you stay here with her?" Killian asked Marian. "I know it's a lot to ask..."

"Not at all." Marian said. "You've done so much for me, this is the least I can do."

Killian nodded gratefully. He pulled on his shirt and began to fully dress for the day. "I don't know if a healer can help her, but I look around for one. I have other things to do, but I'll come check in when I can. If there are any changes, send someone for me." He ensured all of his coins and jewels were on him. Once he was ready, Killian couldn't help himself, he went back to Emma and kissed her forehead. "I'll be back, Swan." He whispered. "I promise you'll be all right." 

He turned to Marian. "Take care of her." 

"I will." Marian said, not sure exactly what she else she could do.

Killian left the room with a determined stride. He needed to find a healer, but not just any healer. He needed one who understood or had magic. Could he find one here? 

Mrs. Wright might know where to start. 

He headed down to the front desk. 

"Good morning, Mr. Jones." Mrs. Wright greeted. Then she saw his grim expression. "Is everything all right?"

"My wife seems to have fallen ill." Killian said. "Do you know where I can find a healer?"

"Oh yes," Mrs. Wright said. "There's a woman who lives near the docks. Vivienne Wilder. I'm not one to fall ill myself, but others say her touch is like magic."

Magic. That intrigued him. "Thank you, Mrs. Wright."

Now, he needed to find out if it was like magic or actual magic. 

****************************

“Oh leave me alone.” An old man growled at the young woman standing before him. His scowl deepened the wrinkles on his pale face. One milky blue eye didn’t see ahead of him, while the other glared at Vivienne Wilder, the resident healer of the Wharf.

Vivienne, who looked in her twenties, sported long black hair in a tight bun. Sepia skin stood out underneath her pale yellow top, and her brown corset and skirts were plain. Sharp dark eyes rested under an arched brow. “Mr. Holbrook, I need to check your ankle.”

“Grandpa.” A young red-haired girl of about ten poked the older man in the shoulder. “Let Miss Vivienne take a look. Grandma says it’s been bothering you.”

“I don’t need no healer.” Mr. Holbrook huffed. “Me ankle is just fine.”

His granddaughter shook her head and spoke to the healer. “Grandma says he’s been limping for days now. Thinks he pulled something.”

“You hush now, Eileen.” Mr. Holbrook admonished. “I can move around just fine.”

“Mr. Holbrook, are you in pain or is your ankle just causing discomfort?” Vivienne asked, deciding to ignore his cantankerousness. 

Holbrook huffed. “It’s just fine I tell you.”

Vivienne shook her head. “Fine. If it’s causing true pain I suggest drinking a cup of ginger tea in the morning and at night.” She handed a vial of oil to Eileen. “Also, rub rosemary oil along the ankle every night and wrap it in a cold compress.” 

“How much for the oil?” Eileen asked.

Vivienne smiled. “No charge this time, but if he’s still having problems, let me know.”

“I ain’t having problems.” Holbrook grumbled. 

Vivienne shook her head and walked away. Mr. Holbrook would come around; he was just old and stubborn. She needed to see to other patients. While she'd lived in Marawick Harbor for just over a year, it took time to earn trust and build up her reputation. 

It wasn’t the first time she had to start over and she doubted it would be the last. There were times she missed home, of course, but going back wasn’t an option. 

As Vivienne turned up an alley, an old woman caught her eye. Wrap in a cloak of black, with silver hair framing her ancient features. 

The Crone’s grey eyes pierced Vivienne in place.

Vivienne curtsied. “Well met, Wise One.” 

“Well met, daughter.” The Crone said. “Lir’s son returns. He has the Light with him.” The Crone was never one to beat around the bush. 

Vivienne’s heart stopped for a long moment. “The older one or the younger one?” 

The Crone grinned showing crooked, yellowed teeth. “The younger one.”

“And he has a Savior with him?” Vivienne scoffed. She remembered him well. Always trailing after her and his brother. Unlike his brother, Lir’s younger son inherited the sea’s tempestuous nature. Leap first, think never. 

“Not just any Savior.” The Crone said. “The Savior. The one to finish what your father began.” 

Disbelief was a rather paltry term for what Vivienne felt in that moment. “The Savior?” It took a moment longer to compose herself. That’s why the Crone was here. “You need something of me?”

“The Savior is untrained. Reckless with her magic.” The Crone said. Her ancient eyes looked Vivienne up and down. “You’ll have to do.” 

“Me?” It didn’t take long for her to understand. “Me? You want me to train the Savior in the craft?” 

“It isn’t as though your father is available.” The Crone lamented. 

Of course, she’d prefer it if he was. Vivienne thought bitterly. Her father was The Sorcerer after all. “What of Lir’s son?” 

“He remembers nothing.” The Crone shrugged. “That is for the best. He’d be much more dangerous if he did.” The old woman stepped forward, looking Vivienne straight in the eye. “Train the Savior, and you will be rewarded.” Then she disappeared in a swirl of mist. 

“Fuck.” Vivienne cursed. The last person she wanted to deal with was Killian Jones. 

****************************

His eyes searched the market for a new mark. Sure, he got proper work once in a while being a lamplighter or a courier ever so often, but Dodger couldn’t let his skills get rusty. 

Any thief worth their salt kept perfecting their art. 

A new face to market caught Dodger’s attention. Average looking fellow, with a thick beard. His clothes were rather nice. A determined stride told Dodger the man was on a mission, which meant he’d be too focused on his goal to pay much attention. 

Dodger used the alleys to get ahead of the man. It looked as though the man was headed in the direction of the docks, so Dodger hurried along in between buildings, coming out near the end of the market, closer to the Wharf end. 

He was now in front of his mark, watching the man walk through patrons with ease. Dodger pretended to be looking at stalls as he made his way towards his mark. Passing by closely, Dodger’s feather light touch fished a few coins out of the man’s pocket. 

Smirking at his success, Dodger didn’t expect a hand on his arm, jerking him back. 

Fierce blue eyes glared at him. “I’ll have my coins back, if you please.” 

His mark marked him. Great. Okay, time to play the innocent victim. 

“I beg your pardon, sir.” Dodger’s offended act was instinct. Even as he looked at the man, sensing danger, he thought maybe he could keep it up. After all, how dangerous could this posh bloke be? "Whatever do you mean?"

The man rolled his eyes. “I don’t have times for games. Hand over the coins and I won’t alert the authorities.” He held out his hand expectantly. 

Dodger stepped back to put distance between them. “Good sir, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about." He needed to convince this man that he was wrong; if he left now, the man would alert the soldiers, and Dodger hadn't gotten caught in Marawick yet, but he didn't have the means to leave the city. 

The man smirked and Dodger's blood ran cold. Calculating anger filled blue eyes. Dodger swallowed. You sure know how to pick 'em, Dodge. 

"Perhaps you didn't hear me clearly." The man stepped closer, hand grabbing Dodger's arm in a vice grip. "I've no time to mess about. Give me my coins, and I won't gut you like a codfish and leave you here for the vultures to pick apart."

Something in the man's eyes made Dodger believe his threats. Unassuming as the man was when Dodger marked him, this man was far from unassuming now. Dodger debated for a moment longer; run or give in. Though he doubt he'd be running from this man for long. He handed the coins over. 

"Thank you," The man grinned tightly before walking off. 

Dodger watched him go, an intense curiosity filling him. Just who was that man?

Don't do it, Dodge. He told himself. Leave it be.

Ah hell, he was the Artful Dodger. When did he ever leave well enough alone?

Dodger kept to the shadows as he followed the man into the Wharf. 

****************************

Emma woke up in a meadow of pink flowers. The sun shone through the canopy of trees, birds chirped, but the world felt as though it was covered in haze. 

"Killian?" Emma called out. Where was he? Where was the inn? She remembered being in the bath and then briefly Killian helping her out. 

She was fairly certain that she fell asleep in a bed. "Killian?" She slowly stood up, looking around at her surroundings. 

"He isn't here." A man spoke, appearing out of nowhere. 

Emma stepped back. "Who the hell are you?"

The man appeared young, in his late twenties or early thirties, it was hard to tell. He was dressed in a thick, brocade shirt, underneath a brown leather tunic vest, and brown pants. His dark brown eyes felt ancient as they looked her over. "I'm Merlin." He said simply.

Emma stared him down as she processed that. "Bullshit."

Merlin grinned. "You're parents are Snow White and Prince Charming, you've met the Evil Queen, Rumplestiltskin, Peter Pan, and your lover is Captain Hook, but Merlin existing is a stretch?"

"Hook isn't my..." Emma shook her head. "Never mind. So what, Camelot and Excalibur are real too?"

"Indeed they are." Merlin smirked knowingly. "But they are also concerns for another time. Right now, I'm more concerned about your appearance here."

"Where is here?" Emma asked. 

"The Astral Realm." Merlin said. "A plane of existence in between living and dead." He motioned to the meadow around them. "This is the Middlemist Meadow of Camelot. I used to tutor my students here. It's a place I find calming. You see, I'm in between life and death myself, trapped for eternity. This is my piece of home." Merlin focused on Emma. "It worries me that the Savior is here."

"I'm not dying, am I?" Emma asked, fear gripping at her heart. She didn't want to die without seeing her family or Killian again. 

"Depends on how you came to be here." Merlin said. "What happened, Miss Swan?"

"Uh, well, it's a long story." Emma said. 

Merlin smiled patiently, a paternal air about him. It made Emma wonder just how old he truly was. "I have plenty of time." He sat down amongst the flowers and beckoned Emma to join him. 

Warily, Emma joined him, uncertain about whether or not to trust him. Even so, she briefly explained her plight leaving out some details here and there she didn't deem necessary, but explaining about the time travel and her overuse of magic. 

"Ah, so you've been training under the Evil Queen." Merlin said. 

Emma hadn't mentioned that. "How did you know that?" Her eyes narrowed as she leaned away from him.

"The Astral Realm transcends realms." Merlin said. "I can be anywhere, any time, and watch anyone."

"Creepy." Emma huffed. 

Merlin shrugged. "It's useful. I've seen Storybrooke and I'm aware that Regina and the Dark One are the only two people you could learn magic from. Considering your magic is the antithesis to the Dark One, he certainly would never teach you. That leaves Regina, and she isn't one to actually sit you down and explain things."

"You're right about that." Emma said. "So what is happening to me?"

"You're fine." Merlin said. "You're in Healing Sleep."

"What is Healing Sleep?" Emma asked. 

"Magic drains the system." Merlin began. "Regina uses magic all the time, so she's built up a tolerance to the drain. More than that, she also isn't very powerful and limited on how much magic she can expend, so even if she felt the drain, it wouldn't cause total exhaustion. There are certain beings, demigods, products of True Love such as yourself, elves, true sorcerers, who have so much power that it's harder to control. You aren't limited on how much magic you can use like Regina is, which means you can overdraw your power. Thus causing Magical Fatigue. Healing Sleep happens when you over use your magic to the point your body forces you to rest in order to refill your magical reserves."

Disbelief overcame her. "Wait, I have unlimited magic?" 

"No, you have a higher limit of how much magic you can use." Merlin explained patiently. "True Love is the most powerful magic of all, but you don't have the same benefits of other species, who have power. You're still a mortal, you still bleed, and you will fatigue. Even after training and building up your tolerance, you would still need to watch how much magic you call upon." 

"Okay, well, I'm stuck in the past for the next four years," Emma sighed. "I'll need to learn this stuff. I just need to wake up first."

"Fate already has a teacher in mind." Merlin smiled. "You'll meet her soon. As for waking up, well, depending on your body's recovery time and how much magic you used, you could be asleep for days, or weeks, or..."

"Don't finish that sentence." Emma glared. "If you're some great sorcerer, why can't you teach me?"

"I'm indisposed at the moment." Merlin said. "You can only meet me in the Astral Realm, but it's dangerous to spend too much time here if you're a novice. It likes to play tricks sometimes, which means if you aren't careful to spot them, your soul could move on into the Afterlife."

Definitely want to avoid that. Emma thought. "Is there a way to speed up this sleep?"

Merlin's infernal knowing grin returned. "You'll learn in due time. Until then, rest and enjoy the Middlemist." 

****************************

Marian ate only a little of the soup the maid brought up for her and Emily. She told the maid that Emily was just sleeping off her illness, and she hoped she was right. Emily was still breathing, and she was warm. Nothing seemed amiss other than Emily would not wake. 

Marian attempted to wake her for lunch, but the blonde woman didn't react. Not a mumble from her lips, not a flutter of her eyes. 

She worried that Emily might not ever wake up. Colin was convinced that her magic had something to do with this, and he would know better being Emily's husband. Marian wondered if this was common. She wasn't surprised by magic existing, though her memories were gone, so surely magic was commonplace.

Why then did Colin and Emily want to hide Emily's magic? Was magic good to have, or was it dark? Colin and Emily didn't seem like bad people, and Emily's magic seemed so helpful.

Could she really trust these strangers after all? Or was it better to move on, and try to rebuild her life on her own? Her gut said Colin and Emily didn't mean any harm, but they also didn't know her. Should she try and find out who she was? Should she ask them if she mentioned where she was from and why she was moving here?

It was just strange that everything was gone. Even her dreams were hazy images, but nothing indicating her past. 

Marian sighed, pushing away her half eaten soup. She glanced where Emily lay, sleeping peacefully, wishing she could sleep just as well. "Why can't I remember?" She whispered to the silence around her. She looked at her hands. There were callouses, light as they were, so she was used to work off some sort. 

But what work? Did she do cleaning? Was she a barmaid? A seamstress? That was just another thing to figure out. Once Colin returned and she knew Emily was going to be all right, Marian needed to go into town and figure out just what to do next. She couldn't rely on them forever. It was time to figure out what little she could and go from there. 

Starting with a job. 

****************************

Killian waited outside a boarding house, where he was told the healer currently was checking on a patient. He hoped this Vivienne could help him. He figured someone with magic would be better, but perhaps the healer knew someone who could help with their situation. 

He just wanted Emma to be all right. He couldn't let anything happen to her, not when he promised to get her home. Not when he needed her safe and happy for his own sanity. 

A young woman with black hair exited the building, a basket of herbs, potions, and poultices in hand. 

Killian pushed off the wall of the house across the street and put himself in her path. "Excuse me, Miss?" 

The healer froze at his voice before turning to face him. Oddly, her dark eyes recognized him. 

An uneasy feeling settled over him. Had Emma unintentional glamoured the face of someone from around here? He doubted it. 

The woman glared at him. “How can I help you sir?” Her defensive stance had Killian backing up a bit.

He wasn't sure why she didn't like him, but he wasn't going to chance pissing her off more than she already was, not when he needed her help. “So sorry to bother you.” Killian smiled gently. “My name is Colin Jones. My wife and I recently moved to town.”

Surprise flickered over her expression. Vivienne relaxed a bit, realizing Killian truly didn't seem to remember her. Though she was confused about the wife part. The Savior couldn't be his wife, could she? That was a dangerous match if that was the case. As it was, the Savior needed to work on her glamour spell. It worked well for non-magical people, but if Vivienne could see through it, then so could the Dark One, or others a might more powerful. This close to the sea, it would be better to disguise Lir's son as strongly as possible. "And why am I interested in this information?"

"I heard you're the healer in town. My wife fell ill on our travels." Killian said. "I hoped you'd come look at her. She's not waking up."

His concern for the Savior was genuine. What did he mean by her not waking up? 

Vivienne wanted to tell him no and go back to her rounds, but the Crone wanted her to teach the Savior. It seemed that for the time being Killian and the Savior were a package deal. Vivienne would deal with that later. "Does she have a fever?"

Killian shook his head. "No, she's warm, but not feverish." Killian glanced around and slowly stepped closer, careful not to crowd her. "What do you know about magic?"

"Enough." Vivienne challenged. There was no way she'd give away her hand. Not to him. "Why?"

"Because my wife has magic." Killian spoke lowly as to not be overheard. "I think she used too much of it." He looked at her imploringly. 

Here's where Killian not having his memories hampered him. He'd been one of her father's best students, all the more why Vivienne disliked him, and now he had to come to her for basic magical knowledge. She'd feel smug if she didn't hate him so much. 

Alas, she had to teach the Savior, so she'd have to suffer Jones all over again. "All right, take me to her and I shall see what I can do."

His immense relief was palpable. "Thank you, miss."

"Vivienne." She introduced. "Vivienne Wilder."

[snowbellewells]

@jrob64 I know it’s taken me a minute, and I apologize for the wait, but it is finally time for your newest story, Joni!! I love that you’ve started this in Season 2, particularly in that stage of our (and Emma’s) getting to know Hook, where we really found ourselves drawn to him more than we felt we were probably supposed to be. He is still a man bent on revenge against the Crocodile above anything else, and you make that clear here in no uncertain terms. All the same, you also allow these very strong and definite glimpses of deeper humanity to show throw in his reactions and words, particularly when he is dealing with Emma. He does care, and it hurts when he isn’t believed or trusted, and he DOES NOT want to see her hurt the same way his Milah was.

It amazed me how you gave many of the season two events we remember their own slightly different twist or minor alteration, yet really the overall plot still progresses much as it would have done. If anything, you made it more sensible and streamlined- and allowed us to see more of Hook along the way! 😉 I would rather have your version of events and I’m curious to see where it will go from here now that Gold and Emma, followed by Hook are all headed for New York.

I also really liked your interaction between Emma and Mary Margaret near the beginning of the chapter, Hook’s interactions with the both of them, Emma and Hook and Hook and David at the station, and I always get a kick out of Leroy as well!

This may have been a gift for Krystal, but I am already finding it to be quite a treat as well!! 😍😍😍

Exacting His Revenge - Chapter 1

It's an international holiday, also known as @kmomof4's birthday! This story has been floundering in my WiPs folder for months under the title 'Bad Boy Hook'. I finally decided to try to finish it for Krystal's birthday, even though she actually helped plot it out! I'm not finished writing the story yet. It will have 3 chapters and chapter 2 is nearly finished, so hopefully the rest of it will be posted soon. Happiest of birthdays, K!!!

Special thanks to my beta @hookedmom.

Story Summary: When Hook sees an opportunity to finally get his revenge on Rumplestiltskin, he seizes it, putting him in the company of Emma Swan. A season 2 canon divergent story. 

Rating: T

Words: 6980

Also posted on ffn and A03

(Story found under the cut)

*********

Hook stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the dank wall of the dungeon containing the cell where Rumplestiltskin had once been imprisoned. He stared at the four women currently trapped there; or more accurately, he stared at Emma Swan, the woman who bested him twice in the last few days.

He refrained from snorting derisively as he listened to Cora taunt them, directing her venomous comments toward the dark haired woman who was somehow Emma’s mother. The Queen of Hearts was attempting to sound like a loving mother who just wanted to make her daughter Regina happy, but he knew better.

“...and now I’m going to give her the one thing she’s always wanted - your heart. Goodbye, Snow.”

Hook flinched as he watched Cora thrust her hand toward the other woman’s chest. When he saw the Swan girl push her mother out of the way, he dropped his arms and jerked forward, his own heart in his throat and sick despair in his gut. But before he could utter the warning that was on the tip of his tongue, Cora’s hand plunged into Emma’s chest.

Frozen in place - extremely unpleasant and unbidden memories parading themselves across his mind - he waited for the inevitable. He didn’t think he would be able to stand to watch the blonde’s heart get crushed and see her crumple lifelessly to the ground.

“Oh, you foolish girl!” Cora chided. “Don’t you know? Love is weakness.”

Hook’s eyes closed as he heard the unmistakable squelching sound of a heart being seized, but they popped open again when Cora’s gasp of disbelief reached his ears. She was tugging repeatedly, unable to extract the organ.

Suddenly, Emma straightened and stared straight into her adversary’s face. “No,” she stated, forcefully. “It’s strength.” The moment she uttered those words, Cora was thrown backwards by a stunning blast of magic.

Hook stood numbly, his jaw slack with shock. In his entire association with Cora, he had never seen anyone who could repel her magic. Yet here was the Swan girl, seemingly a complete novice in the practice of magic, completely knocking the witch off her feet. It was at that moment, Hook made the final decision of who would receive his allegiance.

Cora pushed herself to her feet with a curse, dramatically brushing the dust from her gown and glaring at Emma. “I should make you pay for that little stunt, but simply knowing you will die a slow death in the dungeon of your parents’ own castle is enough satisfaction for me.” With as much dignity as she could muster, she pivoted and swished past the pirate. “Come, Hook. We have everything we need to get to Storybrooke.” She said the last word pointedly, obviously knowing the pain her statement would inflict.

Hook watched her go, fingering the withered bean he pilfered from the giant. He took a step toward the cage as he considered giving it to the Swan girl, but thought better of it and placed it in his pocket instead. He just witnessed the powerful magic she had within her and had no doubt she would somehow be able to break them out of the cell.

Ignoring the pleas of the four women, he turned to follow Cora out of the dungeon, checking his hook to ensure it was securely locked into the brace. Moving stealthily, he came up behind her, hesitating only a second before plunging the appendage into her neck. His aim was true, puncturing the carotid artery. Cora stumbled and fell to her knees, clutching at the wound which was spraying the walls with her blood.

Kneeling beside his former ally, he plucked the compass and Aurora’s heart from the floor where she dropped them, and quickly located the vial containing the ashes of the magic wardrobe. Then, looking into her rapidly paling face, he stated, “My apologies, Your Majesty, but I find I am no longer in need of your services.”

Choking on her own blood, her answer came out as a gurgle. Her fingers clawed at the leather of his vest, desperately trying to cling to life, but to no avail. He watched the last flicker of light leave her eyes, then her lifeless body collapsed to the ground.

*********

Hook was waiting outside the castle when the four princesses came rushing out some time later. Aurora’s hand was covering her mouth, clearly queasy after seeing the grisly scene on her way out.

Emma stopped short when she spotted the pirate, lounging against the stone wall at the entrance of the dungeon as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “I’m assuming that’s your handiwork in there?”

“What, Cora?” he asked nonchalantly, making a show of polishing his hook with his sleeve. “Aye, it is.”

“Why did you kill her?” Mary Margaret asked. “Not that I’m complaining, but why did you do it?”

Hook slowly straightened up, taking his time before answering. “Cora was not to be trusted. I only worked with her because she appeared to provide the best opportunity for me to meet my objective, but now that is no longer the case.”

“So you found another way to get to Gold?” Emma asked.

“Indeed, I did.”

“Then why are you still here?” Mulan questioned.

“Because you lovelies are that other way.”

“Us?” Mary Margaret squeaked. “But we haven’t figured out a way to get back to Storybrooke yet.”

“I believe I have everything necessary to accomplish that,” Hook said, patting the satchel resting on his hip. “And I also have this,” he added, reaching into the bag to pull out Aurora’s red, glowing heart. He held it out to Emma, who took a step back.

“Why are you giving it to me?”

“Because it takes magic to return someone’s heart, Love.”

“But I…” Her voice trailed away.

“Have magic, Swan,” Hook continued her thought when it became clear she wouldn’t.

She squirmed under his penetrating gaze, her mind struggling to come to grips with the thought. Did she have magic? It was unbelievable! Then again, a week ago, she wouldn’t have believed she could slay a dragon or break a curse with True Love’s Kiss. But freaking Captain Hook was obviously convinced she did.

What even was her life?

“Please,” Aurora pleaded, interrupting Emma’s spiraling thoughts as she stepped in front of her. “Hook’s right. It has to be you.”

Emma stared at her disbelievingly for a few moments, then finally held out her hand for Hook to place the heart into it. Balancing it on her palm, her face tightened into a mask of determination before she thrust her hand forward, burying it in Aurora’s chest. The princess gasped, nearly doubling over, then straightened and beamed at Emma as she withdrew her hand. “You did it! Thank you!” she exclaimed.

Emma stood looking down at her hand with a slightly squeamish look on her face. “That is definitely something I hope I never have to do again.”

Aurora grabbed Emma and gave her a hug, before turning to Mulan. “We need to get back to Philip.”

Mulan glared at Hook with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure that’s wise? Snow and Emma might still need protection.”

“Do you really think I pose a threat to them when they are going to help me get my revenge?” he growled.

“Who’s to say you won’t kill them once you do?” Mulan countered. “You disposed of Cora once you didn’t need her anymore.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Aww, don’t tell me you had become fond of her.”

Mulan straightened her spine to stand at her full height. “Of course not! She was pure evil, but you killed her in cold blood.”

“You have no reason to fear for your friends’ lives.” He almost looked offended by Mulan’s words. “I don’t intend to harm them, but you saw what Cora tried to do to Snow White in there. She was the one who was going to enable her daughter to murder in cold blood. I was simply putting a stop to her reign of terror.”

“Look, I don’t really care who murdered who in cold blood,” Emma interjected. “I just want to get home to my son! Mulan, go with us or don’t, it doesn’t matter. Aurora, go find your prince. Hook, show me what you have in that bag and tell me how we can use it to get to Storybrooke.”

“There’s the tough lass I’ve come to know,” Hook smirked, lifting the flap on the satchel and reaching inside. “Compass and magic wardrobe ashes,” he recited, placing each of the items into Emma’s outstretched hands. “Cora’s theory was that the ashes could create a portal, but just in case she was wrong, I also have this.” Drawing the string containing the giant’s magic bean over his head, he let it swing at eye level between them.

“How is that supposed to help?” Snow asked. “It’s dried up, useless.”

“Ah, but the waters of Lake Nostos have regenerative properties. That’s where Cora and I were going before she met her…unfortunate demise.”

“That lake doesn’t have water in it anymore,” Snow said. “We…we needed it to save David’s mother, but it was completely dry because he had killed the siren who lived in it. Of course, she was trying to kill him first.”

Hook turned his eyes on Emma. “Cora said the lake could be restored with magic. That’s where you come in, Love.”

Emma stared wide-eyed at each of the four people surrounding her in turn. “I know nothing about how to use…” she paused and waved her hand around, having trouble actually saying the word, “...magic!”

Snow stepped in front of her daughter and grasped her upper arms. “You can do it, Emma! You said it yourself - love is strength. If you just concentrate on the love you have for Henry and how much you want to get back to him, I’m sure you will be able to make your magic work.”

Blowing out a long breath, Emma said, “Well, I guess I won’t know until I try.”

“Too right, lass,” Hook agreed. “Now, shall we be on our way? I have a crocodile to skin.”

After bidding goodbye to Aurora and Mulan, Hook led the way to Lake Nostos, attempting to engage Emma and Snow in conversation along the way. “So, tell me how the two of you are mother and daughter when you look to be nearly the same age. Have you been to Neverland where time stands still, Milady?” he asked Snow.

The two women exchanged glances. “It’s a long story,” Snow said.

“My schedule is pretty open right now,” Hook quipped.

“You were with Cora. Did she not tell you about the curse her daughter cast?” Snow asked.

“Ah, yes, of course. She did explain the significance of the wardrobe ashes. So, you were caught up in it and didn’t age, while your daughter was sent to the Land Without Magic by herself, essentially an orphan.”

Emma’s eyes flitted over to him at the reminder of the words he had spoken to her on the beanstalk. “Do we really have to listen to you talk the whole way? I’m trying to concentrate on how I’m going to make my magic work once we get there.”

“I shall endeavor to give you the silence you request, Princess,” Hook said with a slight bow.

“Don’t call me that,” she muttered under her breath.

“As you wish, Emma.”

She glared at him, eliciting a smirk before he turned his attention back to the path in front of them. They walked on in silence for a while, until Snow quietly said, “The lake wasn’t completely dried up when we reached it, you know.”

“Why couldn’t it save my grandmother, then?” Emma asked.

When Snow didn’t answer for a few moments, Emma looked over, her brow furrowing when she saw that her mother was obviously struggling with her emotions. Her chin trembled and Emma could see the glistening of tears in her eyes. Finally, she whispered, “Because she insisted that I take the swallow of water left to reverse the curse of barrenness King George put on me. If she hadn’t…well…you wouldn’t be here.”

There was silence between the three of them as they pondered that revelation.

“Then you and David were married on the shore of the lake, right?” Emma asked, seeking to lift the somberness of the moment.

“Yes,” Snow smiled slightly. “Lancelot married us, so Ruth could witness it before she passed.”

“That’s quite the romantic tale, Milady,” Hook murmured.

“What would you know about romance?” Emma mumbled.

Hook’s eyes snapped to hers and she saw a flash of hurt in them. Remembering what he said about Milah when they were at the top of the beanstalk, she immediately regretted her words and was opening her mouth to apologize, when he cleared his throat and responded, “I’ve wooed many a woman, Swan. Perhaps you desire to be one of them.”

Although she could tell he was using the innuendo to mask his true feelings, she couldn’t keep herself from retorting, “In your dreams, buddy.”

He turned and took a step closer to her, bending until his face was within inches of hers. “Since it appears that you’re amenable, I will see you in my dreams, Swan.”

“I think we’re almost there,” Snow stated, and Emma breathed a sigh of relief at the interruption.

Hook gave her one more meaningful look before turning and glancing around their surroundings. “Aye, you’re correct. It should be just around that bend in the road.”

They finished the journey in silence. Once they reached the edge of what obviously used to be the lake, Hook came to a stop in the soft sand, halting Snow and Emma in their tracks. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “Well, this is it. Time to work your magic, Swan.”

“You say that like it’s the easiest thing in the world,” she grumbled, her eyes flitting over the barren ground in front of them.

Snow stepped up beside her and took her hand. “I believe there is powerful magic inside you, Emma. No one has ever been able to defeat Cora like you did. You don’t need to fill the lake, all you need to do is generate enough water to restore the bean.”

“Yeah, okay,” Emma answered, widening her stance and setting her jaw in determination. She closed her eyes, picturing her son and father in her mind. A tingling sensation worked itself up from her chest, down her arms and to her fingertips. Stretching her arms out in front of her, she felt the sensation build until she was sure it was ready to burst, then thrust her hands forward.

She heard her mother gasp beside her, but Emma kept her eyes closed, afraid to open them for fear it hadn’t worked. Suddenly, she felt Hook’s presence beside her. “Well done, Love,” he murmured into her ear, sending a different type of tingle through her body.

Her eyes popped open, her knees nearly buckling as she beheld the sparking blue water of the lake, filled so completely that the water lapped at the toes of her boots.

“You did it, Emma!” Snow exclaimed. “I knew you could!”

As Emma continued to stare in disbelief, Hook once again pulled the string containing the magic bean over his head. Holding it out to Emma, he asked, “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Uh, sure,” she said, snapping out of her trance to take it. Bending down, she dipped the black, shriveled bean into the water, waiting a few seconds before pulling it out.

Snow gave a little cheer when the crystal clear bean emerged, fully restored. When Hook reached for it, Emma pulled it back. Slipping the string over her head, she said, “I think I’ll hold onto this, if you don’t mind.”

Once again, she caught a quick glimpse of hurt pass over his face before he composed himself and replied, “As you wish.”

“What’s the next part of the plan?” Emma asked.

“Now,” Hook replied, “we sail to Storybrooke on my ship, the Jolly Roger.”

“Of course we do,” mumbled Emma. “Why am I not surprised?”

*********

Hook decided to use the bean to create a portal and, in a surprising show of generosity, gave the vial of ashes from the wardrobe to Mary Margaret ‘for the sake of nostalgia.’

“I had no idea you had such a soft side,” Emma commented.

“I don’t,” he was quick to reply. “Just don’t have any need for sparkly dirt.”

Emma could tell he wasn’t being completely truthful, but decided getting to Henry was more important than questioning him.

He quickly got the ship ready to sail and they were soon out at sea, dropping into a portal that looked like a whirlpool. It was the middle of the night by the time they reached Storybrooke.

“It’s been a pleasure to travel on such a beautiful ship!” Mary Margaret proclaimed.

“Aye, my ship - she’s a marvel,” Hook agreed proudly, guiding the Jolly Roger into the harbor.

“I can’t believe you were able to sail it without a crew,” Emma said.

“I’m a hell of a captain,” he smirked. “Besides, I had the two of you to help and you were fast learners. You’re welcome to join my crew.”

“Don’t count on it,” Emma mumbled.

“Pity, that,” Hook commented. “I could take you on exciting adventures, show you exotic places that are beyond your wildest dreams.”

“I’ve had enough adventure in the last few weeks to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. Right now the only place I want to be is with my son.”

Hook hummed, nodding his understanding as he expertly maneuvered the ship into a berth. As soon as it was docked and he dropped the gangplank, Emma and Mary Margaret hastily thanked him and wasted no time disembarking and hurrying down the street.

Hook stood alone, watching them until they disappeared around a corner. Even without Emma in his line of view, he could still see her in his mind’s eye, blonde locks flying behind her as she ran, her lithe body moving effortlessly.

Mentally shaking himself, he tried to force his thoughts toward how he was going to exact his revenge on the crocodile. He had been waiting for this opportunity for over two hundred years, and now it was within his grasp.

So why was winning the affections of the feisty Emma Swan suddenly more important?

*********

Storybrooke was an enigma to Hook. It was nothing like the Enchanted Forest, but some of the same laws of magic still applied. Even though they were in the ‘Land Without Magic’, magic had somehow found its way there, and the Dark One was still the Dark One, with the same power and immortality.

Hook had trouble reconciling the fact that the distinguished-looking Mr. Gold was the persona adopted by the evil imp, Rumplestiltskin. Yet, as he spied on the man day after day, he could see that he exhibited the same despicable and selfish tendencies when interacting with the residents of the town.

He was stunned to learn the Dark One had a lady love - Belle French, the beautiful, mannerly librarian. When Rumplestiltskin was with her, his behavior was entirely different, and Hook could tell she had won his heart. This knowledge helped him hatch a plan that was sure to destroy the crocodile’s life, just as he had destroyed Hook’s.

By listening carefully to snippets of conversations while he covertly roamed around Storybrooke, he learned no one could cross the town line. Rumplestiltskin, however, had apparently found a way around that little problem.

While gathering that information, Hook also kept an eye on Emma Swan. It turned out she was the town’s law enforcement, so was often out on the streets. He watched her from a distance and felt a pang of jealousy every time he saw her with a handsome, sandy-haired man, until the day he saw the same man with Mary Margaret and realized he must be Emma’s father.

He also saw her with the boy he assumed was her son. It felt odd to have a sense of pride at being able to help reunite the two. The lad didn’t seem to be any worse for the wear, having nearly lost his mother and grandmother. He was always speaking animatedly to Emma as they strolled down the sidewalk together.

Hook had been able to avoid contact with Regina thus far. He was hoping not to have to explain his role in her mother’s death. Her relationship with Cora was contentious, but she was still Regina’s mother and he was sure to be the recipient of her wrath and perhaps a fireball or two.

His stealth as a pirate served him well, and he was able to elude being noticed by the crocodile. However, hiding the Jolly Roger was a completely different matter. He knew his ship was too visible in Storybrooke harbor, but he needed her to be at his disposal. He finally settled on docking her around the bend at a rocky outcropping where she would be concealed, while allowing him access via a secluded section of beach that seemed to be ignored by the citizens of the town.

The day Rumplestiltskin planned to cross the town line finally arrived. Hook hid himself amongst the trees along the road early that morning, unsure of when the attempt would be made. He checked and re-checked the gun he managed to pilfer from the sheriff’s station. It was similar to the pistols he used for centuries, but was smaller and easier to handle. After watching Emma using one to shoot target practice in the middle of the woods one day, he knew it would be much more efficient than his hook in reaching his objective.

When Hook heard one of those odd contraptions called a car approaching, he made sure the gun was ready to fire and got into position behind a large tree. He watched Rumplestiltskin and Belle exit the vehicle and step toward the town line. Belle held a shawl in her hands that Hook recognized as one Milah made, and Rumplestiltskin held a potion bottle. Hook saw him speaking to Belle, but wasn’t close enough to hear what he was saying. The way she stood there gazing at him as if he hung the moon turned Hook’s stomach.

Rumplestiltskin took the stopper out of the bottle and poured the potion on the shawl, then tossed the bottle away. Hook saw the fabric glowing as Belle placed it around Rumplestiltskin’s neck.

“Here we go,” he said, then slowly limped over the town line. Turning, he hesitated for a long moment, then pointed at the auburn-haired beauty and said simply, “Belle.”

She let out a joyful laugh and said, “It worked!” Taking his hand, she added, “Now you can find your son.”

Just as Rumplestiltskin began to respond, Hook stepped out from behind the tree.

“This is for you, Milah,” he whispered, then pulled the trigger.

Belle’s scream ripped through the air as Rumplestiltskin stepped quickly over the line to catch her before she fell. Looking up, his eyes filled with rage at seeing his old nemesis. “What have you done?” he screamed. “Belle has done nothing to you!”

“I can’t kill the Dark One, but I can kill the woman who holds your heart. You killed my love. Now you know the feeling.”

Rumplestiltskin turned his attention back to Belle, searching for her injury. Meanwhile, Hook started walking back through the woods, intending to return to his ship and sail away, his revenge complete.

He was on the outskirts of town when he heard the sounds of what he had learned were sirens. His smile of satisfaction faded, knowing Emma would soon find out about his murderous act. She was sure to disapprove. Apparently in this modern world, scores weren’t settled with a life for a life.

Hook finally reached his ship and went aboard. He was in the process of readying it to sail when he heard a familiar voice.

“Going somewhere, Hook?”

Walking across the deck, he looked over the side. The light from the moon illuminated the blonde hair of Emma Swan, who was standing on the beach below.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Swan?” he asked non-chalantly.

“You do know it’s against the law to shoot someone, don’t you?”

“In the Enchanted Forest, it’s called vengeance.”

“In Storybrooke, it’s called attempted murder.”

Hook’s brows shot up. “Attempted?”

“Oh, are you disappointed you didn’t succeed in killing an innocent woman? You shot her in the shoulder. She’s been taken to the hospital, but she’s expected to be fine.”

“Bloody hell,” Hook mumbled, pounding his fist on the wooden railing.

“Are you going to come down here or do I have to come onboard?”

He decided to try turning on the charm. “Why Swan, are you seducing me?”

“You’re not funny, buddy. Belle isn’t only a citizen of this town, she’s also my friend. Now, I’m not asking, I’m ordering. Get down here right now. You’re under arrest.”

Hook sighed. He knew if he tried to sail away, he would appear to be a coward. Might as well face the music. “Very well,” he said, starting to saunter over to the gangplank.

“And bring the gun you stole from the sheriff’s office. You’ll be charged with theft for that, too.”

Hook briefly wondered how she found out about that, but didn’t ask. Being such a brilliant lass, he was sure she figured it out on her own.

She met him at the bottom of the gangplank, a set of handcuffs in her hand. “Hands behind your back,” she instructed gruffly.

“Is that really necessary? I’ll come along peacefully.”

“It’s standard procedure,” she said, encouraging him to turn around by tugging on his arm.

Once the cuffs were firmly around his wrist and the brace holding his hook, she patted him down until she found the gun in the deep pocket of his long duster. Holding it up in front of him, she snarled, “I can’t believe you stole a gun from the police. When did you manage to do that?”

“I can’t give away all of my secrets, Swan.”

“Fine, but you’ll have plenty of time to reconsider. You’re gonna be locked up for a long time,” she stated, giving him a not so gentle shove to get him moving.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, throwing her a look over his shoulder.

“You should count yourself lucky that you’ll be locked up. Gold is furious and if he gets to you, it’s hard to tell what he’ll do.”

“I’m not afraid of the bloody crocodile,” Hook said, a sardonic grin on his face.

“Keep smiling, buddy. You’re under arrest and handcuffed. He’s on his feet, immortal, has magic and you hurt his girl. If I were to pick dead guy of the year, I’d pick you.”

Hook turned away from her and continued trudging along the beach. Neither of them spoke again until they reached the squad car. After locking him in the back, Emma seated herself behind the wheel and picked up the radio. “I have the suspect in custody,” she reported. “I’ll be at the station in five minutes.”

Once they arrived, David came out of the building and opened the back door. Grabbing Hook by the arm, he roughly pulled him out of the car. Keeping an iron grip on him, he led him into the station, Emma following along behind.

“Any news on Belle?” she asked.

“Whale took her in for surgery a little while ago. He said he would update us when he’s finished.”

“Is Gold at the hospital?”

“Yeah. I asked Leroy to hang around and let us know if he leaves. I’m sure once he finds out Hook is locked up here, he’ll be paying us a visit.”

“Good idea. I’m sure Leroy won’t mind being our informant.” Holding up the gun, she added, “Got this back. I’ll tag it for evidence.”

“Think you’re pretty clever stealing a gun from the police and using it to shoot an innocent woman, don’t you, Hook?” David said, practically spitting the last word at him.

“I’m usually a better shot, but I’m not used to such a small weapon,” Hook quipped. “My weapons are much bigger and have better accuracy.”

“Why didn’t you just use one of them, then?” Emma asked, stepping behind the camera to take his mugshot.

“Alas, I failed to procure more ammunition before embarking on our trip to your fair Storybrooke.”

David positioned him in front of the wall, instructing him to look at the camera. He glowered as Emma took the first picture. “Turn to your right,” she ordered.

“You look good, I must say. All ‘turn to your right’ in a commanding voice. Chills,” Hook commented as he followed her directions.

Emma rolled her eyes before clicking the button on the camera.

After the pictures were finished, David unlocked the handcuffs, telling Hook to take off his heavy coat, which he did without complaint. However, when Emma told him to remove his hook, he balked.

“No arguments,” Emma commanded. “You’ll pick the lock with that thing.”

He glared at her for several moments, but it made no difference. She stood there with her hand out, staring him down until he finally twisted the device out of the brace and begrudgingly placed it in her palm.

Soon he was escorted into one of the jail cells and the door slammed shut behind him. “I’ll take the first watch,” Emma told David. “You go home to Mary Margaret and tell Henry I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” David asked, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he gave Hook a hard stare. “I’d be happy to stay here and let you go home to get some sleep.”

“It’s no problem. I’m too wound up to sleep, anyway.”

“Or you could both go home,” Hook stated. “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Yeah, like I would trust you,” Emma spat.

“Okay, I’m taking off. If he gives you any trouble, call me. I’ll be more than willing to punch him in the face,” David said.

“Quite hostile, aren’t you?” Hook drawled, casually leaning against the bars examining his fingernails nonchalantly.

“Just making myself clear,” David responded. Turning back to Emma, he added, “If I hear anything from Whale or Leroy, I’ll let you know, but they will probably call the station first.”

“True. I’ll text you if they do.”

“Text?” Hook questioned.

“It’s a way of communicating through the phone,” she explained, waving the device in the air to show him. “Something a thousand-year-old pirate wouldn’t understand.”

“More like three hundred,” Hook grumbled.

David and Emma said their goodbyes, then she sat down in the desk chair, swiveling it back and forth as she crossed her arms and fixed Hook with a stare. “So let me get this straight - your idea of getting revenge on Rumplestiltskin was to steal a gun and shoot his girlfriend, then sail away?”

“As you’re well aware, the Dark One can’t be killed. I wanted him to know the pain of losing a woman he loved. That pain is worse than death.”

“From what you said at the top of the beanstalk, I surmised he killed the woman you loved. ”

“Aye, my Milah. He pulled her heart out and crushed it right in front of me.”

Emma winced. “No wonder you hate the guy. What did you do to him to make him do something like that?”

Hook wandered over and sat on the cot, leaning back against the wall and crossing his own arms. “Well, you see, Milah was Rumplestiltskin’s wife, but she left him because he was a coward. The laughing stock of the town. She couldn’t take it anymore and ran away with me to live a life of adventure on the high seas.”

“You were either brave or stupid to fall in love with the Dark One’s wife.”

“He wasn’t the Dark One when I fell in love with her.”

Before Emma could answer, the phone sitting on the desk began ringing. “Sheriff’s station,” she answered.

Hook listened to her side of the conversation, watching her furrow her brow and nod. After she hung up, she said, “That was Whale. Belle is out of surgery. The bullet came out clean and she’s going to be fine.”

“Is she in pain at least?”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. “Belle is sweet and would never hurt anyone.”

“Neither would Milah,” he shot back.

“Still, don’t you feel at all guilty about shooting Belle when she didn’t do anything wrong?”

“She fell in love with the bloody Dark One! She should thank me for trying to put her out of her misery.”

“I should have known you wouldn’t feel any remorse. You are a pirate, after all,” she scoffed with disdain.

A flash of hurt passed across his face before he huffed, “Aye, that I am.”

Emma placed a call to David to tell him the news about Belle. After ending it, she and Hook fell into silence. He lay down on the lumpy, narrow cot, dramatically punching at the pillow with his fist, then closed his eyes to make a pretense of falling asleep. Every time he cracked open his eyes to peek at Emma, she was staring at him.

“See something you like, Swan?” he finally asked.

“No. I just see someone who can’t be trusted.”

“So you plan to remain awake all night to make sure I won’t escape?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“Rest assured, Darling, I have no way to escape this cell. You can go to sleep.”

“Actually,” she said, standing up and striding over to a file cabinet, “I have a lot of paperwork to fill out because of your little stunt tonight. Might as well put this time to good use.”

Sitting back down at the desk, she pulled out a pen and started writing. Hook watched her for a few minutes until he got bored, then closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. He dreamed that Milah was lying on the deck of the Jolly Roger in the exact spot where she died, sobbing and telling him that he failed her again.

*********

When Hook woke up the next morning, David was sitting at the desk, playing solitaire with a deck of cards.

“So that’s what you look like when you don’t get your beauty sleep, Swan,” Hook quipped.

David didn’t even look up. “I see sleep doesn’t improve your ability to be funny.”

Hook sat up and swung his legs over the side of the cot, looking around the cell. “I don’t suppose you have a chamber pot available, do you mate?”

“No chamber pots and I’m not your mate,” David said, pushing himself away from the desk. “I can let you use the bathroom, but if you try anything…” he patted the gun in the holster he was wearing.

“I wasn’t asking to take a bath, sheriff,” Hook said, over emphasizing the last word. “I just need a pot to piss in.”

“A bathroom is where you do that in the modern world, pirate,” David retorted. “Haven’t you heard of a toilet?”

“Can’t say that I have since I’ve only been in this world for a few days. How long did it take you to adjust to all of the changes?”

David unlocked the cell door and swung it open, reaching in to firmly grip Hook’s arm. “I don’t know. I was in a coma for twenty-eight years.”

Hook gaped at him as he stumbled out of the cell. “I suppose that was Regina’s doing?”

“Yeah, She also provided me with a wife, and it wasn’t Snow.”

“She really had it in for the two of you, didn’t she?”

“The three of us, actually. We were forced to send Emma to this world just minutes after she was born in order for her to escape the coming curse. We hoped she would be able to find us and break it someday.”

“And she did,” Hook stated knowingly.

“Of course she did. And besides that, the first day she ever handled a sword, she slayed a dragon,” David said, puffing his chest out proudly. “In case you haven’t noticed, my daughter is the strongest, bravest, most intelligent person you will ever meet.”

“I have noticed, believe me,” Hook muttered.

They reached the bathroom and David gave him a small push inside, then closed the door behind him. After a moment, he called out, “The toilet is the thing with the water in it. Don’t pee in the sink!”

*********

Hook was surprised Emma didn’t come into the station that morning. Ruby arrived to deliver breakfast from Granny’s for David and Hook, but otherwise, it was just the two men ignoring each other.

It was almost noon when Leroy burst into the office, spouting something about Gold running off to New York City. None of it concerned Hook, who was happy to hear the crocodile would be leaving town, until he heard the dwarf mention Emma.

“Why would Emma go anywhere with him?” David asked, launching himself out of his chair.

“Gold said she has to help him because he doesn’t know how airports work,” Leroy explained. “He said if she won’t, he’s going to come here and kill Hook.”

“What’s the downside of that?” David asked.

“Hey!” Hook protested.

“I’m going to go home and try to talk some sense into her,” David said, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Can you stay here and keep an eye on him?”

“Gladly,” Leroy growled, glowering at Hook. “If he tries anything, do I have permission to shoot him?”

“He won’t try anything, will you, Hook?”

“I wouldn’t dare, after being threatened by a dwarf,” Hook responded derisively. He watched David sprint out of the station, hoping he would be able to talk Emma out of the insane idea of traveling with Rumplestiltskin.

Leroy plopped into the chair David had vacated, crossing his arms across his chest with a furious look on his face. Hook wasn’t in the mood to deal with the dwarf, so he lay down on the cot, turning to face the wall.

He had no idea how much time passed before he heard David come back. He continued to pretend to be asleep, hoping to hear information about Emma.

“Did he give you any trouble?” the sheriff asked.

“Nope. I let him know in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t put up with any nonsense. Must not have wanted to tangle with me, because he hasn’t said a peep.”

Hook rolled his eyes so hard, it was almost painful.

“Were you able to talk your daughter out of the cockamamie idea of going to New York with Gold?” Leroy continued.

Hook’s blood froze at David’s next words. “No. She’s as stubborn as the day is long. They’re on their way to the airport right now. Henry is staying with us until she gets back.”

“Do you think she’s safe with him?” Leroy asked.

“The only consolation I have is that he needs her to drive him there and navigate the process of flying. He won’t gain anything by hurting her.”

In theory, Hook knew that was true. But he also knew the Dark One tricks and the Dark One lies. He didn’t put anything past Rumplestiltskin. His mind began churning with ideas for how to break out of jail and get to Emma before something happened to her. If he had to kill Rumplestiltskin to accomplish that, so much the better.

While David and Leroy continued to talk, Hook formulated a plan.

The first step was accomplished shortly after Leroy left, when Ruby delivered lunch from the diner. While David was occupied chatting with the waitress, Hook used a large hairpin he kept in his pocket to help him pull the small buttons of his shirt through the buttonholes, to pick the lock of the cell. It wasn’t easy doing it with one hand, but he managed in a relatively short amount of time.

“I’m going to wash my hands, then I’ll give you your lunch,” David announced, turning his back to walk toward the bathroom. Hook slipped out of the cell, immediately going for the crowbar he had noticed sitting in a corner of the room. Stealthily, he moved to stand outside the bathroom door with the weapon raised in his hand.

When David emerged a minute later, Hook clocked him, muttering, “Apologies, mate, but if you aren’t going to ensure your daughter’s safety, I guess it’s up to me.”

Stepping over David’s unconscious form, he went to the desk and started opening drawers. Finding his hook in the bottom one, he clicked it into place, grabbed his heavy duster from the coat rack and left the station.

After making it down Main Street by ducking and dodging into alleys and behind dumpsters, he arrived at Gold’s Pawn Shop. He made quick work of picking the lock on the back door, entering quietly and starting his search.

He soon found the case where Gold kept his potions and poisons. The bottle filled with a thick, inky liquid drew his attention. He carefully unstoppered and sniffed it. Finding it to be exactly what he was hoping to procure, he stuck it into the deep pocket of his coat and rushed back out the door.

The trip to the Jolly Roger was without incident or coming into contact with any of the townsfolk. Since it was made ready to sail the night before, he was out on the open water in record time, sailing toward the mysterious land of New York.

*********

Thank you for reading. Please join me in wishing Krystal the happiest of birthdays!

Tagging:

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@beckettj @killihan-jones

[cosette141]

Don't Let Go (Because I Can't Hold it Back Anymore) | OUAT fanfic

Because I apparently never put this fic on tumblr

Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Captain Swan Author: cosette141 Words: 26k Summary: (canon divergence for s4 episode "White Out") Rather than Emma and Elsa trapped in the ice cave, Emma is trapped with Killian. They have to keep warm and stay awake as they fight the frigid cold, or their first quiet moment together may very well be their last. h/c CS (CSSS 2021 gift for jrob64!)

AO3

Chapter One

Killian followed the ice wall, thankful that his heavycoat was keeping out most of the chill of the night.

After receiving Emma's… what do they call it? Talking call? He'd done as she asked, scoping out the mysterious wall that erected overnight. It was far too high and too icy to climb over, and the cold alone was enough to keep Killian from standing too close to it as he walked its length toward the town line where Emma said she and her father would be waiting.

He heard them before he saw them, and he couldn't help the little tilt of his lips when he heard the sound of her voice.

Stepping out from the trees, Killian saw her standing with her father, both of whom were regarding the ice wall.

"In case you were wondering," said Killian, gaining their attention, "it goes the whole way around."

Both of them looked over as he stepped out from the forest, a comfortable, perhaps slightly smug, smile on his face. He saw something flicker in Emma's eyes when she saw him, and he liked to think it was some brief contentment in his company.

Yet, the look on David's face was anything but.

It seemed like Killian had managed to do something to irritate the prince before even having arrived.

"Hook," said David, and Killian heard that irritation color his words thickly. "I didn't know you would be joining us."

Truthfully, Killian himself was less than pleased when Emma told him to meet her and her father, so he understood the feeling.

Because Killian had built quite the residence on David's nerves, he allowed his smugness to grow. "I get a distressed call from a fair maiden," he said with a flick of his eyes to Emma, seeing her brow raise in an unimpressed look the way he knew it would, "and I'm on the spot."

"I was not distressed," said Emma with a slight roll of her eyes. "And you're saying, what, this wall goes around the whole town?"

"That it does."

"So, once again," said David, "we can't leave Storybrooke."

"Doing more than keeping us inside, by the looks of it," said Killian, eyeing the wall distrustfully. It didn't look as if it were made from do-gooding fairies or any of the snuggly sort. Killian's gaze followed the ice and snow until he saw the large, crumpled metal structure lying in a heap on the ground, surrounded by tangled coils of black cords and broken glass. From what he's gleaned from this town, he's seen them spark what Emma coined electricity. "I guess that's what caused the loss of power?" He asked, looking to Emma for confirmation.

If he wasn't mistaken, her brows rose with surprise. "When did you become a twenty-first century man?" Killian did his best not to let onto the fact that impressing her pleased him. "Yeah," Emma went on. "It looks to me like whoever was putting up the wall wasn't trying to take out the lights, they were just… putting up the wall." That smile of hers faded, once again her attention taken by the endless strings of danger that seemed to follow her.

Her father's gaze followed hers. "To keep us in," he agreed. "Why?"

"Kill us all, one by one." Killian smiled goodnaturedly, even when both of them gave him looks. He shrugged. "It's what I'd do."

What I used to do.

For he wasn't that man anymore.

And the woman not a yard away from him was why.

Some garbled voice laced with static sounded from the driving vessel, and David turned back to go check it.

Perfect.

Killian stepped into the space David had once stood in, finding himself next to Emma. The indescribable urge to touch her, to kiss her welled in his entire being, but he attempted to keep it at bay.

Only days ago, they'd gotten back from their trip to the past.

Only days ago, he'd finally given up his secret to Emma—how he got to her. Trading his ship–his beloved ship–for the magic bean that would take him back to her realm.

And only days ago, Emma had kissed him.

Given into what Killian could only hope—only dream—she'd been fighting for as long as he had.

It was the second time they kissed, yet it was nothing like the first.

The first was desperate and fueled by passion and doomed to be what Emma had firmly said: a one-time thing.

But the second…

She'd proven herself wrong, and she'd kissed him again. Made the choice herself, for Killian knew by now, Emma was equal to that of a frightened animal when it came to anything emotional. He had to let her lead this all the way through. He was a patient man. And more than that…

She was worth it.

That recent kiss…

Killian could still taste her.

It was something soft and sweet and so unlike the persona that Emma puts out, this armor she wears. For as tough as she likes to be perceived, Emma is one of the most innocent souls he's ever met, and also one of the most damaged. And how anyone could damage someone as pure as Emma…

One day, he might ask her for some names, and decide to teach a few people a very painful lesson.

But the other day, their moment wasn't rushed.

It wasn't desperate.

She'd kissed him, and he'd felt himself melt.

Everything he's waited for.

All that time, after all of her attempts to push him away, he'd truly wondered if he was chasing after someone who simply would never want him in return.

She'd disappeared after they'd gotten back from the past, and he'd thought perhaps he misread it all. Even the moments trapped in the past… he could still feel her against his chest, could still feel her crumble into his embrace in a way that suggested she trusted him, in a way he might have fooled himself into thinking she needed him, even for just a moment.

He'd sat outside the diner that night while she and her family celebrated the baby, alone with his thoughts and rum, facing the terrifying thought of what if she doesn't want him? What the bloody hell was he to do then? He'd never call the time he spent chasing her, the things he'd done for her, the times he'd saved her as wasted time. To him, it was a dream, a gift, a privilege that he played any part in her life.

But the idea that she could want him back, that he could have her without having to chase her, without having to fight her walls every step of the way…

It was something he wanted so badly it hurt.

But that night, when that diner door opened, when she'd come outside with a gaze that was looking specifically for him….

His hope had flared, a dying firelight flickering in a windstorm.

"How did you do it? How did you get to me?"

He'd never intended to tell her.

The idea of telling her felt as vulnerably naked as when he'd been forced to reveal the depth of his feelings for her in the Echo Cave. When he knew that even if she'd felt an attraction for him, even if she felt something, it was too soon. No matter what feelings she might have had, she'd fight it to the bloody death before admitting it, especially to herself.

And this, this secret, how he'd gotten to her… it felt just as… revealing, if not so much more.

He'd, more than once, told her how much his ship meant to him.

His ship, for so many years, had been his one and only love, and ever since he and Liam had commandeered the Jewel and since she'd become the Jolly, had been his home.

Until…

Killian took a moment to look at Emma, even when her attention was drawn to the ice wall.

Home was no longer a place to him.

He felt something tug at his lips, looking at the only home he'll ever need for the rest of his days.

He'd been so afraid to tell her such a thing—for he already knew with a painful certainty that he was in love with this woman, far deeper even than Milah, which he once would have never, ever believed could be possible, and only recently admitted to himself—and it almost felt as if telling Emma how he managed to get to her realm was saying those three words all the same.

And after all the times she's pushed him away…

"How about you try cursing the lips of someone I'll actually kiss."

He knew she had been scared.

He knew that Emma knew admitting to Zelena that she felt anything for him was a dangerous move.

And Killian knew Emma didn't mean it.

But it didn't mean it didn't hurt.

And it also didn't mean it didn't make him worry that there was truth in those words.

If he told her what happened to his ship…

If he told her what he gave up for her…

If he told her before she was ready to accept her own feelings for him, if he told her before she even had any…

He was terrified it would scare her away for good.

He was bloody terrified that a rejection from her at this point would be a break his weathered heart finally couldn't take.

But that night outside the diner, that look in her eyes…

Something had changed, after they'd gone back in time.

He'd felt it, he knew it was finally mutual, and that look in her eyes as she waited for his response…

She was ready.

He could see it.

He could feel it.

She might still be as hesitant as a fawn alone in the woods, but…

She wanted it.

And that kiss…

Her choice…

That night was proof that his doubts were wrong.

It was proof that she did want him.

And what he felt from her in that glorious moment, a moment that he re-lived from the moment she'd left him that night to every moment since…

He finally had the answer to the terrifying question he's had since Neverland.

She wanted him.

He knew she did.

But right here, standing next to her amidst the newest town dilemma, he could see it in her face.

Her walls were as solid and imposing as the ice wall in question.

And now that he knew she wanted it, knew that she was only scared…

He was determined to take those walls down completely.

Unravel her, and heal as much of the damage that had been done to her in her life.

"Be patient."

He was a patient man.

But he had a feeling that Emma would only keep running if someone wasn't there to stop her.

"I ran. It's just what I did."

He'd follow her anywhere, but he was ready to not have to chase her.

So, gently, Killian took a breath, and attempted to try to hack at her walls, and reveal the Emma he knew and loved inside.

He treaded carefully, saying lightly, "Oh! I should have brought the champagne."

His abrupt change in subject grabbed her attention, and she looked at him like he was mental. "What?"

"To celebrate our second date," he said smoothly. "And… because we've got the world's largest ice bucket," he added, gesturing to the wall.

"Second date?" she asked, and he felt himself smile wider because she was playing along. "Did I miss the first?"

"Aye," he said. "Snow monster's the first, ice wall's the second." And treading even more carefully, yet rising to those imposing walls of hers, he said, "After all, if I only count the quiet dinners, we wouldn't even get one."

It was a push, he knew it, but he had quite the idea that Emma wasn't planning on making any move herself. It was a slightly firmer push than the more gentle ones he's made since that glorious moment, allowing her to avoid him, allowing her to take her own time.

But Killian knew it was only her fear, those damn walls keeping her from truly being with him.

A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.

He was ready to fight those walls of hers with everything he had, one scratch a time.

Killian watched her carefully as she looked away from him, shifting her stance like she was unsure, but then in pure Emma-fashion, her eyes caught hold of a distraction. And just like that, he and his attempts were forgotten with her whisper of, "Hang on, I think I see something behind the wall."

Killian let out a breath, hanging his head a little in defeat.

"Wait here with the ice bucket while I check that out," murmured Emma, still not looking at him, her full attention drawn to the supposed danger.

Emma started toward the wall, and Killian tried to think of another way to approach the subject in a way that wouldn't scare her off when David returned, stopping to stand beside him. "I think it's time you and I have a little chat about your intentions with my daughter."

Killian's brow rose. The tone of his voice suggested this was a long-time coming. Though at least now he understood the irritation from earlier.

Not exactly in the mood, because it seemed it would be years before anything even remotely happened with his daughter, Killian couldn't exactly hide the edge to his voice. "That's a little old fashioned, even by my standards," he muttered. "And I still pay with doubloons."

David swung the flashlight beam around, as if his full attention wasn't on his attempt to intimidate Killian, which was quite impossible. "Remember," said David, "I know your reputation. Emma's not some conquest."

Killian's brow hitched even higher at that, because did he honestly think that's what this was about? David has seen the amount of times Killian has risked his life for Emma, from Neverland to the Wicked Witch, to their trip to the past, where David had physically witnessed the lengths Killian would go for her. Killian would not have given up his revenge and traded his damn ship simply for a good time with a beautiful woman.

Feeling his own frustrated heat, he said firmly, "I wouldn't risk my life for someone I see as loot." David said nothing, and Killian went on, just as firmly, "Whatever we become, it's up to her as much as me." Killian kept his gaze firmly on David until the prince finally turned to look him in the face. Killian held his gaze, and when the prince was still silent, lifted his brow as if to dare David to contest the truth in his words.

David held his gaze, looking the slightest bit surprised at the amount of emotion in Killian's eyes. Perhaps David was only trying to make up for lost time as a father, perhaps it was just his way of trying to protect her when she was already all grown up, but the insinuation that Killian would use Emma was something that disgusted him. And after all this time, for David to even suggest it…

Hadn't he done enough to prove the lengths to which he'd go for Emma?

It seemed, unfortunately, that it was a constant battle to prove himself to both Emma and her family, no matter what he did.

David gave a little nod, but there was still a question in his eyes. Small, faint, but there.

Pirate.

Killian let out a breath.

He'd just have to prove himself.

Again.

But if he was being honest with himself, the life he led and the man they had met so long ago certainly warranted such distrust.

But he was really, really ready to be free of that curse.

Whether he brought it on himself or not.

"Oh–"

Both Killian and David looked over at the sound of Emma's quiet, startled voice.

They could faintly make out the conversation she seemed to have with someone else as both men rushed toward the wall. Was someone trapped in it?

"My sister. I need to find her."

It was another woman's voice.

And with it, a flurry of snow began to fly around the wall.

Killian exchanged a look with David as they ran.

Killian covered his face as the snow picked up with speed and power, making it hard to see and the temperature drop even lower. But Killian could see blond hair fly just beyond the few icy stalagmites Emma had climbed through.

Sudden fear seized Killian's chest, realizing that whomever Emma was speaking to must have created this wall, for they were also creating the sudden snowstorm.

Emma.

Killian exchanged another fearful glance with the prince who seemed to put two and two together just as he did, and David deftly drew his projectile weapon, aiming it toward the figure of the unfamiliar woman.

Emma was still beside her, and Killian could see her now, the fear in her eyes, hair flying wildly, but her hands were out toward himself and her father in a placating gesture. "No," said Emma quickly. "No, it's okay, you don't have to—"

The figure of the woman backed away even as the storm picked up around them, as if the magical ice witch was completely unaffected by the buffeting wind that made Emma, Killian and her father cover their faces from the icy wind.

But it was when the ground shook, the distinct sound of a crash and Emma's scream that Killian's eyes snapped open, panic like a dagger to his chest.

Something struck her, and she fell to the ground.

"Emma!" cried both Killian and David.

Killian watched in horror as ice fell from the wall, cascading down—

Emma.

It was going to crush her.

Killian ran before he could think.

He dove through the structure, hearing the prince's yell behind him but he didn't stop.

He reached Emma, covering her body with his just as the ice struck them both.

-.-.-.

[snowbellewells]

CS Fic Rec Monday: "The Rise and Fall of the Storybrooke Book Club" by: @phiralovesloki

This long one shot is such a joy to read!! Especially if you're a book lover and enjoy some fun commentary and banter about novels and their merits between your characters! @phiralovesloki does a brilliant job with that, bringing both Emma and Killian into a book club that neither really wanted to attend, grudgingly sparring about their reading preferences, and coming to really enjoy hearing the other's thoughts and having someone with whom to share their own. She also brilliantly choses and utilizes various other Storybrooke denizens to wonderful effect as the book club is getting off the ground (David, Mary Margaret, Belle, Ashley, etc.)

Definitely a fun one to discover (or revisit!)

"The Rise and Fall of the Storybrooke Book Club" by: @phiralovesloki

[kmomof4]

Absolutely LOVELY story!!!! LOVED the combining and then the twist on canon!!!!

Where The Heart Is, Chapter 5

This is the last chapter! I hope you enjoyed this story!

Tag people who may be interested: @killianxswan @teamhook @booksteaandtoomuchtv @exhaustedpirate @anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @resident-of-storybrooke @caught-in-the-filter @tiganasummertree @stahlords @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccat @jrob64 @beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic @zaharadessert @bluewildcatfanatic @once-upon-a-happy-end @ultraluckycatnd

[overlordofthelollipopguild]

Trying Something New - a Captain Swan, Once Upon a Time fan fiction

Summary:

After Rumplestiltskin traps Emma and Killian in the past, they manage to escape him and realize they will have to live in the past in order to catch up to the future.

Read on fanfiction.net or AO3 or below.

Note: so Emma is using a lot of advanced magic in this chapter. It's for plot purposes, but she will face issues with doing so much magic. Please ignore the logistics, this is fanfiction after all. 

Chapter 1: Stuck

It wasn’t working. Her magic was back, but the stupid wand wasn’t working. 

“Do you think he lied to us?” Killian asked from where he was leaning against a table. He was back in his regular attire of his long black leather coat, leather pants, and black vest and shirt. 

Marian was still knocked out, but she wouldn’t remain that way forever. 

“I don’t know.” Emma huffed, frustrated, twirling in her prison dress. The least Rumplestiltskin could’ve done was return her jeans and leather jacket. 

Waving the wand around, she attempted once again to open the portal. She was tempted to summon the Dark One back and strangle him. Without the portal, they couldn’t return to their own time, and Emma wasn’t going to stay trapped in Rumplestiltskin’s vault for the next thirty years. “I don’t think he would’ve lied about this. As long as I can wield magic, I should be able to open the portal. So, why isn’t this working?” Frustration overwhelmed her. 

“There could be a number of reasons, love.” Killian said, though he wasn’t sure what could be the cause. 

Irritated and angry, Emma wildly waved the wand around, failing to notice a faint glow pass over Marian’s features. She gripped the wand tight enough it was surprising the stick didn't snap into two pieces. 

“Perhaps we should change tactics.” Killian suggested, worried at Emma's emotional state. 

Emma’s hands dropped to her side. “What do you mean?” Her tone was snappish, but it wasn't directed at him. Killian was trying to help; Emma knew she was the one failing. 

“It’s possible that the vault and all of the magical objects here could be interfering.” Killian theorized. “If we can escape, maybe the portal will work elsewhere?”

Though she knew hers and Killian’s knowledge of magic was limited, it was a good theory. It was worth a shot. “Okay, you pick her up, and I’ll try to teleport us somewhere.” 

Killian did as she asked, and once Marian was secured over his shoulder, Emma took his hand and closed her eyes. She'd never teleported herself or people before, but she remembered Regina's tutelage. 

She needed to pick a place she'd been before. 

Emma brought forth a picture in her mind. At first it was the trees of the Enchanted Forest, but she needed a destination in mind. If she just picked a random spot in the forest, it’s likely that something would go wrong. Instead, her mind viewed Lake Nostos. It would be filled with water and a siren at this point in time, but it was the only place other than the Jolly Roger or her parents castle that Emma was familiar with enough to see it. 

Feeling the pull of her magic, Emma released it. Feeling airy, like she was drifting away, Emma held tighter to the picture of Lake Nostos, keeping it to the front of her mind. Finally she felt solid, whole, and there was hard ground underneath her feet. Opening her eyes, she found that they were in the forest by the lake. “Come on, let’s go. The siren’s still around.” 

Killian nodded, turning to go, but as he did, Emma glanced back. 

In the water, not too far away, was an image of Killian, which startled Emma enough to pause. Why was she seeing him in the lake? 

A hand grabbed her and pulled her away. “Don’t know what you’re seeing, Swan, but we need to go.” There was urgency to Killian's tone, his eyes glancing at the lake, as he rushed them away. 

As they ran through the forest, hoping not to hear the siren, Emma couldn’t help but wonder why she saw him. Didn’t sirens show you what you wanted most? Your heart’s desire? Her heart desired returning home to her parents and Henry. She didn’t want Killian. Or, well, she did, but that was too complicated to even consider. When they returned to their time, Emma figured they could talk, but she didn’t know what she wanted between them. Not now when they had to figure out how to get home. 

It wasn’t as though his feelings were a secret. Hell, Zelena used his lo—feelings, his feelings— for her against him in order to take her magic. Emma knew that he wanted a relationship, a future with her, but she wasn’t sure her heart was ready. Her romantic history sucked. There was Neal, her married boyfriend in her early twenties, Graham, Walsh, and well, skips didn’t really count. She wasn’t meant to find love or happiness. Even for a man who changed for her and would follow her to the ends of the earth. 

“Want to try again?” Killian asked after a while, when they slowed down after being far enough away. Perhaps now that they were out of the vault, she'd have more success with the portal. 

Emma waved the wand and still failed to produce a portal. “Fuck.” After ten more minutes of trying, she flung the wand against a tree. It thwacked against the trunk before bouncing off onto the ground, rolling uselessly on the dirt. “We’re stuck here.”

“Well, what, we have a few years before the curse?” Killian asked. He picked up the wand and pocketed it. It might not work for Emma at the moment, but it might certainly come in handy down the road. 

“Nearly three.” Emma huffed. “My parents took some time before they met up again, then I think maybe the war with George started, and then they fought Regina a bit until she backed off to create the curse. That took like two years. Then there was nine months until me and the curse came along.”

“If we can’t get back to the future, we might have to wait it out.” Killian said. “We’d go somewhere away from your parents’ kingdom, stay under the radar, and then when the curse comes, well, we might have to get frozen with Cora to avoid being in Storybrooke with your other self.” 

“Three years is a long time to be away from my family.” Emma didn’t like the idea of being stuck here for so long. She knew she couldn’t interfere with her parents’ past anymore. Hell, she almost erased herself and Henry from existence. It would be hard not seeing Henry for so long. If they ended up waiting it out until time caught up, then Henry wouldn’t even realize she was ever gone. However, three years was a long time. Living whatever life in the past might very well change her into a person Henry wouldn’t recognize.

“Four.” Killian corrected. “If we’re stuck here, will need to ride out the first curse and Pan’s curse. The one that brought everyone back here while you and Henry went to New York.”

He was right of course and Emma silently scolded herself for forgetting that there was an extra year they’d have to wait out. So they wouldn’t go back to Storybrooke until Snow’s curse. Even then, they’d have to hide out until their past selves time traveled so that there wouldn't be two of them running around. “God time travel is confusing.” She groaned leaning against a tree as she rubbed her temples. “Okay, so what next?”

“Well, first, what do we need to do with her?” Killian asked, motioning to the still unconscious Marian. 

“There’s nothing we can do with her.” Emma admitted. “I mean, she was supposed to die, so her being alive changes things. She’ll want to find her husband and son, which will alter Robin’s past and Regina’s future with him.” Emma winced. That was another thing she was screwing up. While she and Regina weren't best friends, Emma didn't want to ruin her chance at happiness if it meant Regina would stay on their side and be a better mother to Henry. 

“Unless, you send her away?” Killian suggested, trying to figure out how best to keep the timeline intact. “It’s only a few years until the Curse, and if you send her far enough away, then it might just take that long for her to return.” 

That was a good point, but could they chance it? “What if she’s resourceful enough to get here sooner?” Emma asked, playing Devil's Advocate. “A mother trying to get to her son is a forced to be reckoned with, you know?”

“Aye.” One such mother was standing before him and Killian’s heart went out to her. It must be killing her that her magic was failing her when she needed to get back to Henry. While it wouldn’t be a four year separation from Henry’s perspective, it would be from Emma’s and she already missed out on so much of Henry’s life. However, back to the matter at hand, there was too much at stake to just let Marian go off on her own. If they woke her up, could they convince her of the truth? Of their being from the future and her death in the original timeline? Of course, she might just label them as insane and run off on her own. 

A groan from the woman startled Emma and Killian. So much for waking her themselves. The universe wasn't being kind to them at the moment. Maybe that was a price for time traveling, no matter how unintentional it was on their part. 

“Shit.” Emma cursed, not ready to face Marian when they still had to figure out what to do with her. They needed to figure out a plan, quickly. 

Marian rubbed her head, eyes opening, taking in her surroundings. Slowly, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Brown eyes stared up at them with wariness. “Who are you?” She looked between them, confusion spreading across her features. “Better question, who am I?”

Emma and Killian shared surprised looks. “I didn’t hit her that hard.” Killian muttered so only Emma heard him. 

“Um, you don’t remember?” Emma asked, watching Marian carefully. How could she not remember? There was no way Killian knocking her out messed with her mind. 

“Remember what?” Marian asked. Her brows furrowed. 

“We met on the road.” Killian supplied. “You were headed to Marawick Harbor, in the Kingdom of Stahlsburg." The lie came easily enough. After all, they needed to come up with a story for the locals; they'd just include Marian now. "We ran into each other and camped out, but our horses have been stolen it seems. You offered to take first watch, so we assumed you were attacked from behind while we slept.”

Emma almost believed the story, he was that convincing. That was a good skill to have since they'd need to come up with more lies to live in this time. 

Marian tried to stand, and both Killian and Emma stepped forward to help her up. 

“Take it easy.” Emma said. “We don’t know how hard you were hit.” She glanced at Killian again, and he was clearly at a loss. 

“Oh, well, that certainly explains why my head is pounding.” Marian smiled tightly, though her eyes still held doubt about them. “So if we’re headed to the same place, how far do we have left to travel?”

“It’s a good few weeks by horse.” Killian said. He met Emma’s eyes and she knew what he was going to suggest. 

In fact, Emma preferred getting out of Regina’s territory as soon as possible. Besides, if Marian freaked out or decided not to keep Emma’s magic a secret, Emma could try and call upon her magic and erase Marian's memory. It seemed there wasn't anything left for her to remember anyway, but what caused Marian's memory loss?

“Can you keep a secret?” Killian asked, his tone protective. 

Marian narrowed her eyes. “What kind of secret?” She stepped away from them. Understandable. She woke up with two strangers and no memory. The fact that she gave them a chance to explain was more grace than most would give. 

“I have light magic.” Emma said. “I can teleport us to town, but I’d rather not broadcast that to everyone. I hope we can trust you with this secret.”

Sensing that Emma was earnest, Marian nodded. “I suppose I can trust you. Who are you again?” Really though, Marian wasn't sure if she could trust them, but her instincts told her that the couple was safe. They didn't seem nefarious and without her memories, they were all she had to rely on to find out who she was, even if they just met her. 

Emma didn’t think giving their real names was a good idea. Thinking quickly, she made something up. “Emily Jones.” Emily was close enough to Emma for her to respond to it. Surely Jones was common enough in this land as it was in hers. Maybe…hopefully. “My husband is…Colin.” It was the first name she could think of which sounded close enough to Killian. Or well, it had the hard C sound. 

Killian looked proud of her quick response. “Aye. You told us your name was Maria, but not sure if you have a surname or not.” 

Marian swayed a bit on her feet. Her head swam unsteadying her. 

“Perhaps you should rest and have some water.” Killian suggested, reaching out to steady Marian. “I know Emily needs some time to prepare her magic.”

“That’s a good idea.” Marian agreed, as her head continued to pound. Just how hard was she hit? Who did it? Why couldn't she remember anything? Even her name, Maria, didn't sound quite right. If that was the name she gave them, then why wouldn't she give her real name?

Emma grabbed Killian’s waterskin and handed it to Marian. “Here you go.” 

As Marian settled against a tree, Emma pulled Killian away. “Okay, there’s no way she’d just forget everything from hitting her head.”

“Perhaps when we were in the Dark One’s vault something affected her.” Killian suggested, his brows drawn together. “We were surrounded by a number of dark objects, and we don't know what any of them were capable of doing." 

“Maybe.” Emma said. She shook her head; Marian's memory loss would be something that they'd tackle later on. Though it was an unexpected blessing since they now didn't have to convince her not to go off in search of Robin and Roland. Emma felt guilty for lying, but they couldn't risk more changes to the timeline. Her focus shifted back to Killian. “Tell me about Marawick Harbor.”

“It’s in Prince Eric’s kingdom.” Killian said. “It’s a port town which fell into Cora’s protection bubble when the curse hit. I docked my ship there a few times over the centuries. It’s large enough to blend in and find work.” In fact, it was a perfect hide out. Populated enough to blend in and far from Regina's clutches, and still close enough to be affected by the Curse. 

“I can’t teleport to a place I’ve never been.” Emma explained. “Regina said that teleporting sort of requires knowing your destination. That’s why I brought us to Lake Nostos, because I’ve been here and seen it before.” Even if it changed a bit in the coming decades. “How can I teleport us now?”

Killian’s brow furrowed adorably as he tried to come up with a solution.

Stop it. Emma berated herself. He’s not adorable. If they were going to be reliant on each other, she needed to squash her feelings down so they could focus on surviving. 

“What if I describe the place to you?” He said after awhile. “Would that help paint a picture you can use?” 

It wasn’t exactly something she tried before. Hell, she barely learned any magic before, but her magic might very well be a key to living in this realm and in this time. “It can’t hurt to try. Go ahead and describe it to me.” She closed her eyes to concentrate. 

He began describing the town as best as he could remember, particularly the docks. As the sun was setting, Killian described the docks more at night, telling Emma about darkened corners, likely because they’d need to appear somewhere hidden as not to raise suspicion. He described the sea and how it sparkled under moonlight; the sound of the water lapping against docks ships; the noise of nearby taverns and the main street.

As Emma listened to his words, she could see it in her mind. Killian’s words painted a detailed, tangible picture. He certainly was quite the storyteller. Before long, Emma pictured a dark spot behind crates on a dock. “I think I’m ready.” She kept her eyes closed, feeling around for his arm. Emma didn't dare open her eyes for fear of losing the picture. 

Killian waved Marian over. “She’s ready.”

When she heard Marian step next to them, Emma spoke. “Hold onto me as tight as you can.” When she felt them grasp her arms, Emma reached deep inside her for her magic. Feeling it coming alive under her skin, Emma held onto Killian tighter. I want to go to Marawick Harbor. She repeated that over and over, releasing her magic. She felt her body dissipate, tightening her hold on her passengers as she felt herself come apart, floating in air as though she were nothingness, before feeling her body came back to herself. Would she ever get used to the sensations that came with teleporting? 

Opening her eyes, she found herself, Killian, and Marian in a darkened corner of docks, behind crates. She could hear the ocean to her left. A breeze brought about the briny, salty scent of the waters. 

Killian peeked out from the crates, looking around to see where they were, before quickly ducking back down. He turned to her with a huge, proud, amazed smiled. “You did it, love. You brought us to Marawick. Bloody brilliant.”

At Marian’s confused look, Emma added. “I’ve never been here before. Usually I have to teleport to a place I’ve seen.” Still, warmth bloomed in her chest at Killian’s praise. I’ve yet to see you fail. His words from Neverland still haunted her. Hell, they’d never leave her. Without fail, Killian always, always, believed in her, even when, especially when, no one else would. Shaking away her affection, Emma returned her attention to Marian.

“Well, then, congratulations on a job well done.” Marian smiled warmly. She wondered if Emma's magic could help with her memories. Could she restore them? 

“Come on, we’ll need to find an inn.” Killian stood, helping both women up. 

“Do I have money?” Marian asked. Then she realized the clothes she and Emma were wearing. “Are these normal clothes?” Surely they couldn't be? 

Emma grimaced. No, they weren’t and it was very possible someone would recognize that they were wearing prison gowns and Killian was dressed as a pirate. “No, these were old sleeping gowns I had, but you’re right, we’ll draw some strange looks.” 

“Could you use your magic to clean us up?” Marian asked. 

Emma considered it, uncertain. Her body felt fatigued from teleporting, but Marian trusted them now and if they stole clothes, that could only make the woman leery of them. They needed to keep Marian close in order to keep an eye on her. Looks like it was time to test the limits of her magic. “Maybe.” She glanced at Killian. “I’ve done small things before, maybe I should test it out on Colin first?”

“Go ahead, love.” Killian spread his arms, ever the willing subject. Looking her over, Killian was concerned. Emma practiced her magic in the future, but nothing near this level. While he believed in her, he didn't want Emma to push herself too much. 

Closing her eyes, Emma figured the easiest thing to do was change one item at a time. She pictured black leather pants as brown and waved her hand. Keeping her eyes closed, she saw his black shirt change to white and his black leather vest changed to deep blue cotton. Finally, his black leather coat, which she was loathed to change but was the most obvious indication of his pirate ways, changed to a brown leather riding coat. 

Her eyes opened to find Killian in the entirely new outfit. Even in his new vest and shirt, the top buttons were still undone, showing off the top of his thick chest hair. She probably could’ve buttoned him up when she changed his clothes, but that didn’t seem right. Plus, she’d never admit it to him, but she actually liked seeing his chest hair and longed to touch it. Stop it, Emma. Keep it in your pants. 

His eyes shown proudly at her accomplishment. “You certainly keep getting better at using magic, love.” 

Emma smiled, and boosted with confidence now that she successfully changed Killian's clothes, she turned to Marian and repeated the process.Marian’s outfit turned from prison chic to one of brown skirts, a green top, and a brown corset. 

When Marian was done, Emma used her magic on herself and her prison dress changed to blue skirts, white top, brown corset, and blue cape. 

Killian tried not to think about how she made them match, or the implications of that. Don't be daft, Jones. There isn't a deeper meaning to that.

“I think we’re ready.” Emma said, subtly steadying herself against a crate as a wave of exhaustion hit her. Maybe she pushed herself too far. 

“Almost.” Killian said. “I’ll need to check and see if we have any coin left. It’s a bit dark, love, might need a light.” Killian gently gripped Emma around her waist, noticing her fatigue. He stepped them away from Marian, walking far enough for Marian to not really hear them, but not so far she’d get suspicious. 

Emma s a reassuring smile Marian’s way. At Killian’s side, Emma held out her hand and a flickering flame appeared in her palm and when she saw it was too small, she willed it to the size of a golf ball. 

"Are you okay, love?" He asked. "You've used a lot of magic in a short time span."

Emma nodded. "I'll be fine. The sooner we count your coins, the sooner we can find an inn."

Killian didn't hesitate, knowing that Emma needed to rest, so he rooted around in his pockets, filled with coins. They counted enough to last them a while and divided the loot between them; Killian insisted on Emma having some money on her in case something happened and they ended up separated. Once they both pocketed the money, he spoke. “I have an idea.” He whispered.

“Oh?” Emma asked, her expression curious. 

“Well, Marian already believes us to be married and hasn’t noticed the lack of rings.” Killian said. “I assure you others will. People are old fashioned around here.” He grimaced at his next words. “If we show up without wedding rings, even if we say we’re married…”

“People will get ideas.” Emma finished, understanding. “I’ll get a reputation.”

“It’s even likely that some establishments won’t accept us as customers.” Killian added, uncomfortably. “Without proof and all that.” 

Emma knew he was telling her this in order to familiarize her with this new world she was stuck in. She had no idea what it was like here and all he wanted to do was protect her, even her honor. It was sweet and he showed more care of her wellbeing than anyone else had before. But could she pretend to be his wife? Sure, he told Marian that to cover for them, but now they’d have to actually live with that lie. They were stuck pretending to be together. She never thought she’d be the marrying type after Neal completely destroyed her. Even with Walsh, before he revealed what he was, she was going to say no. Fairytales and True Love were never in the cards for her. 

When she looked at Killian, a part of her believed in that again, but it scared the shit out of her. It was partly why she wanted to run back to New York. New York was easier; no magic, no complicated family dynamics, no villains, and no Killian to give her hope for a better future. Now, she was stuck in an unfamiliar world, completely reliant on his lead, and even now, he wanted her to have all of the facts before her. He didn’t want her to go into any situation blind. Gratitude nearly overwhelmed her. 

He stared at her with patience and a bit of concern, likely worried about how she’d react. His shoulders were tense, almost bracing himself for a bad reaction from her. 

Taking a breath, Emma pushed away her terror at the idea of a relationship with him. Especially when they both wanted it so much. If anything, her past proved that she would only ruin whatever this precious connection between her and Killian was; it was inevitable that it would happen. No, she had to think about it logically. 

Logically, reasonably, this was an old fashioned port town. They’d likely have to stay here in order to be close to Marian, and figure out her amnesia, godsend though it was for the time being. They had to start off on the right foot with these people they’d be living around for the next couple of years. “Okay, so do you have a ring on you?” Emma asked.

Killian moved some things around in another pocket of his until he finally found a feminine ring that might just fit. It was a gold band with an oval cut ruby surrounded by a circle of small diamonds. He held it for her inspection, careful to hide what they were doing from Marian’s view, though she seemed more distracted by activity further down the docks. 

It truly was a beautiful ring, and Emma could almost imagine another time and another life with a true proposal on his lips. “That’ll work.” She said, careful to keep her tone neutral. She held her left hand out to him. 

Realizing that she wanted him to put the ring on her, Killian swallowed before maneuvering the ring in his hand. 

As he slipped the ring on her finger, Emma felt her breath leave her. It was a perfect fit. Hell, it looked like it belonged on her finger. She wondered if he thought the same as he ran a gentle thumb over the ring as he held her hand. Looking at his hand with its many rings, Emma spoke. “You need a wedding band too.” 

“Don’t have one on me.” Killian shrugged. He’d probably have to steal one tomorrow when a jeweler was open. There wasn’t enough in his pockets to cover a ring and he’d rather save what he had for emergencies. 

Emma looked at the silver and ruby ring currently occupying a place on his ring finger. It was too big and gaudy to be a wedding ring. In fact, all of his jewelry screamed pirate as much as his wardrobe. They were going to have to discuss that. Emma tapped at the on his finger. “Are you attached to this one?” 

“Not particularly.” It wasn’t a lie but it was a half-truth. 

Emma decided to ignore that for now and concentrated on the ring. It needed to be smaller, gold to match hers, the ruby could stay. She began to picture what she wanted in her mind’s eye until it was clear. With a wave of her hand, the ring changed from silver to gold with the ruby shrunk into a smaller oval inlaid in the band. On either side of the ruby rested a small diamond. It looked like a wedding band now. 

Emma removed his other rings from his fingers. “Too pirate-y.” She smirked.

Killian didn’t protest. He shook himself, swallowing, trying not to read too much into how she made their new wedding bands match just as she had matched their clothing. It definitely wasn't a big deal and it meant nothing. “There’s another problem.” He couldn’t guarantee that his crew never docked here in the coming years. He couldn’t remember. It was too dangerous for his own face to become a familiar sight around these parts. It was probably too dangerous for Emma to have her face as well. If Rumplestiltskin found them missing from his vault, he could come looking for them, knowing what they looked like. Emma’s magic seemed more than capable after all. 

“What?” Emma’s eyes held a little bit of panic at his tone. 

“If we stay here, there’s a chance that one day my past self will appear.” Killian explained. “If people get to know us, then they’ll be wondering if I have an identical twin. There’s also Rumplestiltskin to consider. He knows what we look like and we did escape his vault.” 

“You think he might not take the potion to forget the future?” Emma asked. 

“He might, but we have to be cautious.” Killian said. “If you can glamour us and we use aliases, then all the better. Who knows we might end up running into your parents again or someone else.”

Good point. If she glamoured them, then it was much easier to fly under the radar. But she didn’t want them to look at each other and see strangers. Not when all they had was each other to rely on. There had to be a way to glamour them so that others wouldn’t see them, but they’d see each other. That’s what Rumplestiltskin had done for them for the ball. Surely she could do it for them as well. Of course, now Marian saw their faces, so she'd have to adjust it where strangers saw other people but they and Marian still saw the real faces. That also Emma couldn’t drastically change their looks as Marian would see one set of faces and everyone else another set. 

“Okay.” Emma said, though the exhaustion was getting to her. How did Regina use magic so much and not get tired? Was it that the more magic a person used the more they could tolerate the drain? Maybe she could find a teacher here in the past. She'd need to learn more about magic anyway if they were already relying on it for so much little things. “I’ll try to change our appearances to others, but we’ll still look the same to each other and Marian. If she sees something different, she’ll be suspicious and we’ll lose any trust we have from her.”

Hearing the nervous, hesitance in her voice, Killian leaned towards her, gripping her left hand in his right. “You can do this, Emma. Look at all you’ve accomplished today. This is just one more success awaiting you.”

Her eyelashes fluttered at his words, her heart skipping a beat. Was her face warm as well? “Yeah.” She nodded. She closed her eyes again, picturing a new face for Killian. People would still see blue eyes, but slightly lighter hair. A thicker beard instead of trimmed scruff. He’d also have a bit of an offset nose from being broken a time or two. Couldn’t have him look too handsome after all. Ignoring that particular voice in her head, which told her exactly why she didn’t want him so handsome, Emma waved her hand and opened her eyes to see Killian just as he was before. “Did it work?” Her head began to feel light. She wasn't sure how much more she could do. 

Her eyes glanced back towards Marian. 

“We might need a mirror to see.” Killian suggested. 

Taking a deep breath, hoping her magic would still be reliable, Emma conjured a hand mirror and handed it over. She watched Marian as Killian observed his new appearance, knowing they were taking entirely too long to just count some coins. 

Killian took in his new reflection. He was pretty average looking and certainly not as devilishly handsome as he was in reality. At least he wasn’t overly plain, but his new appearance wouldn’t even get a glance from a bar-wench. Still, he wondered if Emma toned down his handsome facade on purpose. Was it because she wanted to avoid garnering attention or did she make him average looking so that women wouldn’t flirt with him? Fool. She probably did it so you won’t get attention. We need to lay low after all. “Looks good.” He returned the mirror to her and watched her work on her own appearance. She glowed briefly but was still his Emma. 

Emma looked at her own reflection. Her eyes were still green, but her face was rounder, more of a heart shape that gave her new facade a sweet innocence about her. Her bright blonde hair was now darker blonde, much closer to her father’s hair. Her nose was more of a button one as well. She looked adorable but far from sexy, which was good, because that would keep attention off of her. A wave of exhaustion hit her again. They really needed to find somewhere to sleep.

Killian quickly replaced his hook with his wooden hand before they returned to Marian. "We'll have plenty of money for an inn for a few days at least. Since you lost your money, Marian, I insist on paying for a room for you." Killian told Marian, keeping his arm around Emma's waist. They bushed her too far as she looked ready to drop at any moment. 

"Wonderful." Marian said. "Are you sure about paying for me? I'm sure I can manage on my own."

"No, no, we are happy to help." Emma insisted. "I feel like what happened to you is our fault. We were asleep when you were attacked. We owe it to you to look after you."

Marian wasn't certain about that, but she wasn't going to turn down their help. Vowing to pay them back later, somehow, Marian started making her way down the docks towards town. 

Killian leaned in close to Emma. “Well Mrs. Jones, ready for our next adventure?” 

Drained due to her magic, Emma leaned on him for support, ignoring how hearing her new title made her heart beat wildly. “Lead the way, Mr. Jones.” 

[wistfulcynic]

from one minute to the next

A little something inspired by the prompts @winterbythesea posted here and here and here. This is not those prompts exactly (nor is it what I outlined on the discord, sorry guys) but I think it carries the same lighthearted dumbass energy as they do. 

Also, Killian Jones does not know what a ‘date’ is. Fight me, show. 

Summary: Emma’s not quite sure how it happened, but somehow she finds herself going from single and solitary in the city one minute to smoothly co-parenting with her ex, living with a pirate, and at home in a town full of storybook characters the next. 

Home. She never thought she’d have one of those. 

This is the story of how she got there. 

(also no! curse! renaissance! 3B divergence without Pan’s curse) 

<3k words  Rated T

AO3

-

from one minute to the next: 

Emma was never entirely certain how it happened. 

One minute she was telling Neal she didn’t want to get back together with him, that it was just too late for them now, and he was looking sad but in a resigned sort of way, as though he regretted the truth of her words while still recognising that they were true. 

“For what it’s worth,” he said. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have listened to August. I shouldn’t have left you like that. If I hadn’t…” 

He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t have to. They both knew how different things would have been if he hadn’t left her. And they both knew that it was far too late to undo what had been done. The only option left was to move on. 

“We found each other again, though,” she reminded him. “And we found Henry.” 

“You mean Henry found us.” 

“Yeah, that’s probably more accurate.” 

They shared a chuckle, and for the briefest moment the years fell away and she remembered why she’d fallen for him. And for the first time since she’d run him down in a New York alleyway, Emma looked at Neal and she felt hopeful.  

“Anyway,” she said, “Henry wants both of us in his life. He deserves that, and I think he needs it. And I think for it to work we need to try to be friends.” 

“No hard feelings, then?” Neal asked, hopefully. 

Emma hesitated. 

What did she feel for Neal? There was still affection, of course there was—the stubborn remnants of a passionate first love that she doubted would ever fully die. There was resentment too, a lot of it, and a lot of hurt. A fair bit of anger. So yeah, there were some hard feelings, but there also wasn’t much point in attempting to hash any of them out with Neal. Not when they needed to move forward.   

She produced a smile, slightly stiff at the edges but he didn’t seem to notice. 

“Sure. No hard feelings.” 

Neal’s face broke into a grin, the wide, happy kind that crinkled his eyes and once upon a time would have sent Emma’s heartbeat into overdrive. Now it just made her think of another crinkly grin, one far rarer and all too often tinged with sadness. 

“Neal,” she said. “I’ve got to go.” 

-

The next minute she was at the docks, breathing deeply and gathering her courage, looking up at the Jolly Roger and hoping Hook—Killian—would be there, in his cabin, maybe with his flask and one of the books that lined his shelves. More than once these past few weeks she’d caught him tucked up in a corner somewhere, reading, and Belle informed her that he actually had a library card. 

“He didn’t have the required ID,” she’d said with a little smirk. “But I think we all know who he is.” 

Emma was pretty sure she did know that, now, and the knowledge propelled her forward, onto the deck of the ship then down to his cabin where she knocked firmly on his door and shivered a bit when his voice called for her to enter. 

He looked up, surprise registering on his face followed swiftly by the delight he could never quite conceal when he saw her. 

“Swan,” he purred. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Emma’s heart was pounding and her throat dry, and honestly it was ridiculous to be this nervous, it wasn’t like he was going to say no. 

“I’m, um. Heretoaskyouout,” she blurted. 

He frowned. “To what?” 

Emma drew a deep breath and tried again. “Ask you out.” 

“Out of where?” 

“What? No. What?” 

“Where do you want me to go out of? This is my ship.” 

Emma resisted the urge to smack herself on the forehead. Of course he didn’t know what ‘ask you out’ meant, he was like a thousand years old. “No, no, I mean out on a date,” she explained. Tried to explain anyway, though his confusion just grew more apparent. “Like, to dinner or something. You and me. Out.” 

“Ah. Ah.” 

She watched as he turned the unfamiliar phrase over in his head, watched his eyes brighten with interest at learning a new thing, then when he finally realised fully what it meant she watched a rosy pink flush creep across his cheekbones and up to the tips of his ears. 

He swallowed, and when he spoke again his voice was gruff. “Let me be certain I understand. You want us, as in you and me, to go someplace and eat dinner together. Just—just us?” 

She nodded. “Yeah.” 

“And in this realm that is called a date?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And am I to understand that there are… romantic connotations to these dates?”

‘Romantic connotations’, she thought, for fuck’s sake, and did her best to ignore the fluttery feeling she always got in her belly whenever he broke out the big words. Aloud she said “Yeah.” 

“I see.” He swallowed again. “And when do you propose we have this date?” 

“Um. Tonight?” 

Aaand there it was, that wide and crinkly grin that made the blood rush far too recklessly through her veins, this time with no sadness lurking behind his eyes. None at all. 

“Tonight it is, then,” he said. 

-

One minute Emma was alone and telling herself she was content to be so, the next she had parents and a son and an ex who was almost a friend, and she was dating. Dating Hook, which she told herself firmly was only weird if she thought too hard about it. She wasn’t actually dating Captain Hook, of course she wasn’t. That would be ridiculous. No, she was dating Killian Jones—who was surprisingly, endearingly, sweet and nervous about it at first, like he wasn’t entirely certain her interest was real and was doing his utmost to tread carefully.

Emma didn’t want him always on his best behaviour, though, and while Killian was wonderful she knew that both of them still needed at least a little bit of Hook. And so it was that after their third date, when Henry was with Neal and Emma had made it very clear to her parents that they were not to expect her home before morning, that she and Killian stumbled back to his ship tipsy on rum but drunk on each other, and she made certain he understood exactly how interested she was. 

It was very. She was very interested. 

And when they awoke the next morning and she groaned at the glaring sunlight and pressed her face into his neck, muttering that it was too damn early and she needed caffeine, he ran his fingers through her hair and informed her he had a coffeemaker in his galley. 

She pulled back and blinked at him. “You what?” 

He flushed slightly, though with a pleased grin. “I asked Granny and she showed me what I needed, and helped me buy it.”

“But why? You don’t drink coffee.” 

He shrugged. “It’s growing on me. And besides, I thought—well, I hoped—that you might want to spend some time aboard ship in the future and, well, I want you to feel comfortable here and to have the things you like.” 

She stared at him for a moment as his flush deepened, then surged forward and kissed him, wrapped herself tightly around him and kissed him and kissed him until they were both breathless and the coffee forgotten until much, much, much later. 

-

Another minute passed and they were marking six months together. Emma had rented a place of her own, nothing fancy but hers, and she and Killian were spending most of their nights there. Her bed was bigger than the bunk in his cabin, softer and with actual springs, and her parents, Granny, and Ruby had all chipped in to buy her an espresso machine. Small but serviceable, like her apartment. Granny taught both her and Killian how to use it—and honestly, Emma thought, you haven’t truly lived until you’ve seen a shirtless pirate with a hook for a hand whip up a latte on a Sunday morning—and she was, tentatively, happy. 

Very happy. 

She didn’t see too much of Neal. He spent time with Henry of course and with Belle, renovating the pawn shop and brightening it a bit, removing what traces they could of the Dark One’s influence. She also knew he was volunteering at the convent where the Lost Boys lived, helping them get accustomed to life in Storybrooke and make it their home. 

He might also, she suspected, have become somewhat more than friends with Tink. 

-

And then one night Emma and Killian had dinner at a new place by the docks, where they gorged on seafood and drank a bit too much wine and decided, for safety and for old times’ sake, to spend the night on the Jolly Roger rather than trying to get home. 

Home. She had a home now, and a man who as good as lived there with her. She should really get around to asking him to live there officially, she knew. She kept meaning to. She wanted to, she truly did. But as conversations go that one felt so weighty and so significant that she wanted to be sure to do it right and so in the end she’d done nothing at all—nothing except feel that little bit more guilty each time Killian asked her politely if it was all right for him to stay. 

Yes, she wanted to tell him. Stay forever. Soon she would. 

They stumbled onto the ship and to his cabin, foolish and messy in a way they hadn’t been for a while. Emma realised she had missed this a bit, the dark, almost feral look in Killian’s eyes when he was just this shade of drunk and she was naked in his bed on his ship. 

“You are… so beautiful, Emma,” he growled against her throat as his fingers tangled in her hair. “Have I told you how you steal my breath away?” 

“Not for at least an hour,” she teased. 

“Remiss of me.” 

“Mmm. However will you… ohhh… make it up to me?” 

He pulled back and looked down at her, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Oh, I have one or two ideas.” 

-

They woke late the next morning as was their habit on a Sunday, and Emma groaned as the light pierced her eyelids and straight through her throbbing head. 

“Killian.” She poked him in the ribs. 

“Mmphh,” he replied. 

“You still have your… thing. Right? Coffee thing? In the galley?” 

“Aye.” He rubbed his eyes and blinked. “I believe there’s aspirin in there as well.” 

Emma turned her poking finger into a caressing one, stroking him with the tip of it. “Killian,” she said again, in a wheedling tone. 

“It’s your turn to make the coffee and you know it, Swan,” he replied, in his pirate captain voice. 

She huffed. He raised an eyebrow. 

“Fine.” She flung the covers off and rolled out of bed, snatched his shirt from the floor and threw it on, buttoning it just enough to keep it from flapping when she walked. “I’m guessing you don’t have milk though.” 

“Certainly not any in a drinkable state. Though there should be some of that horrid creamer.” 

She perked up. “Cinnamon?” 

“What else?” 

In the galley Emma found the coffeemaker and an open packet of coffee that smelled surprisingly fresh given how long it had been since they’d last slept here. There was also the cinnamon creamer, unopened, and a big bottle of aspirin. One minute she was pulling everything off the shelves and turning to set them on the table, and the next the door was swinging open and a person walking through it, and Emma found herself colliding sharply with a bare chest. A familiar bare chest. A familiar bare chest that was not Killian’s. 

“Neal!” she shrieked, dropping everything in her arms. “What the fuck!” 

“Emma!” He looked equally stunned. “What the—what are you doing here?” 

“Here on my—on Hook’s ship, you mean?” My boyfriend’s ship, she wanted to say, but calling a 300-year-old pirate a boyfriend was something she still couldn’t do, however objectively true it may be. 

“The ship he said I could use whenever I needed it?” countered Neal. “Yeah, that one!” 

“He said you could use his ship?” 

“Uh huh, he did. When I, you know.” A shifty look crept onto his face. “Wanted privacy.” 

“Priva-oh!” Emma’s eyes widened as the penny dropped. Neal was still living in his father’s house. The house where Belle also lived. “Um. I see.” 

“Yeah.” Neal didn’t meet her eyes. “But why are you here, don’t you have your own place now?” he demanded. “I thought Hook lived with you.” 

“Not officially,” she muttered. “And we, um, had a bit to drink last night at that new seafood place and you know.” She shrugged. “The ship was closer.” 

“Huh. Well that explains those noises I heard last night.” 

Emma was just about to ask him what the fuck that was supposed to mean when the door opened again and a voice called “Why don’t I smell coff—oh! Um. Hi Emma.” 

Emma pressed her thumbs against her temples. “Hey, Tink.” 

The fairy was dressed identically to how Emma herself was, only the shirt she wore was Neal’s. An old Metallica tee because of course. 

“Well,” said Tink. “That explains those noises we heard.” 

Neal nodded. 

“What noises—” Emma began, then the door opened again. 

“Did you find everything, love—oh. Er.” Killian appeared in the room wearing only his jeans and without his hook. He scratched behind his ear. “Hello, friends and enemies.”

“Hook,” said Tink and Neal. 

“Killian,” said Emma. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You never told me you were letting Neal stay here.” 

“Ah. I did offer him use of the first mate’s quarters whenever he was seeking a bit of privacy, yes. If you remember, love, my quarters proved invaluable in that respect when you were still living with your parents.” 

Emma felt her cheeks grow hot. “Yeah,” she muttered. 

“I merely thought Neal and Tink could do with a bit of the same benefit. And you know the Jolly gets lonely if she’s left by herself for too long. Although,” Killian favoured Neal and Tink with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, “I did make that offer quite some time ago now. And I don’t believe I said anything about staying here.” 

“Yeah, well.” Neal’s face took on that belligerent look he got when he was feeling defensive. “I don’t want to move out of Papa’s place and leave Belle alone.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Emma demanded. 

Everyone stared at her. “What?” asked Neal. 

“Belle’s seeing Ruby.” 

“Ruby?” 

“Yeah. For like three months now. Ruby’s constantly moaning about how they can’t stay at her place because Granny’s got wolf hearing and they can’t go to Belle’s because it’s full of you. Trust me, Belle will be okay if you move out.” 

“Oh,” said Neal blankly. “Well. Fuck.” 

Emma looked around the room, at her current boyfriend and her ex-boyfriend and her ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend who was also her current boyfriend’s ex… something, all of them in varying states of dishevelment, hangover, and undress, and she started to laugh. 

“Yeah,” she said. “That about sums it up.” 

-

So Emma never did quite figure out how it happened, but somehow she ended up with a home of her own in a fairy tale town with fairy tale friends and a pirate boyfriend, where one minute she was drinking coffee in a ship’s galley with a group of people who knew each other far too intimately for anyone’s comfort and the next her ex and his girlfriend were her neighbours and her pirate was living at her place for good—at their place, now—and her son was bouncing happily between the two apartments save at least one night a week that he spent at Regina’s. She and Neal co-parented better than she could ever have hoped, and every morning she woke up to blue eyes warm with love and lattes made precisely how she liked them. 

And, well. Emma’s happiness wasn’t tentative anymore. 

-

She was happy. Really happy. Truly happy. So happy that when she came home one evening to find the kitchen smoke alarm shrieking and Henry teetering on a stool waving a towel at it as Killian and Neal grappled with some foamy, hissing, smoking substance on the countertop, she wasn’t even mad. 

“What the hell do you idiots think you’re doing?” she demanded. 

“Ems!” 

“Mom!” 

“Swan!” 

“It’s not what it looks like!” they cried in unison. 

Emma shook her head. “I’m going next door,” she said. “To have a beer with Tink. This,” she gestured vaguely at the room, “had better be dealt with by the time I get back.” 

As she turned and headed back out the door, the last thing she heard were three furious voices. 

“Now look what you’ve done!”  

“What I’ve done! It was your idea!” 

“And I still don’t have a science project!” 

Emma grinned, and shut the door firmly behind her.

---

@thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu @mariakov81 @stahlop @kmomof4 @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @shireness-says @thesschesthair @courtorderedcake @everything-person @katie-dub 

[kmomof4]

UTTER PERFECTION!!!! In EVERY WAY!!!! Yep. Def the best she’s ever written…

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

“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

--

seventeen. 'and straight on 'til morning'

The girl, Wendy, insisted on helping Neal to gather Henry’s belongings and stayed at his side for the entire walk to the Jolly Roger.  It was a race against a clock that was suddenly very real in this place where time did not exist, every second another precious tick against Henry’s life.

The boy looked very small in his father’s arms and smaller still once laid out on the deck to await the arrival of his mothers.  The Lost Boys were settled against the bulkheads and Killian had sent David below deck to sort out cabins and sleeping arrangements for himself and his family.

Any moment, the women would return; the Jolly Roger awaited her departure.

That left Killian and Neal standing side-by-side at the helm for the first time since Bae had left.  Neal’s fingers worried at the scratches in the wood.  “You sailed her well when you took the Jolly Roger from me in New York,” Killian said.  

“I learned from the best.  Isn’t that what you would say?”  Neal sighed.  “How did we get here, Hook?  How does this end?”

Killian glanced at Henry.  “Emma swore she would bring back Henry’s heart.  And I’m not sure any of those women know how to fail, especially her.”  

“Yeah, she’s—”  Neal sighed again.  “She’s really something.”

“She’s a hero,” Killian said.  “And an extraordinary woman.  She will return, and we will sail home.”

“We, huh?”  Neal’s eyebrow twitched.  “What’s it feel like, to be one of the good guys?”

“Am I?”

“I don’t know, Hook.  Are you?  You know I need to do this.  I need to fight for her.  A man who refuses to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.”

“Aye.”  Killian pinched the bridge of his nose.  “And Emma deserves someone who will fight for her.”

“So does that mean you’re gonna stand in my way?”

“I am in your way.  You and I, we’ve gotten caught up in so much nonsense—over a woman.  That’s not what I want for us.  Or her.  I won’t interfere in your fight, Neal.  I will let Emma make her own decision, and I will respect it.”

Neal held out his hand.  Killian took it.  They shook.

And then they heard the commotion.  Regina yelling at the top of her very commanding voice.  “Henry!”

And Emma:  “Henry?  Where is he?”

“He’s over here!” Neal and Killian met the mothers at Henry’s side.  David nearly tripped coming up the companionway.  

All they could do was watch as Regina pushed her son’s heart back into his body.  Watch, and wait.  Killian’s own breath felt like a weight in his chest as he watched for the boy’s.

“Are we too late?” Emma whispered.

With a sickening cough, Henry came awake.  His eyes opened and he tried to sit up—too quickly, which made him cough again.

“Whoa.  Whoa, whoa—take it easy, buddy.  Take a breath.  We’re here.  We’re all here.”  Neal’s voice wavered as if he was holding back tears.

“I’m so sorry,” Henry said.  “I just wanted to save the magic.  I wanted to be a hero.”  He looked at Emma.  “Like you, mom.”

“It’s okay,” Emma said.  “It’s okay, Henry.”

“There’s plenty of time for that.” David gripped him on the shoulder. 

“Right now, it’s time to rest,” Snow White said.

Killian’s relief filled him.  His smile hurt.  “Welcome back, lad.  Only the best for our guest of honor.  Captain’s quarters, I think?”

“Come on.  I’ll tuck you in.”  Regina’s hand shook as she pulled Henry tightly against her and led him away.

--

Killian kept himself at the helm and away from the family dramas unfolding before him.  The ship was ready; there was little for him to do but wait.  And watch.  The Lost Boys were scattered on the forecastle but the poop was cluttered with Emma and the Charmings and a box containing the Dark One.

Would that he would stay so contained.

But Neal appeared nervous--eager.  Held the box tightly in his hand as he shuffled on his feet, preparing himself for the enormity of what he was about to do.  Killian saw him dart a glance at Emma—stock-still, her expression etched in stone.  Behind her the Charmings clutched at each other with the waterskin pressed between them and waited.

David turned, slightly, and caught Killian’s eye.  Nodded.  That was when Killian realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to expel it.  Released his grip on the wheel.

With a twist of his wrist Neal opened the box and for an instant the very air stopped moving.  The starlight dimmed.  Everything seemed to vibrate and there, on the deck of the Jolly Roger, stood the Dark One; Killian hated how grateful he was for it.

Neal pulled his father into his arms and Emma seemed to collapse.  Her shoulders sagged, her spine curved.  Her mouth moved for several seconds with no sound before she said, “He’s back.  That means—”

David could go home.  They could all go home—Emma’s entire family.

Killian grinned.  Emma Swan never failed.

The prince laughed.  “He can cure me.”

Snow White was nearly sobbing.  “We can go home?”  Emma flinched when her mother grabbed her , frozen, before collapsing again—further—into the embrace.  “A family.”  David’s hand gently cradled the back of Emma’s head.

Regina emerged from the companionway and took in the group hug with a roll of her eyes.  Emma extracted herself from her parents and looked at Killian—he tipped his head—then Neal, who straightened and removed the tied-up coconut from the strap of his cutlass.

“Can we get a move on?” Regina was as patient as ever.  “You—get over here.”  This was said to Neal.

“You think it will fly?” Emma said.

“It has no choice,” Regina said.  Grim satisfaction tinged her words as she held herself ready for the spell.  “Light it.”

Emma reached for the cannon fuse with her lighter—no magic—and Neal held the coconut steady.

“Now,” Regina commanded, and Neal obeyed; the Shadow was caught by the cannon and by the magic and trapped in the sail.  The fabric changed from white to black and filled with invisible wind and momentum as the Shadow strained to move.

“Let’s get the hell out of Neverland,” Emma said.

“As you wish,” Killian said.  “Prepare to weigh anchor!”  The magic of the ship responded to his order and shifted immediately with a tilt skyward.  Propelled by the Shadow, they were soon airborne.  Airborne, and free.  

David and Emma murmured to each other on the deck as Snow White dug into the remainder of their stores and began making a round of the Lost, offering them bits of food or sips of water.  Wendy pulled her dressing-gown more tightly around herself and made her way toward Tink.  When Bae—Neal joined them, the tiny girl wrapped herself around him.  Regina stood amidships along the starboard side—alone—until Tinker Bell moved to stand beside her.

Killian watched them.  He was alone at the helm and it stayed that way as, one by one, the assorted passengers of the Jolly Roger took themselves to the cabins assigned them by Prince Charming.  The Lost huddled together on the fo’c’s’le, sleeping in stunned silence.  The only sound aloft in the night air was the pleasing rush of fresh, cold wind as they sailed.

Emma was the last to take herself below.  For a while she stood there, only moving to tuck her hair behind her ears.  Over and again as the wind immediately whipped it into a tangle and she said nothing, did nothing, until finally she turned and looked up at him.  Taking him in from his brows to his boots.

Killian watched her and felt the hunger rise up inside him.  The need.  The desire.  It was unfamiliar and aching and it hit him with a force.  They had retrieved the boy and his promise, if there was such a thing, was fulfilled.  But with so much unresolved he held fast to what he had said to Neal—he would fight.  And he would let Emma make her decision.

He might as well have spoken the words out loud—Emma blinked, and turned away.  It was difficult not to take that as an answer but Killian turned his gaze skyward again as Emma made her way carefully through the companionway and down to the crew quarters.

Alone.

A shiver ran through him, right through the edge of his coat; it was a shock to feel the weather again.  A sign of his exhaustion, no doubt.  It was past time for sleeping.  Even Neal was sprawled on the deck, in between Tinker Bell and Wendy.  Killian locked the wheel on its course and left the magic to guide them through to the morning.  They’d nearly be home by then.

Home?  Killian chuckled unkindly to himself.  The Jolly Roger was his home, hell or high water.  He stifled a yawn and headed toward the cabin Dave had set aside for him—stopping at his usual quarters to check in on Henry, pleasantly surprised when Regina tolerated his intrusion.  Her hand was wrapped around her son’s as she mouthed the words to a story.

He hesitated outside the cabin assigned to Emma, his hook poised to knock on the door, but it was dead quiet and she hadn’t slept, either.  Killian took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose and took himself to his cabin.

Emma Swan was sitting in the candlelight—waiting—though she stood immediately when he entered.  He opened his mouth but no words came out.  He couldn’t even breathe.

She grabbed him.  She kissed him.  Again, again—all he could taste was her—until he was gasping for air, desperate, unmade.  She flicked her wrist, and the door slammed shut behind him.

--

For one shining second everything snapped into focus.

Like magic.

She could feel it.  Every nerve in her body was alive.  Dancing.  On fire.  Everywhere they touched hummed with power.  Emma wanted to laugh.  To scream.  To cry.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, pulling away.

“Wait, what?” What was he apologizing for?  She’d kissed him.  She’d wanted to.  God, she’d wanted to.  She just hadn’t wanted to let herself.  There had been too much on the line.

And Henry.

But they were on their way home.  Together.  A family.  And Henry was fine.  Alive, and whole.  Just like he’d said.  They hadn’t failed.  

They’d been a team.

“Hook?  Killian?”

He smiled—sort of.  His mouth moved, half-up at one corner.  It did not reach his eyes.  “I want this.  I want you,” he said.  “When you say my name—I want to make you scream it.”

“And I’m here to take you up on that,” Emma said, but she stepped back, too.  She wasn’t going to beg.  She wasn’t going to—

His grip on her wrist was soft, and sure, and gentle.  It centered her.  When was the last time someone had touched her like that?  So easily?  With such care?  When was the last time she’d let them?

“Emma.”  It was a whisper.  It was a caress.  His thumb slipped under the cords of leather wrapped around her wrist—right at her pulse point—she felt it everywhere.  Everywhere.  “My foolishness almost got us killed in the Dark Hollow,” he said.  “I don’t make a habit of this. I apologize, unreservedly.  My behavior with Neal was inexcusable.”

“Me and Neal—we’re not—”

“I know,” he said.  She liked the way he said it.  Like it was just that simple.  She also liked that he did not let go her wrist as he spoke.  “And that is not the kind of man I want to be.  But it was nonetheless an uncomfortable reminder.”

“Of what?”

His hand moved.  His thumb played with the ring on his first finger.  “Villains don’t get happy endings.  And I have been—I am—a villain.  Seeing you two together so soon after what we had shared—”

“It was just a kiss,” she said.  A lie, and he knew it.  He knew it as well and as easily as she knew that he spoke nothing but the truth. “Killian—” his hand stilled “—we wouldn’t be here now without you.  My father is alive because of you.  We saved Henry because you helped.”  

He blushed, and looked away.

“Thank you, Killian.  For coming back.”

“It was the right thing to do.”  He shifted.  “I just wish I had done it sooner.  I’m sorry.”

Emma leaned forward, slowly.  Forced him to look her in the eye.  “Trust me, you have a mark in the hero column.”  And then she kissed him.  Again.

Slowly.

Savoring it.

She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled herself closer.  Teased her tongue against his lips.  The sound he made was pure pleasure and he moved, his fingers threading through her hair.  Brushing against her cheek as one kiss became two.  Then three.  She stepped back, slightly, and smiled.  Killian’s fingers moved to trace her lips and he leaned forward, fusing their mouths together.

One kiss.  Another.  Three.

Then the kiss changed and she stopped counting.  His tongue slid into her mouth.  Greedy.  Heated.  His arms wrapped around her and she felt protected—precious—safe—as his mouth wandered, kissing a path across her jaw and down her neck.  Emma exhaled a noise that might have been his name.  The cool metal of his hook played at the hem of her top and his hand fingered the edge of her bra, pulling at the strap.  “May I remove this?”

Always a gentleman.

Emma unclasped it and tossed it aside, along with her top.  She watched him as he removed his coat and then it was her turn, her fingers working at the buttons of his vest and the laces of his shirt.  His eyes trailed every movement with searing intensity and then he lifted her.  “I would like to take you to bed.”

“And I would like to hear you scream,” she said, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“As you wish.”

--

 Sated.  Spent.  Fucking exhausted.  Emma cocooned herself in the blanket; nestled more deeply into the pillow.  “My parents want me to get back together with Neal,” she said.

His fingers, idly tracing patterns on her back, froze.

“They didn’t even ask me,” she said.  “They just assumed.  True Love.  Yadda yadda.”

“I see.”  She reached for him but he twisted away from her, maneuvering himself until he was sitting up, his feet squarely on the floor, his back to her—inked and muscled, and twitching when she ran her finger up his spine. 

“Killian?”

He shivered when she said his name but his words, when he spoke, were strained.  Almost formal.  “A one-time thing.  I quite understand.”

“No.  No, Killian, that’s not—” Emma sat up, pulling the blanket with her.  He was so beautiful and had a confidence in his body and his nakedness that she was not feeling.  Not when he said that.  “That’s not what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“About Neal?” She shrugged.  “Yes.  He broke my heart.”

Killian gave a hoarse chuckle.  He smoothed his hand down his face.  He did not look at her.   “He did.”  

“Neal left.  My parents left.  Graham—” she caught her breath.  “Everyone I’ve ever cared about.”

“Me.”

She nodded.  Took a deep breath and moved.  Touched him.  Let her hands roam and feel the warmth of his skin and the tension beneath.  Turned him to face her and dropped her head to his shoulder.  “I left you first,” she said.  “That’s what I do.  That’s what Neal taught me.  I don’t want to go back to that.  I want to be a part of something.  Aside from Henry, I don’t think I ever have.”

“But you could.”  His arm came around her.  She reached up and threaded her fingers through his.  “Is that what you want?  Or is that what you are afraid of?”

“Both,” she said.

“I would follow you to the end of the world, love.  And back again.  Which are you asking of me?”

“I’m asking you to stay,” Emma said.  Her body hummed as she said it—  focused.  Powerful.  “I want to try something new.  You’re not a villain, Killian.  You’re not a monster.  Your happy ending—”  

Killian smiled.  A breathtaking, beautiful, hopeful smile.  “It’s you,” he said.  “Don’t you know, Emma?  It’s you.”

Every candle in the cabin flared.  He laughed.  His arm hooked around her waist and in less than a second he had her on her back, crowding her, his nose  and his face buried against her neck until his breath tickled.  His hand went to her breasts and when she reached for him, his hook caught her wrists and brought her hands above her head.  His fingers danced along her stomach, her muscles tense. Killian’s forehead pressed against hers, his eyes lit up in the night as she shivered and shook under his slow, gentle caress—as his touch slipped between her legs—as he kissed her, teasing—“Please,” she gasped.

It was the ‘please’ that did it.  His fingers twisted and the world around her went white; she came down slowly, letting herself melt into the bed.  His arms.  She was in a haze, in a place between sleeping and awake.  She felt like she could say anything and be understood.

It was an entirely new feeling.

She liked it.

“I don’t want to tell my parents,” she said.  “My father and mo—Mary Margaret.  About this.  About us.”

“You needn’t protect me from your father, love,” he said, amused.  “He’s made his opinions clear.  Called me names.  Meant a lot of them, I think.  But Dave and I, we’ve arrived at an understanding.  I’m more worried about Snow White.  She’s a fair hand with that bow.”

“I don’t need their permission.  Neither do you.”

“You’re angry with them,” he said.  “Aye, you’ve a right to be.”

Emma shifted to face him head-on, resting herself on his chest.  Inked—like his back—muscled, strong.  Her hands made a pillow and she set her chin down; their eyes met.  “I’m tired,” she said.

“Aye,” he said, slowly.  “You’ve a right to be.”

“I’m so tired, Killian.  And if I tell them then they’re just gonna try to convince me how much they know better.  I don’t want to fight or explain.  I just want them to understand.  Just once.”  Emma laid her head down on her hand-pillow and listened to his heartbeat.  Closed her eyes.

“You have a plan,” he said.

“Maybe,” she murmured.  She was so drowsy.  So comfortable.  “Maybe I do.  Will you trust me?”

“Yes.”

One eye opened.  “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”  Killian leaned forward and kissed her forehead.  Her cheek.  The corner of her mouth.  “It will be daylight soon.  We’re nearly home.”  His hand smoothed her hair as he slid out from underneath her.  

She was asleep before he was gone, the word ringing in her dreams.

Home.

eighteen. 'happily ever after'

Mrs. Lucas greeted him with a very particular—knowing—look as he walked into the diner, the bell over the door heralding his arrival just a few minutes after the device in his pocket had made a noise. A text: They know. Granny’s.

Eloquent, Emma Swan was not.

He’d replaced the device—the phone—in his pocket and hurried, though he affected nonchalance as he pushed the door open. Mrs. Lucas was not fooled. Her face lit up in what could only be described as glee. “Leroy owes me ten bucks,” she said. “How did you pull it off?”

Killian carefully settled himself on a barstool before he leaned forward, beckoning her with a finger. Raising his eyebrows. Making a show of looking around before he answered. “Magic,” he whispered.

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Her laugh was short and sharp, like a bark.

“Now, Mrs. Lucas”—Killian raised his eyebrow dramatically—“would I lie to you?”

She snorted and turned away, leaving a pint of beer in front of him. Killian twisted on his stool and watched her in the corner. Watched them, for Emma and her mother huddled close together over their table.

But he hadn’t told her a lie.

That first night in Storybrooke, as he’d sat in his quarters contemplating the bunk that felt too soft and too large and the night air that felt too cool and too still and too quiet, she’d appeared. A shift in the air, and a puff of white smoke; he’d been sure he was dreaming. In her hand, there was a small object. A black rectangle of some hard material that folded over. “I can’t stay,” Emma said. “But—it was too quiet at home. And I brought you something. It’s a telephone—”

“A talking device,” he said. He’d recognized the Greek even when he hadn’t known the word. Astonishing what one learned in the Royal Navy, and how it carried over even into this realm. “The mermaids have a magic like this.”

“This way we can talk. Or text. And no one will know but us.”

“How romantic,” he deadpanned. But her fingers curled in his as he spoke, twined together.

“I’m going to lunch with Neal tomorrow,” Emma said. “Tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, until they see what I see. What I know. And then maybe—” she stopped. “What are you going to do?”

“I have some ideas.” He pulled her into his arms. Into his bed. Felt her rands roam as she traced his tattoos with her fingers and then her lips and her tongue until he shivered. Screamed.

And so did she.

She slipped from the sheets, quietly, and stood. “I can’t stay,” she said again.

“I understand,” he’d said. Because he did. “I’ll see you tomorrow, love.”

“So we’re going to do this?” And the unspoken question—you’re going to stay?

Killian nodded, answering both. “Your father’s been waiting for me to rob him since the moment we met. I would hate to be a disappointment.”

She’d appeared that first night and every night since; he almost wished that time were stopped again just so he could live in those moments forever. Here and now, David stood next to him--also watching, also quiet.

In the corner, Snow White started crying. So did Emma. Happy tears, Killian thought—Snow was smiling, holding Emma’s hand—Emma’s shoulders were relaxed and open as she leaned closer.

Killian smiled, too. He heard David’s sigh of relief. Saw his smile when their eyes met. “Take care of her, brother,” the prince said.

“She can take care of herself,” Killian said.

“Better than anyone,” David agreed. “But something tells me she’ll be busy watching out for you.”

“She would, wouldn’t she?”

“Just like her mother,” David said. He clapped his hand on Killian’s shoulder. Gave a squeeze, walked to the table in the corner.

“Another one, if you please, Mrs. Lucas,” Killian said, running his hand through his hair. The bell over the door rang, and Killian glanced over his shoulder. “Make it two.”

He slid the second pint over just as Neal sat on the stool next to his.

“I’m sorry,” Killian said.

Neal took a long, slow sip. He said, “I don’t need an apology, Killian. “And you don’t need my permission.”

“Not about that,” Killian said. “I’m sorry, Bae, for the ugliness that passed between us. If I could do it again, I wouldn’t.”

“Neither would I,” Neal said. “But then we wouldn’t be here. With her.”

“She loves you,” Killian said.

“I love her,” Neal said. “I probably always will. She’s my family.”

“Aye,” Killian said. “She is. And your boy.”

Neal surprised him, then. He turned on his stool and offered his glass in a toast. “And you,” he said.

“To family,” Killian said. He clinked their glasses together.

“To family, and home.”

[captcas]

Something to Hold Onto by captcas

Emma Swan has always had two superpowers. First, she can always tell when you’re lying. Second, she can retreat into the magical storybook she was found with to visit her fictional friend, Killian Jones. When Emma gives the book up, she wonders if she’ll ever see Killian again. read on ao3

Phoenix, AZ; November, 2000

Pregnant?

Emma slides down the tile wall of the Shell bathroom. Usually she’d do everything in her power to avoid touching anything in a gas station restroom. Right now she can’t find it in herself to care about the amount of infectious diseases she’s being exposed to, her eyes fixed on the two pink lines that just threatened to change her entire life.

Threatened? More like promised.

She jumps when she hears a knock on the door, “Ems? You ok?”

It isn’t until she wipes the tears from her cheeks that she realizes she’s started to cry. Neal knocks again, “Ems! You good?”

Clearing her throat, she musters up the will to answer, “Yeah, uh, just a minute.”

She scrambles for her backpack, desperate for an escape she’s not entirely confident will be there.

It’s been too long.

When her fingers touch the cool leather of the mysterious book that has somehow woven its way into every important moment in her life, a sense of calm overwhelms her. She knows that avoiding her problem isn’t going to change anything, but right now, she couldn't care less. As she settles in her lap, the positive pregnancy test laying the floor in her periphery, she thinks back to the first time it allowed her to escape.

Des Moines, IA; 1989

Emma hears footsteps coming from down the hall and quickly pulls her blanket over her head. She hates the way it makes it hard to breathe but she also fears what’ll happen to her if she gets caught up past curfew again. She holds her breath as the door creaks open and doesn’t move again until the door shuts and the footsteps walk away. Coming out from under the covers, she takes a deep breath of fresh air. Once she’s sure no one else in her bunk is awake, Emma pulls the thick, leather book out from underneath her bed. This book is one of the only things her parents left her; a book, a blanket, and a name. Ever since she could read, and even before, if her foster parents were kind enough, she’s poured into these stories– escaping reality for ogres, pirates, princesses, and true love. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the stories almost seem ever changing and expanding. She never has to choose what to read, the book opening and picking a story for her– although she finds herself partial to the updates of the young Snow White.

Tonight she opens to a brand new story titled “The Brothers Jones”. She’s never heard of this fairytale, but that’s how most of these stories start out until they twist and turn into well-known characters from movies that the other kids watch to pass time. It seems rather short, but Emma doesn’t mind, especially seeing as it’s way past her dictated bedtime. She hunkers down into her pillow and begins…

Once upon a time there were two brothers. Liam, the eldest, was outgoing and mature, helping their parents around the house and picking up odd jobs around town to help with trips to the market. Killian, on the other hand, was quiet and kind. He often found himself staying home to take care of their mother. At ten years of age he was too young to get a real job, so their father, Brennan, and Liam took care of earning money in hopes to keep their mother alive.

One night, Killian’s mother took a turn for the worse, her breathing slowing until it stopped. The family gathered around, comforting one another over the loss of Alice.

The following days seemed like a blur for the family, preparations for her funeral taking up most of their time. When the day finally came, the Jones boys were distraught. Her burial became too much for young Killian so he took off to the one place which could calm his worries, Brennan and Liam calling after him as he ran. Liam wanted to go after his younger brother but Brennan stopped him, urging him to give Killian some space.

Emma pauses for a second, shining her flashlight over the picture of the two boys which accompanies the start of the story. Her finger traces over the face of the younger one, she thinks to herself that she wishes she could meet this Killian. She glances a moment longer and turns back to the story…

Killian ends up by the docks, his legs moving on their own accord. He finds an empty slip and decides to sit on the end of the pier, crying over the loss of his mother.

Emma suddenly feels as though she’s drifting to sleep. The words seem to be floating off the page and wrapping themselves around her. When a flash of light surrounds her, Emma is sure she’s dreaming. She shuts her eyes in fear, unsure of where this dream is taking her.

Suddenly, her bare feet hit cold ground. She shivers, still too scared to open her eyes, her hands acting as a makeshift blindfold. She hears what sounds like a seagull and smells what she can only imagine is the sea. It’s a comforting quiet disrupted by the soft sound of someone crying. In a quick bout of bravery, the young girl opens one eye. Gasping, she removes her other hand from her face and her eyes grow wide. Sitting in front of her is Killian Jones, the boy from the storybook. She hesitates, but slowly walks towards him. She now knows he’s the source of the quiet sniffling and pauses, unsure she should bother him. Before she can turn around and explore more of her dreamworld, Killian looks over his shoulder and wipes his runny nose on his hand. He looks at her intently, and Emma is drawn to the deep blue of his eyes which seem to shine brighter through his tears. His eyebrows curve in confusion and he speaks, “Who are you?”

His voice is the most beautiful thing Emma has ever heard. His accent is unlike anything she’s heard before, but it’s melodic and reminds her of her favorite song. She hesitates to respond, but somehow feels comforted by his presence. “I’m… I’m Emma. Are you… Killian?”

His eyebrows shoot to his hairline but he gives her a soft smile, “Yes, miss. I’m sorry I don’t recognize you, I’ve never seen you here before.” He scratches behind his ear as she struggles to explain where she came from.

She’s sure she can say anything, she’ll wake up in the morning and Killian Jones will remain the figment of imagination he is, so she’s honest. “Oh! I’m not from here. I’m from Iowa! Well, at least I’m from Iowa right now…”

“Iowa?” Killian questions her once again. “I’ve never heard of such a place. I don’t get to travel much. Is it close to here?”

Emma decides to sit down next to him, both of their legs swinging over the dark water. “I think I’m pretty far from home. One minute I was reading in my bed and the next I was standing behind you.” Emma flinches at her own honesty but reminds herself it can do no harm. She’s finding peace in this dreamworld, she almost feels as though she has a friend.

“Well, Emma, I don’t know how you’re here but I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad moment.” He hangs his head, fiddling with a hangnail on his left hand.

“Your mother…” Emma says it in barely a whisper but Killian hears it all the same. She clasps her hands over her mouth.

“How did you––” He looks afraid of her and she hates it.

“Killian, I––,” She reminds herself again he’s just a dream, “The book I was reading… you were–– are a character in it. That’s how I knew your name, and about your mom. I also know about your brother, Li––”

“Killian? Is that you? Killian!” Emma is cut off by who she can only assume is Liam looking for his little brother. She scoots a bit away from him and hides her face in embarrassment while he turns to talk to his brother. Confusion was etched across Killian’s face before they were interrupted.

“Aye, Liam. It’s me. I’m sorry for running, it’s just… mother… she––” Killian is practically toppled over by a hug from Liam.

“I understand, Killian.” Liam looks as though he’s been crying but smiles and rubs his brother’s head. “I’m just glad you’re safe.” It’s then that he notices Emma. “Brother, who is this?”

Killian’s neck heats up with blush and Emma has to suppress a giggle. “Liam, this is Emma of Iowa.”

Emma chuckles loudly this time and Liam looks a bit confused but brushes it off quickly, “Ah, hello Emma. I hope my little brother hasn’t burdened you with our troubles too much. Where is your family?”

Killian mumbles something that sounds like “younger brother” and Liam smirks slightly. She supposes it’s something between siblings and ignores the ache for a family that lives deep in her soul. Emma snaps out of her melancholy to answer, “Oh, um, they’re at home.” She shoots a look at Killian, urging him to help her keep her secret. She once again is warring with the part of her brain which says none of this is real but shoves it down in light of Liam’s stare. “I should be going.”

Killian looks like he’s about to say something when Liam speaks, “Ah, yes, well we should be getting back to our parents as well.” Liam’s voice cracks at the word parents, but he continues his strong facade in front of his brother. “Ready, Killian?”

“Aye, I’m right behind you, brother.” Liam hesitates but turns away to leave Emma and Killian to say goodbye.

Emma speaks first, “I’m so sorry about your mother, Killian.” She looks down at her hands, she’s never had parents, but she can imagine watching one die is not easy.

“It’s ok, Emma. Liam and I will manage.” Emma can tell he’s being brave for her but she lets him continue. “You go home now, I’m sure your parents are worried.”

“I don’t have parents, I’m an orphan.” It bursts out of her before she can stop herself, her innate need to be honest with Killian taking over. She’s scowling now, ready to spit back any pity he throws her way, but when she looks up, all she sees is understanding. He nods at her.

“Will I see you again, Emma? Friends are all too rare in my life.” She smiles softly, happy to have made a friend herself.

“I hope so, Killian.” They smile at one another and she hears Liam call him from a distance. Killian nods once more and runs to his brother, glancing back over his shoulder one last time. Emma smiles, and watches him fade from sight.

As quickly as Emma landed in this world, she is back in her bed. The book sits open on her side table. She grabs it, hoping to see more of Killian’s story to add fuel for the rest of the night’s dreams. Emma is shocked at what she sees. Side by side are the text of her encounter with Killian, and a perfect sketch of the two of them sitting on the edge of the pier. Emma expects to be scared, but instead she’s comforted by the drawing of her and her new friend. She closes her book, and places it in it’s hiding spot, easily drifting off to sleep with memories of ocean air and the sound of Killian’s voice.

Phoenix, AZ; November, 2000

She hasn’t visited him since Ingrid— it’s not fair that she uses him like this, but she needs him.

And he promised. They promised.

With a deep breath, she opens the book and thinks of her friend as the warm light surrounds her and takes her away...

Sea air fills her lungs as she finds her footing– the breeze a sure sign she’s landed wherever Killian finds himself these days. She orients herself by finding the water and spots a ship coming into land– Emma would know that ship anywhere. While she can tell it’s the Jewel, the vessel’s usually regal presence seems tarnished somehow. As it nears the shoreline, she sees Killian at the helm. A smile spreads across her face before she can stop it– he always looked so at home on the water. As he nears the beach, Emma senses something different about her old friend. He’s older, each of them learning long ago moves differently in their separate worlds– almost as they need it to rather than on any set timeline– but she can’t shake the feeling there’s more to it than age.

Killian directs the crew effortlessly, not a single soul arguing with him. The ship hits land and Killian gazes over the side long enough for Emma to notice the heavy space beside him. Something’s missing– someone’s missing. It dawns on her as the ramp hits the sand… Liam.

Killian walks off the ship with a swagger she doesn’t recognize– a false confidence she’s positive only she would recognize as a front. Second guessing her decision– maybe she’d stayed away far too long– Emma reaches for the leather book. Selfishly, she takes one more look at her friend, or the man which used to be. He scans the beach with a stoic look that only falls away when he meets her gaze. A smile breaks out across her face as he runs towards her. She lets go of the book, anxious to learn more about where she is and what Kilian’s been up to. He barely says hello before she's wrapped in his arms choking up at the pure innocence of his laugh when he picks her up and twirls her around.

“Emma Swan!” Killian puts her down, swiping a soft curl from her cheek, “It’s been so long, love.”

Emma can’t speak, she’s changed since they last met, but not like him. Studying him, she releases him from her grasp and her hands trail down his arm, hesitating when her left one hits something foreign. Killian flinches and tucks it under his jacket. She’s still unable to put a finger on what’s different, but her old friend, always sure and steadfast, seems… lost. She can’t help but speak candidly, “Killian, where is Liam?”

He smirks, a mask unfamiliar to her aside from her brief glimpse of him exiting the ship, “Ah, yes, ‘fraid my brother was lost to the sea.” He gazes off before seemingly being startled into remembering her existence, “Emma! You can’t be here, it’s dangerous.”

Emma looks around for the first time since she arrived and realizes this place is unlike any portside town she’d landed in previously. “Where exactly is… here?”

If she didn’t know better– Killian Jones is not afraid of anything– she would’ve sworn she saw fear flicker across his eyes, “Best you not know. Why are you here? Is everything alright?”

His genuine concern reminds her of the pregnancy test she left in the Shell bathroom. Never one to mince words and never sure how long they truly have, Emma breaks the news abruptly, “Killian, I’m pregnant.”

Now she knows its fear– coupled with a brief flash of sadness that she doesn’t have the energy to dissect– that crosses his gaze, “Emma, ho–”

She cuts him off, she doesn’t want to answer the questions, doesn’t want to disappoint him, “It doesn’t matter. I will be ok, I just… needed to see you.”

He nods before turning to a small man in a red beanie who has hovered close by but out of earshot for the entirety of their conversation. “Smee, it will be dark soon. Gather supplies and take the crew aboard. I will return shortly.” The man nods before yelling a feeble attempt to wrangle up the rest of the crew while Killian leads Emma closer to the water’s edge. She knows there’s more to everything happening here than he’s letting on, but she also knows that if he’s not telling her, it’s with reason.

They find a small alcove, hidden from the ship, and Killian takes her in his arms swaying slowly. She can’t help but giggle, “Killian, what are you doing?”

“Just, I know you probably don’t have long, but please– before you go, just– one dance.” She nods, this tradition is one she should’ve seen coming. They danced the first time when Emma was nervous for her first homecoming dance– he taught her how to slow dance. Her next trip was to tell him she’d moved again and never gotten to go to the dance after all– so they swayed once more... that was the last time she’d visited.

As they settle into a comfortable stance, Emma feels something cold hit the small strip of skin exposed at her back. Logically she knows it should be his left hand, but the chill feels metallic. She stops herself from flinching, not at what must be a prosthetic, but at the temperature of the metal. Meeting his gaze, she can tell her lack of response comforts him briefly before the exhaustion and fear returns to his features. He forces a smile before pulling her closer— clearly, he doesn’t want to be here anymore than she wants to be home, so she dances. Killian hums quietly, a melody she’s heard many times before and often sings to herself when she needs the comfort of her friend. They don’t speak at first, the soft sound of his hum and the distant white noise of waves hitting the sand more than enough to fill the air around them.

Emma feels another wave of fear fall over her and breaks the silence, “I don’t really know how, Killian.”

He leans in closer, “It’s easy. Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.” He winks at her and they feel like children again— twirling in fields of flowers and playing along the shoreline. For a moment, she forgets the monumental changes waiting for her at home and just tries to be happy. Killian spins her around, dipping her, and making her laugh like she hasn’t in what feels like her entire life. He slows and begins to hum a different shanty she doesn’t recognize but causes her to sway back and forth all the same. She has to stop herself from jumping when he speaks again, “I know you’re scared, Swan, but you can do this.”

Emma doesn’t tell him that she knows she can’t, that she knows Neal can’t– or that he won’t. Instead, she just savors the moment with her best friend.

Whether he’s real or fiction or an impossible dream stopped mattering long ago— Killian is always here, a constant in her inconsistent life, and that’s worth everything to Emma. She gazes into his eyes, as easy to lose herself in as the ocean, and he looks back. They’re practically nose to nose and Emma can see every scratch, bruise, and line of exhaustion that covers his face.

He’s still one of the most beautiful humans she’s ever seen.

Maybe it’s that realization that causes her to lean in ever so slightly. His eyebrow raises quickly before mimicking her movement. They have history, it’s patchy and incomplete, but it’s theirs and no matter what Emma always finds herself back in this fantasy’s arms.

He’s fiction, always has been, but he’s been an escape all the same. Emma doesn't second guess her decision to kiss him– no harm, no foul when this is all a dream anyway…

But it never comes.

Their moment is disrupted by a loud cawing noise. It almost sounds like a bird, but the way he flinches and the stoic fear that settles across Killian’s face hints that, whatever made that noise, is not to be messed with. His back stiffens beneath her hands before he moves in front of Emma. Using his left hand– no, hook– he pushes aside the tree blocking their view, “I’m sorry, Swan. You need to go. Now.” He turns back to her frantically, and with fear in his eyes growing, she has no choice but to believe him.

Her heart is beating loud enough that she's positive he can hear it too and she’s not sure if it’s the imminent danger or the fact she almost kissed him.

He’s not real, Emma.

Still, the look in his eyes fools her into playing along once again, rushing back towards his ship as darkness falls like a blanket across the beach. Emma stops him, selfishly pulling him behind a bush for just one more moment alone. “When will I see you again?” She isn’t sure why she’s asking when it’s always been up to her.

He smiles at her before pulling her tight, “Just hold onto this— to us and our parallel existences.” His right hand cups her cheek and she takes a moment to find comfort in his warmth, “You’re one of the only reasons I’m alive, Emma Swan. Let me be your something, as you are mine.”

Emma can feel herself crying now, the reality she’s returning to feeling scarier than whatever has Killian rushing her home, but he’s counting on her to survive, so she will. “I’ll see you soon, Killian.”

He smiles at her one more time, bright and hopeful, “Aye, Swan. I’ll be waiting.”

With that, she feels the warmth bubble inside of her as the light surrounds her once again and takes her back. In no time at all she’s sitting again on the dingy tile floor of a gas station in Phoenix. She holds the book close once more before putting it back in her bag. She sighs, remembering Killian’s faith in her, as she grabs the pregnancy test and goes to break the news to Neal.

As she leaves the bathroom, she’s startled by two officers with their guns drawn. As she’s told to raise her hands up, the lifted watch Neal gave her for her birthday catches the harsh fluorescent light and the positive test falls from her hand clattering against the linoleum at her feet.

Phoenix, AZ; August, 2001

“Emma, are you sure?” The doctor questions her as he wraps her crying son in a towel.

She refuses to look, the tears and sweat stinging her eyes. Emma knows if she holds the small boy, she won’t be able to give him up. The doctor turns away, placing the small boy into a bassinet behind him and Emma feels a weight lifted from her. Being given up herself, Emma swore she’d never put a child in that position, but she also never thought she’d be giving birth in prison.

The recollection of her own upbringing sparks something inside of her, “Wait!” The doctor turns around, something like hope in his eyes. Emma knows he thinks she’s changed her mind, but in reality, her decision has only been further solidified by her choice not to send him off alone. “There’s a book. In my personal belongings. It’s leatherbound and full of fairy tales– please, send it with him.”

The doctor looks at the guard who nods before sending their partner to retrieve the storybook. She’ll feel safer knowing even a piece of her— and a larger piece of Killian– will be with her son no matter where he ends up. The book made her feel like her parents at least cared enough not to send her off alone, and she hopes it provides the same comfort for her son.

It can be his something to hold onto.

Slight melancholy aches through her at the realization she’s given up her right to visit Killian ever again. She thinks he’d understand– support her even. Still, Emma smiles softly as the book is placed next to the hospital crib before drifting off where memories of distant lands keep her fast asleep.

Boston, MA; October, 2011

“Another banner year.” Emma blows out the blue star candle, and makes the simplest of birthday wishes. As she begins to unwrap the cupcake there’s a knock at the door. Startled, but curious, she opens it to a young boy looking at her like she’s standing on her head.

“Can I help you?” Emma’s had a long night, and while she could really go for some girl scout cookies, she doubts the small boy outside her door at 8pm is here to sell her any.

“Are you Emma Swan?” He tilts his head as he asks, a simple movement that Emma almost finds endearing.

“Yeah. Who are you?” She’s trying not to be impatient, but she really needs to take a shower and wash off the scum from her skip earlier that evening.

“My name is Henry. I’m your son.”

Well she wasn’t expecting that .

Storybrook, ME; 2011

Henry’s adoptive mother is– something. Regina Mills is not who Emma expected when she spent late nights picturing Henry with a family, but he has a roof over his head and everything he could ever want. And the town, Storybrook, is quaint and safe. Henry seems healthy.

What more could she have wanted for her son?

Maybe to not have the gut feeling that something— no everything — is off in this town.

Regina (aggressively) asked her to leave after dropping Henry off, but she can’t find it in herself to head back to Boston just yet. She wanders into a small diner that touts an attached inn, and the warm atmosphere is beyond inviting. Against all previous plans, she settles herself onto a stool at the bar and orders herself some hot chocolate. As she sips her drink, she takes in the rest of the diner only to realize almost everyone is looking at her. Almost. There’s a dark haired man with his back to her sitting in one of the booths. Emma finds herself fixated on him, and the fact that, unlike everyone else in the diner, he couldn’t seem to care less that she’s here.

A waitress in a short red skirt drops off soup at his table before making her way back towards Emma. “Hey, new girl. You want some food?” Startled by her forwardness, Emma responds with a stutter, “I– uh– no– I’m not– uh.. Why is everyone staring at me?”

The girl– Ruby if her name tag is anything to go by– belly laughs before answering, “Girl, we haven’t had visitors to this town in ages .” Emma isn’t sure how to take that but Ruby doesn’t seem to mind as she keeps talking, “I mean, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever had a visitor in this diner. Strictly regulars. That’s why they’re staring, hun. Not to mention, you’re pretty easy on the eyes.” She shrugs her shoulder in Emma’s direction and winks with a wolf’s smile.

She’s spunky and Emma likes her, “Well, I’m happy to be your first. Do you have any rooms?”

Ruby scoffs again, “All of them– no visitors remember? Except room 9, Sailor Boy over there has taken up permanent residence in that one.” The waitress motions towards the man in the back booth before flagging down an older woman asking for a room key.

Emma glances again at the dark haired stranger, wanting to know more, but having no real reason to strike up a conversation. Before she can approach him, she’s being handed a key and ushered up the stairs to her room by a pushy old lady that everyone seems to affectionately call Granny. She settles in for the night, her curiosity about the town and its residents only growing the longer she stays.

When she wakes up, it’s to Henry knocking on her door again. She opens to find him practically vibrating, “You stayed?!”

She can’t help but smile at his excitement, finding it hard to tamper her own, “Yeah, kid, I did. Don’t you have school or something?”

Henry smiles, “Not for another hour, wanna grab some breakfast?”

Emma nods and follows her son– not sure she’ll ever get used to that– down the stairs to grab some breakfast from the diner. They order from the counter when all the booths are full, but decide to move when one opens as their food is ready. Emma thanks Ruby, grabbing their plates of waffles, before turning towards the booth just as someone walks behind her. The plates crash to the ground, both her and the man she bumped into bending down to help with clean up. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“My fault, lass. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Emma knows that voice– would know it anywhere.

When she doesn’t answer, he looks up at her, concern etched across the animated eyebrows she’s known for almost her entire life. If she wasn’t positive before, she is now, the blue eyes that haunted her dreams for years after giving up the book are staring directly back at her. “Killian?”

He looks stunned, but there’s no recognition in his eyes— eerily similar to their first night so many years ago on the docks. The warmth of his gaze, the excitement at meeting once again, and the hint of infatuation Emma always stopped herself from hoping for are gone without a trace. The unsettled feeling that’s sat in Emma’s stomach since the moment she and Henry crossed the town line the night before seems to boil over. All the air feels as though it’s escaped her lungs, suffocating her as she realizes the only person she’s ever come close to calling her best friend has no idea who she is. Her fear is solidified when he speaks again, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

@mariakov81​ @lfh1226-linda​ @kmomof4​ @superchocovian​ @pirateherokillian​ @teamhook​ @nikkiemms​

[cosette141]

It's Called Trust | OUAT fanfic

Summary: (season 2 "Tallahassee" canon divergence) Emma forgets that handcuffs cannot hold a pirate. 

AO3

For a moment, the two of them inches away, Hook felt himself smile, the steel walls he hid behind for so long beginning to loosen for the first time in centuries.

But it was shattered, when he felt Emma click something around his wrist.

She shot back, stumbling away from him, eyes wide like he was a terrifying, bloody giant.

The grin of his faltered, his eyes finding what was around his wrist.

A manacle, chaining him to the wall.

Shock drove every warm feeling out of his chest, making it once again the frigid wasteland he was used to.

But somehow, this betrayal hurt far worse than anything he could ever remember.

"What are you doing?" he felt himself whisper, standing to follow her, but she only took another step back, and the chain prevented him from taking another step forward. "What are you doing?" he repeated, voice gaining an edge of anger, but it wasn't anger.

It was hurt.

"I'm sorry," escaped her lips, her eyes wide and scared, her body like that of a frightened animal.

"So you're just going to leave me here?" he demanded. "To let that monster tear me apart? Crush my bones?"

"He's not a monster," she said too quickly, too fast for it to just be about the giant, and for a fleeting second, he wondered what it'd be like for someone—for her—to defend him like that. "And you're not going to die," she said, firmly, surely, and for half a second he wondered why she cared to ensure it.

"Why do this to me now?" he tried, mind racing, yanking at the chain, that didn't give at all. "Have I told you a lie?"

That made her pause.

He knew she hadn't sensed any lie from him.

Because he hadn't told her one.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, like she meant it, something almost choked in her voice, a pain in her eyes as she whispered, "I just—I can't take the chance that I'm wrong about you."

She backed away.

She was going to leave him here.

She was going to bloody leave him here.

She bloody used him to get the compass, and now that she had no more use for him, she was going to leave.

"You're sorry?" he echoed, hurt anger building into a rage he's so often killed with. "You're sorry?!"

She didn't respond, but her eyes did.

Then, she turned and ran.

"Swan!" he growled, yanking hard at the chain. "SWAN!"

There was no bloody way she was getting away with that compass, with double-crossing him.

No one double-crosses him.

Trembling with rage, it took longer than he would have liked to pick the lock with his hook, but he got it—pirate—and soon he was running after her.

Emma's entire body trembled with fear as she carefully switched handholds and footholds on her way down the beanstalk. Don't look down, don't look down… thoughts of returning to Henry kept her focused, kept her fear from overflowing.

However, she couldn't help seeing Hook's face flashing into her mind.

The moment he realized she'd chained him, that their alliance was abruptly severed.

It wasn't anger in that look.

It was shocked hurt.

Never in her life, for Emma had met many villains as both Emma the Savior and Emma the Bail-bondswoman, never in the moment her target learned they were cornered, did she see hurt.

She would see anger, rage, fury.

Never hurt.

But she shook it from her thoughts, focusing back on Henry, doing this for Henry, for what business did she have feeling guilty about leaving Hook behind?

But she was a little more than halfway down the beanstalk, where the trees below finally looked more like trees and less like dots, when something struck her wrist, pinning her to the stalk.

She let out a little yelp in surprise, glad that she hadn't been in between hand and footholds, and her eyes snapped to her wrist to see—

Oh, no.

A silver hook.

"I believe," snarled his voice as he revealed himself from the other side of the stalk, and Emma desperately tried to yank her hand free, "that you have something of mine, love."

The love was spoken with a sharpness that was nothing like the epithet's namesake.

Emma's heart jumped into her throat. "H-How did—?"

"Pirate," he reminded her, though the smirk wasn't in his features like it had been on their way up this beanstalk. "Give me the compass," he said firmly, and Emma tried again to get her hand free where he was pinning her to the stalk, but she was effectively trapped. A little panicked sound escaped her throat, at the same time that Hook's eyes snapped to her jacket pocket, where the chain of the compass gleamed in the sun.

"Ah," said Hook, that smirk back, but none of it holding any amusement. "I'll just take it myself."

He removed his hook from her wrist, and swiftly instead hooked the steel through the chain.

"Stop!" growled Emma, removing her hand to grab at the chain before he could take it, leaving them both in a sort of tug-of-war with it.

However it only lasted a few moments, because suddenly the entire stalk shook violently, as if—

Emma's eyes shot wide. "Crap," she breathed. "Mulan."

"What the bloody—" began Hook, but another strike to the beanstalk sent it swaying sharply. And both she and Hook, who only had a one-handed grip on the beanstalk, suddenly lost their holds.

A scream rose in Emma's throat as she fell, the sharp weightlessness feeling like the most terrifying thing. They were still hundreds of feet up in the air; the fall would kill them.

A flash of black leather as Hook fell next to her, and Emma suddenly felt an arm wrap around her waist, pulling her flush to a leather-clad body, and Emma suddenly didn't know if the falling or this was more terrifying.

But just as fast as they fell, something stopped them abruptly, along with a groan from Hook. They jarred to an almost-stop, and Emma's eyes snapped open, seeing that Hook had used his namesake to grab a branch of a tree that must have stood at least a hundred feet tall.

Though it interrupted their fall, the branch snapped on impact, and they fell, Hook attempting to grab another branch, each one breaking as he did, but also breaking their fall.

And suddenly they were crashing to the ground, Hook's arm releasing her as they did, both of them groaning as they hit the ground. However, the way the branches had slowed their descent, it didn't feel like they'd just fallen hundreds of feet through the air. It felt more like they'd only fallen a dozen feet.

Emma groaned as she pushed herself off the ground, feeling bruised, but surprisingly alive and not even having suffered more than scratches.

Beside her, Hook was painfully getting himself off the ground, wincing as he moved his shoulder, and Emma was stunned he hadn't dislocated it.

But even Emma was safe from the fall, she wasn't safe at all.

She stumbled to her feet even as Hook was trying to get his bearings, massaging his shoulder, and Emma snapped her head around, but the beanstalk wasn't even in sight.

"Where the hell is it?" she breathed, panic in her chest.

"Seems," came a pained voice as Hook rose to his own feet, "we've landed a ways away from the Beanstalk."

But Emma suddenly remembered something else.

What they'd been fighting over.

The Compass.

Her hand shot to her pocket, but it wasn't there; she didn't have it.

And from the way Hook seemed to remember at the same time, his hand going to his own pockets, his eyes scanning the ground around them for a gleam of metal in the grass, Emma knew they were screwed.

From Emma's own scan of the area around them, the compass was nowhere near.

They'd dropped it, and it could be anywhere.

Emma's eyes suddenly landed on Hook's, both of them realizing exactly what happened.

And within the same seconds, as if in a race, they both took off, running in opposite directions, eyes glued to the ground, looking for anything that sparkled in the sun.

Emma would kill for a metal detector right about now.

She needed to find that damn compass.

If she didn't find the compass, she couldn't get back to Henry…

Emma huffed a frustrated breath.

Right now she had no idea where to find the compass, and no idea where to find Snow, Aurora and Mulan, and she was pretty much completely lost in a world she knew nothing about.

And as much as she had tried to tell Snow she was fine and that she could take care of herself, that was on Earth, in a world that didn't have magic and irritating pirates and ogres and chimera as a traditional food—

Emma felt herself shiver beneath the leather jacket, and she pulled it closer around her.

The air was getting chillier as the daylight was fading, and she was suddenly growing far more scared than cold.

Don't be scared, don't be scared, she thought, just as she had so many times in a new foster home or one of the many times she found herself homeless, sleeping under bridges or in vacant cars.

But this wasn't even a world she could do that, and it made her realize how screwed up she was that the fact that sleeping under a bridge was even in her comfort zone more than where she was now—

She briefly shut her eyes, walking a little faster, wanting so badly to call out Mary Margaret's name, but learning the hard way that ogres are blind and they follow sound.

Emma took another unsteady breath, walking quicker through the forest, trying to be quiet and fast, but her boot suddenly snapped a twig under her feet, and at the same time, she felt a tension in the air.

Then, the ground shook.

With a heavy footstep.

The roar of an ogre that did not sound far suddenly rose a scream in her throat, but she swallowed it down, whipping her head around to try to figure out what direction it was coming from, her heart beating a million miles a second.

But it turned out it was coming from behind, and Emma whirled around, seeing the huge, hulking, ugly beast running at her. Without a second thought she turned and ran, nearly tripping over herself, choosing speed over silence, but it seemed this ogre was fast, too.

"Crap," breathed Emma, voice cracking with fear, skidding around a tree and ducking, curling herself as tiny as she could and holding her breath.

The pounding footsteps of the ogre came closer and closer, and suddenly it was in front of her, but it froze, tilting its head in the silence.

Emma pressed her hand over her mouth, her lungs burning, but she dared not make a sound.

But the ogre took another step closer to her, like it could sense she was there, and an involuntary gasp escaped her, and the ogre heard.

It roared so loud it shook the forest, and fisted its hand, moving to land a blow that would certainly kill her. She shut her eyes, burying her face in her arms—

Only for the ogre to roar in agony.

Emma's eyes snapped open, watching in shock as the injured ogre ran away, limping badly, to reveal—

Emma couldn't hide this gasp, either.

Hook stood where the ogre had been, his blade dark with what looked like blood.

He was thoroughly out of breath, like he'd been running for some time, and even in the faded light, she could see the fear in his eyes.

But when he looked at her, the fear was pushed away and traded for a smirk, but it was a lie Emma could have seen miles away.

"Hook?" breathed Emma, suddenly feeling very vulnerable in the curled up position she was in. She stumbled to her feet with difficulty, but her legs felt numb from the close call.

But with him in front of her, sword still out, she wondered if he or the ogre was more dangerous to her.

Emma expected either a smirk or a glare for leaving him behind, or perhaps to be the second victim to his sword.

What she didn't expect was for him to look at her with only more fear in his eyes. "It isn't safe out here. Come with me." He sheathed his sword, starting to walk away, but when she didn't follow, he turned back with impatience. And as if reading her mind, he said, "If I had wanted to bring any harm to you, Swan, I'd have let the ogre do so. Let's go."

He started walking again, and Emma felt indecision tearing her apart.

However…

The idea of being out here alone…

When the distant rumble of another ogre's footstep rocked the ground, Emma's feet made her decision for her.

She followed Hook, keeping herself a few feet away from him.

"Hook—" she began.

"Don't speak," he said sharply, eyeing the forest carefully, and Emma suddenly remembered the 'be quiet' rule with ogres.

Neither of them spoke for at least what felt like an hour, walking out of the forest and into dried up land by the side of a mountain, and after a while of walking through it, she saw Hook take a breath of relief.

"This way," he said, making her jump, as they'd been in silence for so long. "We can find shelter." Just as he said the words, Emma felt a few drops of rain hit her shoulder.

By the time they found a cave, and a tiny one at that that made the bridges Emma had slept under look like the Four Seasons, it had begun to pour. Luckily, they'd missed the heaviest of it, and Emma turned to watch it thunder down.

"The ogres don't often travel here," explained Hook, unsheathing his sword, and making Emma flinch a little, but he only held it to the rain to clean the blood from the blade. He eyed the sky. "Even if they do, the storm will drown out any noise we make."

Somehow, those words made her uncomfortable.

Emma swallowed.

A slight silence as he cleaned his blade, and Emma couldn't stop herself.

"Why did you do that?"

He looked at her, pulling his sword back under the shelter. "Do what?"

"Why did you stop that ogre from killing me?"

Why did you save me?

He looked at her, and in his hesitation, she saw a sort of uncertainty, like he didn't quite know the answer.

But instead, she saw a flicker of that hurt she saw when she'd handcuffed him, and Emma was suddenly far too aware he was still holding a sword.

"Why did you betray me?" he countered, lifting a brow that looked so much more dangerous than it had been up until now.

Emma felt a chill sweep down her spine.

Suddenly she was wondering if she should have taken the chance with the ogres.

He took a step toward her, and Emma kicked herself for moving an inch back instinctively. But instead of smirking at her fear, it seemed to… bother him.

He sheathed the sword.

Emma swallowed hard, standing up a little straighter, trying to gain some sort of confidence she didn't feel in the slightest. "Did you find the compass?" she asked, trying to keep her voice direct, unemotional.

She saw his…disappointment?...that she didn't answer his question, and his irritation at the new one.

But he pondered her question, a hesitation that was just enough for Emma to catch the consideration of telling a lie.

Her heart picked up.

But he seemed to think better of it, yet it also seemed to irritate him further and look like premature regret as sharp as the lightning that flashed outside, and he answered with movement, pulling out from his pocket—

"You found it!" breathed Emma, moving instinctively toward the compass to take it—the hope, the only way of getting home to Henry, the only way to not abandon him the way she was abandoned—but Hook's fingers closed around it, and he pulled it back a little.

"Yes," he said, the word careful. Measured. Watching her like he didn't know how to predict her. "I found it," he said slowly.

Emma again reached for it, but he pulled it further out of her grasp, lifting a brow as sharply as he'd raise his sword.

"I need that," said Emma, her desperation almost making her voice crack, her heart hammering.

"As do I," said Hook slowly. And before Emma could try reaching for it again, he pocketed it once more, making Emma flinch. "We should wait until morning," said Hook, when the silence spread too long. "The ogres are nocturnal." He kicked around some of the rocks and twigs that had gathered in the very small alcove, as if making room to sit.

"And what happens in the morning?" asked Emma, voice on edge, body tense, eyes still fixed on his pocket.

They both wanted, needed that compass.

He turned then, and watched her for a long moment. She could just see the war of emotions behind his own steel walls. Fear. Irritation. Hurt. Confusion.

But for the first time, she also saw exhaustion, and it was more than just in need of physical rest.

"I wasn't lying to you today," he said, voice suddenly serious, and Emma was surprised to hear how much he seemed to want her to believe him. "You are much safer company than Cora. At least, that was what I had thought before you left me to the giant's disposal."

"He—" began Emma, ready to defend Anton, but Hook didn't let her.

"I would be open to taking this compass and going to your land with you, so long as I can trust you." said Hook, looking her right in the eye, as if looking for a lie in her own.

And it somehow felt offensive that he deemed her untrustworthy.

"Or," countered Emma, "as long as I can trust you."

His brows shot up. "Me?" he said with surprise. "Love," he said, "I am not the one who left you handcuffed at the top of that bloody beanstalk." He took a step toward her, radiating an anger he seemed to have been keeping at bay, and Emma felt her back hit the wall of the shallow cave. "I," he said firmly, "have done nothing to warrant your betrayal or your distrust. I have saved your life three times now. And all you have done for me is leave me behind." He was inches from her now, brows narrowed into a glare that was so angry it could only have been caused by pain, and Emma couldn't look away from it.

He seemed to realize in that moment how intimidating he was being, and like he was shocked with cold water, he stepped back, that anger softening a little, doused like a cooling fire.

Their eyes, however, never left each other.

"I have no plans to betray you," he said firmly, keeping his eyes on hers, and Emma read every damn truth in them.

But she's done that before.

And Emma felt herself quietly say, "Betrayal isn't really something you plan."

It was as vulnerable as being without clothes to say the words, and she could tell by the shift in his face that he heard the vulnerability.

And in that shift, was almost an understanding, like he not only understood, but knew exactly what that felt like.

And maybe that he was beginning to realize that her leaving him at the beanstalk had far less to do with him.

"Well, then," he said, voice only just louder than the thundering rain. "It comes down to trust, then." He lifted a brow. "I'll ask you again. Care to try something new, darling?"

Emma watched him for a long moment.

And for the first time, actually… considered an alliance with him.

He had saved her life a few times now when he didn't have to.

And…

He had the compass.

He had already found the compass when that ogre nearly killed her.

He could have let her die, and gone off with Cora.

But he didn't.

And even after he saved her life, he let her accompany him to a safer place.

And he told her that he had the compass.

Perhaps he'd simply known she'd be able to tell a lie if he'd denied it, but he still did tell her the truth.

If he really wanted to, he could kill her right now.

She winced inwardly a little, realizing that he was right.

She was the one who was untrustworthy.

But for some reason, after everything, he still wanted to give her another chance.

Everything inside her screamed that it was an angle he was playing, that he and Cora were up to no good, that he was going to backstab her in the end. Possibly literally.

But the look in his eyes now…

It didn't look like he was going to hurt her.

However, neither did Neal.

"While you think that through, love," came Hook's voice, shattering her from the daze, he sat down, leaning against the wall of the tiny space, "you may want to get some rest. If we're to travel back to the beanstalk where your friends and mother are waiting for your return, we've quite a trek ahead of us."

He shut his eyes, seemingly to sleep.

Emma didn't move.

Her eyes fell to his pocket, where she could even see the slight gleam of the compass chain peeking out.

She looked back outside, through the dense falling rain, hearing a distant roar of an ogre.

Her heart skipped.

She looked back at Hook, who hadn't moved, but Emma knew was perfectly awake.

Try something new, darling.

It's called trust.

Emma sighed.

And out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw Hook's lips twitch upward.

She sat down herself, trying to put distance between herself and Hook, but the alcove was stupid small. Her legs out straight brushed his, and a feeling that Emma decided to call fear rushed down her spine.

Hook, however, didn't seem to notice.

She pulled her knees to her chest, glad she had at least a few inches of space between her shoulders and his, but any further and she'd be in the rain.

She was still close enough that his scent enveloped them both, something like the ocean and leather.

Emma just hugged her knees tighter.

Silence fell.

She looked at Hook, who again seemed to be sleeping, but Emma knew he wasn't.

What if she fell asleep and he took the compass and left her here?

What if that was his plan all along?

Though then why would he save her from the ogre?

It took Emma what felt like another hour of pondering, but as she did, exhaustion weighed down.

She let her head tilt toward her shoulder, hugging herself tighter as a chill from the storm swept through. Her eyes shut, and she let them, planning to open them in a few minutes.

She was asleep long before then.

The soft light of day nudged Hook awake.

But it didn't come with what it usually did.

Usually, morning came with facing yet another day without his revenge sated, as each day without it was a failure. As each day without her was an empty and angry one, destined to only be worse than the last.

But for some reason, this morning… didn't bring that emptiness, that fury.

For some reason, it felt almost good.

His eyes opened slowly, rest having taken the edge of what had turned into a long day yesterday. Outside, the storm was over, though rain had left puddles and wet dirt. The scent of post-rainfall wafted through the area, and it was like the aroma of a fresh start.

Something he knew he could never have.

He was planning for a bitter end, and he'd made his peace with that.

But the strange… light feeling in his chest begged to differ.

Still half-caught in sleep, he moved to sit up straighter where he'd slept against the hard wall, but realized something probably far too delayed.

There was a… heaviness on his shoulder.

He looked down, and felt his heart stop.

The Swan girl.

Emma.

The last he'd seen of her last night was when she'd been curled up as far away from him as she could get without getting drenched in the rain, her eyes darting between his pocket where he knew the compass was, and the outside. She was quite the open book, and he knew she was pondering every possible plan to take the compass from him and leave with it.

But though distrustful, she was very smart.

Perhaps those qualities went hand in hand.

She knew as well as he did that she had no idea how to get back to the beanstalk, and she would have been dead within an hour if she had left last night.

But it wasn't just the fact that she was still here and the compass was still in his pocket.

It was that she was sleeping on his shoulder.

He couldn't tear his eyes away, frozen there, just staring at her.

Somehow in the night, she'd listed to the side, his side, resting her head on his shoulder, under his chin, almost like she fit there.

In a way that Milah never even had.

Her one hand was curled in toward her chest, as if protecting her heart, her other resting on his sleeve by his hook. Her eyes were shut, and she slept on, an occasional wince in her face, a twitch in her muscles, like sleep was never as restful for her as it should be.

Hook had had plenty of… female company over the years after Milah, but… they were enjoying the company for the same reason he was. For the passion.

But this… closeness?

It was something he hadn't experienced since…

He should move, he should wake her, he should run, he should leave her here like she left him.

He should have let the ogre kill her like it would have if he hadn't stopped it.

A question slipped through his mind, for about the thousandth time since last night. The same question she asked him.

"Why did you stop that ogre from killing me?"

He didn't know why.

He had every right to.

She'd betrayed him.

She was after the one thing he needed to get his revenge.

She'd have deserved it.

But something inside him had made him run the moment he knew the ogre found a target, and the moment he knew it was her.

Maybe it was something in the way she apologized for betraying him.

Hook had been betrayed many times over the years.

Never had the betrayer been sorry.

She'd hesitated after she'd done so; there was an agony in her decision.

It wasn't meant to be cold hearted.

He didn't know why she did it. But it was more than just because he was a pirate.

"I do not plan to betray you."

"Betrayal isn't really something you plan."

She was like that of a frightened animal. And seeing her there, terrified as the ogre nearly killed her…

She wasn't on this mission for anything more than to return to her child.

She knew as well as he did what abandonment does to a soul.

Sometime after she'd nearly left him to the ogres' mercy and before she'd left him to the giant's, there were cracks in those steel walls of hers. There were shaky smiles and there was…

He shook himself.

She was safer company than Cora, and he… he's… he's just… trying to help one more boy avoid becoming a Lost One.

That's all this alliance is.

But Emma suddenly shifted, lifting her head from his shoulder, opening her eyes.

"Morning, love."

Emma suddenly went rigid at his voice, and proximity, and her eyes snapped to him, realizing how close she was.

She flinched back instinctively, that fear that was as much a part of her eyes as the hazel in them deepening. And he tried to not feel the sting of her reaction.

They both got up, Emma very quickly, but Hook had a feeling it wasn't because of how uncomfortable he made her.

It was something of the opposite.

But there was something else in her shock, almost as if she was stunned he was still there.

She looked at him, like she was shoving every bit of that discomfort away. "You're really going to help us and not Cora?" she asked, changing the subject fluidly.

There's that distrust again.

"Aye." he said honestly.

Why did he suddenly want this woman's trust?

"If you want me to trust you," said Emma slowly, "let me hold onto the compass."

She held out her hand, waiting.

Hook lifted his brow. "Love, the last time I did that you handcuffed me on top of the bloody beanstalk." He lifted the brow higher. "I believe it is you who is in need of earning my trust."

Something shimmered in her eyes. And less than a whisper, she said, "I need to get back to my son."

Hook felt something deep inside his chest shift at the agony in her words, the pain of being away from her son.

So, he simply nodded, and said, "Then let's get you back to him."

Emma's eyes lingered on his pocket, on the compass, for a moment longer. But she shut them, and then opened them, giving him the tiniest of smiles.

It was a start.

They were walking for what felt like an hour or two, almost completely in silence other than some of Hook's directions and warnings.

The two of them walked with a few feet of space between them, like neither of them wanted to get too close.

Emma, at least, knew exactly why she wanted to keep her distance.

How could she have fallen asleep on his shoulder?

She never was one for cuddling, not even with Neal.

Why on earth would her body betray her like that?

All she knew was that she had hated it.

She utterly hated the feeling of being so close to him, just as much as when she had prevented him from breaking the trip wire in the giant's treasure room, and he had grabbed her.

She hated it, hated it, hated it.

Because a little part of her thought it felt good.

Not good in an he's attractive way, either.

That, she had chalked up to his ego and vanity and stupid charm.

But it was more that he felt almost…

Safe?

Emma wanted to scoff at the idea of thinking of Captain Hook as safe, but… clearly her body thought so, as she woke up sleeping on his shoulder.

As much as she wanted to think that was flat out wrong, with every footstep, Emma was starting to maybe… do it. Actually, for the first time since Neal…

Trust someone.

And just as she had the thought, they saw it in the distance:

The beanstalk.

Emma's little gasp of relief made him look at her.

"Aye," he said. "We're nearly there."

Emma smiled a little, walking a little faster, thinking about how terrified Mary Margaret must be right now.

"Here."

Emma stopped at Hook's voice, turning to see—

"What?" she breathed.

For he held out the compass, gesturing for her to take it.

"Take it," he said. At her unspoken question, he sighed and said, "Trust works both ways." A little uncertainty, he said, "You won't run off with it, will you?"

This time, Emma didn't even find herself thinking about it. "No."

He smiled a little, like he could read the truth in her eyes.

She took the compass, smiling.

Soon, Henry. I'll be home soon.

Hook started walking again, but Emma didn't, staring at the compass, the trust he placed in her hands.

Trust she really didn't deserve.

So, before she could change her mind, she said softly, "I only trusted one person in my life."

He stopped.

"And…" Emma felt her throat close a little. "He betrayed me."

Hook turned, watching her, listening with a little furrow in his brow.

Not like he didn't understand.

Like he didn't understand why she was telling him.

"He… he never told me a lie," said Emma, voice shaking a little, like her body was trying to reject the words that came out anyway. "And he… he betrayed me anyway." She took a shuddering breath. As hard as the words had been to say, words she had never said aloud before, it felt like relief. "That's why," she said, explained. "That's why I left you." She swallowed hard. "I…"

"I can't take the chance that I'm wrong about you."

Something shift in his expression, like he was replaying that moment too, with new context. And after a moment, a little sad surprise, like he was replaying another thing she'd said.

"I thought you'd said you'd never been in love."

"Maybe I was once."

Something about Hook's demeanor… softened.

Like he knew how much she'd just given him.

And how vulnerable it made her.

He was quiet for a moment, but then said, "I'd like to tell you why I saved you." he said, and Emma remembered her question to him.

"Why did you stop that ogre from killing me?"

Hook took a step closer to her. "However… I truly don't know why." Emma could read the truth, the confusion in his eyes as he looked at her, and she didn't even know if he realized he was still walking toward her, even closer. "I had every reason not to."

He was an inch away now, looking into her eyes, like the answer was there.

But instead of stumbling back, getting away from him like her body was screaming for her to do, she instead gave him a rare smile. "Truce?"

He seemed to shake from a daze, realziing how close they were. But he cleared his throat a little, smiling too. "Aye."

"Well isn't this cozy," came a cold voice from behind them

Cora.

Emma went rigid.

"I see you've found my compass," said Cora with a cold smile directed at Emma. "Good work, Hook."

Emma felt her entire body run cold.

She stumbled back a step.

Away from them both.

Her eyes snapped to Hook. "You told me I could trust you!" she breathed, feeling every nerve in her body go numb.

It suddenly felt like flashing back to the day she was arrested.

Hook, however, was still caught in shock, and had something so agonized in his eyes at her words, which was nothing like the smirk Emma had been expecting.

"And you've brought company," drawled Cora, taking a step toward Emma. Her smile faded. "However, I was on the fence on bringing you along with me. I certainly cannot trust the daughter of Snow White." And with a chilling smile, she said, "Kill her."

Emma felt fear slide through her like lightning.

She stumbled back another step, her heart pounding.

"We…"

Hook's voice stuttered, and to Emma's shock, he looked afraid.

"We…" he began again, like he was clawing for words. "We don't have to kill her. We… we can take her with us. Use her."

Emma froze.

He was trying to save her?

And his last words were a lie.

He was stalling.

"Hook," said Cora, in a terrifyingly quiet and frigid voice. "I allied with you under the condition that I had your full loyalty." She took a step toward him, and Emma nearly saw him flinch. "Kill her," she demanded. "Or I will kill you."

Hook was frozen.

But then, his eyes shifted to Emma.

Something horribly sad in them.

And then quickly— "Swan, run—!" he breathed.

Cora's features twisted, and she reached for his chest.

His heart.

His eyes shut.

And Emma's feet moved instinctively, throwing herself in front of him.

"EMMA!"

Emma felt Cora's hand sink into her chest, making her gasp like she'd swallowed ice. She felt the cold grip of fingers like claws curl around her heart and pull—

—but her heart didn't move.

Emma's eyes opened, seeing the witch's hand still in her chest, yanking at her heart that wouldn't move.

"What—?" she gasped, furious as she kept trying.

But then, a brilliant light exploded from Emma, the power of it so strong it struck Cora, throwing her back dozens of yards, crashing her into the ground, unmoving.

The light faded, and Emma stumbled, gasping, putting her hand to her chest.

"Emma!"

Suddenly he was touching her, his hook at her side to steady her, his hand finding her face, looking into her eyes with such a strong worry it made her lose her breath.

"Are you all right?!" he breathed.

"I… think so," said Emma breathlessly.

"Why did you do that?" he gasped.

Emma blinked, realizing what she'd just done.

She nearly died for him.

"I don't know," she whispered, looking at him.

Though she was no longer unsteady, he didn't let her go.

And it felt like she needed support now more than even before.

"You saved my life," he breathed, shock and awe coloring his blue eyes even bluer.

"You saved mine," countered Emma softly.

A moment held them in tense silence.

He was still looking at her, eyes inches from hers, and she couldn't tear hers away.

And his brows twitched, as if with curiosity, as if with wonder, and before she knew it he was leaning in and she was meeting him halfway.

The kiss felt like nothing she'd ever experienced.

It felt like speaking everything that had been in the tension between them the past two days.

He pulled back, their eyes opening, both of them caught in the shock of it.

But he broke the moment with a look toward Cora's unmoving form, and he said, "We need to get to your friends and then to you land. Quickly."

Still too stunned to speak, Emma only nodded.

And they began to run.

By the time they made it to the base of the beanstalk, Emma was out of breath.

But relief struck her at once.

They were still there.

Mary Margaret was pacing, Aurora was watching her with sad eyes, and Mulan—

….was tied up on the ground, cursing and fighting it.

"Mary Margaret!" called Emma as loudly as she dared as to avoid ogres hearing.

The moment Mary Margaret heard her, she gasped, spinning around.

She wasted no time; she ran, crashing into Emma, and grabbing her in a crushing hug.

"Emma!" she exclaimed, every ounce of worry poured into her name. "You're okay! Oh, my god, you're okay." She pulled back, eyes wide. "Where have you been?!" She suddenly glared at Hook, eyes threatening. "If you hurt my daughter—"

"No, he didn't," said Emma quickly. "He… um, actually… saved my life. A couple of times," she admitted.

Mary Margaret's brow raised. High.

"We found the compass," said Emma, lifting it. "But… Cora found us."

Mary Margaret and Aurora gasped, and Mulan stopped struggling.

"What?" breathed Mary Margaret.

"It's a long story," said Emma, "but she's unconscious and we should really get home."

Mary Margaert looked like she very much wanted to know that story, but let it go.

Emma suddenly asked, "Why is Mulan tied up?!"

"She tried to chop down the beanstalk," said Mary Margaret, using a very parental tone, and Emma winced. "We're going to talk about that when we get home." she said, with a pointed look at Emma.

"She really is your mother," commented Hook under his breath.

Mary Margaret's eyes shifted to him. Warily. "You expect Hook to come with us?" she asked Emma, suspicion and distrust in her eyes.

"Yes," said Emma, the word firm and certain.

"How do we know we can trust him?" asked Mulan as she stood, Aurora untying her.

"Because," said Emma, looking at him. "I do."

Mary Margaret's brow lifted, for she knew just how hard it was for Emma to trust.

Slowly, Mary Margaret nodded.

The other three women started leading the way, and Emma looked at Hook.

He was already looking at her.

And they both smiled.

-.-.-.

tag list: @kmomof4 @justanother-unluckysoul @klynn-stormz @stahlop @ilovemesomekillianjones @hookmecaptain @tiganasummertree @jadehowlettthewolf @jonesfandomfanatic @anmylica @pirateprincessofpizza @stahlop @snowbellewells @eddisfargo @motherkatereloyshipper 

[snowbellewells]

Captain Swan Spooky Season/Autumnal Bingo Entry: "Coming Back on the Wind"

Summary: When a sudden storm blows up while Killian, Emma, and their family are out in Storybrooke's wood camping, they find shelter and Killian tells an almost-forgotten tale to pass the time...

Author's Notes: Thanks to @hollyethecurious for the lovely bingo board to play with! This is the first entry I have managed to create (hopefully there will be more to come before Autumn gets away from me entirely!) for the prompt "stormy seas"

Takes place in a post-s6 future where Killian and Emma have Hope and twin boys as well, Henry stayed with Violet and didn't go on adventures in other realms, and Emma's little brother is named Leo instead of Neal!

** Also available on AO3 if that's your preference**

"Coming Back on the Wind"

by: @snowbellewells

Outside the hunter’s cabin in the forest bordering Storybrooke, the rain splashed wetly against the windowpane. The torrents of water pouring down from the sky showed no sign of letting up anytime soon. Though he would have preferred they have made it all the way back home from their weekend camping excursion, Killian looked out the window without any true sense of alarm as the branches swayed wildly and the wind moaned, but they remained safe and dry in the log structure which was proving admirably sound - if rather small for their extended crew. The ground might grow soggy and some branches might fall, but it was merely an October storm, not the sort of maelstrom that had once made him cower in the corner of his bunk on Silver’s ship as the waves rolled and he feared the vessel would sink before the dawn.

Turning from his vantage point before the sink in the small kitchen area, Killian’s eyes surveyed the rest of the cabin to find his family and their guests gathered in the open living area around the crackling fireplace, which he had watched Emma light with a mere flex of her fingers. It mattered not that they had been married nearly seven years now, nor how often he had seen his wife avert tragedy and summon marvels into existence; he was still in awe of her, and he often found himself watching her with his breath stolen away, struck speechless by his Swan and all that she was.

His gaze was drawn to her once again as he ascertained that all were well and accounted for. Emma was bustling about to bring Hope her stuffed crocodile (a gift from Belle and young Gideon which entertained everyone else simply for how much Killian grumbled about it), bringing a throw blanket for Henry’s lovely girlfriend to drape over her legs where she was curled up against Henry on the sofa, and then she settled too, pulling their twins onto her lap as she did. Her younger brother Leo, now a bright and cheerful preteen with his father’s blonde hair and chiseled chin but his mother and sister’s brightly shining green eyes, along with Gideon Gold, almost eight now, were also seated within the fireside huddle, having been happy to go on an outdoor adventure with the Jones crew and give their respective parents a night off. When she asked who wanted hot chocolate with cinnamon, there was a lively, unanimous chorus of approval that drowned all sound of the wind and rain outdoors, and had Killian chuckling and shaking his head even from across the room.

“I would think you might have already known the answer to that question, Love,” he playfully chided.

Shooting him a scoff and a mischievous wink, Emma swirled her hand in the air once more and a perfect mug of cocoa, topped with whipped cream and cinnamon appeared in the hands of all but him, eliciting squeals of surprise and delight from the younger children. Gideon in particular wriggled with excitement at the prospect of such a sweet treat. Killian knew that Belle favored tea and healthy snacks and seriously doubted that liquid chocolate was on the boy’s usual menu. 

Thankfully, they hadn’t been far from the old, abandoned cabin when the storm had blown up unexpectedly, and they had managed to get themselves and their things inside the shelter before being truly drenched. Still, Killian reckoned it was wise of Emma to make sure their charges were warmed by the fire and set with the hot drinks as well - though he couldn’t resist needling her a bit for it.

Still, his own insides warmed at the cozy feeling of belonging he had in a cabin in the stormy Maine woods. He had never truly known such peace until these last few of his uncounted years of life, only since meeting Emma and their starting their own small family. The contentment spread throughout his being so completely that it seemed to pour from his fingers and toes; Killian could only draw nearer to his loved ones to drink in the moment. Henry glanced up from where he had been adoringly studying Violet’s profile and gave his stepdad a knowing look as he lowered himself to sit by his Savior’s side. And he could only sheepishly acknowledge the lad’s playful glance. Henry knew the man his mother had married could never stay far from her, always drawn like the strongest of magnets - True Love at its finest.

Soon all of the children, and Emma as well, were happily sipping their decadent drinks and savoring the warmth as it traveled down their throats and soothed their stomachs pleasantly. Hope lowered her mug slightly, only to reveal a dollop of whipped cream on the tip of her pert little nose.

“You’ve missed a taste, lovey,” Killian murmured, the affection glowing in his eyes as he reached out to swipe the creamy topping form her face and pop it into his own mouth. 

“Papa! That was mine!” Hope squealed, giggling even as she did so, but hopping to her feet, little fists planted on her hips and the intriguing near-turquoise of her eyes - a perfect blend of his blue and Emma’s green - flashing with playful pique.

“Ah, but I’m a pirate, little sparrow,” he replied good naturedly, using one of his favorite pet names for her. “You’d best carefully guard your prizes when a pirate’s about.”

“But I’m your pirate princess, remember?” Hope wheedled, flopping dramatically against her father’s chest where Killian willingly wrapped her in his arms. “You shouldn’t steal from me!”

Emma burst out with a guffaw at that comeback from their precocious five-year-old. Nudging him with an elbow in the side, she added, “Kid’s got you there, Babe.”

Killian winked back at his wife before turning playfully repentant eyes on his daughter. “A thousand apologies, your Highness,” he offered humbly, with an exaggerated bob of the head for a sort of seated bow. “To what punishment do you sentence me?”

Hope’s brow furrowed as if she were deep in thought, tilting her head while she studied first her father, then turned to consider both her friend Gideon and her younger twin brothers with a mischievous smirk that rivalled Killian’s own. All three boys nodded eagerly, seeming to know exactly what their pixie ringleader was thinking without exchanging a single word.

Henry snorted in amusement at the proceedings, loving that his baby sister could wrap both Storybrooke’s Savior and the fearsome pirate Captain Hook around her little finger with such ease.

“You have to tell a pirate story!” Hope declared with impish glee, clapping her hands in delight while the twins bounced on their mother’s knees and cheered excitedly. “And if we don’t think it’s good enough, then you walk the plank!” she crowed.

“Yes, please, a story!” Gideon chorused from his spot between Hope and her youthful uncle, his intelligent eyes alight and enthralled at the mere suggestion, loving a good tale every bit as much as his mother did. Belle never could resist listening to a well-spun yarn, and seeing that her only child took after his dear, goodhearted friend in this way especially - her most leading trait - never failed to touch Killian’s heart. Though Belle and Gold might still share a home, and though they remained married, her trust had been broken one too many times for even her generous faith to be fully restored. They were meant to be True Loves, and the emotion remained, but it was bruised and trampled like the rose of their famous tale, far too long past its wilting to salvage. She would never deprive the old Crocodile of another son, not after how long he had sought Neal, how bitterly he had regretted failing him, and then lost him to death anyway, but they kept a brittle distance in their home. Belle found her happiness in her son, her friends, and her books, and Gideon blossomed mostly under her care - for which Killian knew the lad was all the better.

Hanging his head, Killian feigned reluctance at having to provide entertainment, though in truth, he had known that tales of his pirating days would be the decree as soon as he had seen that particular gleam in his daughter’s eye. As Emma often lamented wryly, ‘Our daughter is entirely too entranced by the idea of pillaging and plundering.’ Reaching out to gently tap her chin with the curve of his hook, he pulled Hope into his lap again, tickling her stomach once he had her in his clutches until she cried for mercy.

Once she was sprawled across his legs heaving for breath, Killian nodded his agreement. “You wish is my command, Princess Hope,” he replied. “A story you shall have.”

A whole chorus of cheers rang out from all their younger charges, and in truth, even Henry and Violet’s faces shone with interest. To his delight, even Emma moved slightly closer and leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder, as if she were settling in for the show. He felt a sort of pride that he could grant such pleasure with his storytelling.

Pausing dramatically, he watched as Leo leaned easily back against the couch, cradling his mug in his hands, ready to savor the last of his cocoa and listen contentedly. Gideon scooted right up before Killian until his knobby eight-year-old knees touched the pirate’s own, eyes wide and breath practically held so as not to miss a word. Hope, for her part, settled on his lap as if it were her throne, somehow managing to look both supremely self-satisified and guilelessly eager, gazing up into her papa’s face as her little fingers clutched at the charms of his necklace the way they often did when she truly settled in to rest. Little Liam David and Westley Graham, just barely walking now, were equally cuddled up against Emma, and a pang went through him, taking in the whole scene as he drew a deep breath to begin. It did his heart good to see their children so comfortable, at ease and certain of their safety and in the knowledge that they were loved. That was as it should be. But he had been only a year or two older than Gideon was now when all he had known of his safe and familiar home had been lost to him. He hadn’t found such security again for so long it had nearly vanished, forgotten, in the recesses of his mind. Something long cracked and aching was mended in seeing that his own children would never face such doubt and fear.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Killian gathered his thoughts. The room went still as his listeners ceased talking and moving about, focused on him intently. He could again hear the wind whistling outside the little cabin, the rain slapping in sheets against the window glass and the almost soothing patter of it upon the roof over their heads. If he tried, he could just conjure up the sensation of rocking back and forth, carried on turbulent waves - could take himself back to the time when he was a boy at sea. Then he began to speak.

“Once upon a time, long before I was the famed pirate captain you see before you,” Killian intoned, letting his voice drop a bit lower and employing a lyrical rhythm. “I was a young lad who could barely be called a cabin boy, on the ship of another pirate - the dastardly Long John Silver.”

The little boys reacted with shivers and gasps, just as he had expected. Emma, who had of course heard this story with much less dramatic flair, in the tone of an agonized confession when they hid themselves away after his return from the Underworld. They had bared the last of their secrets and all of their souls once and for all and bound themselves back together again. Killian felt her hand flutter lightly to rest upon his own, and he squeezed it briefly in reassurance, letting her known that he was alright. This was a much less raw and bleeding version of events, peeled back to reveal the little good that there had been, even in those awful times.

“Aye, you’re right to be alarmed, me mateys,” Killian warned, waggling his dark brows at them with playful aplomb. “Silver was indeed a ruthless villain - and he ran his ship with little care for youngsters aboard who might be hungry, injured… or frightened of storms.”

He swept his hand out before him, illustrating the expanse of rolling waves under a dark night sky lit at alarmingly frequent intervals by bright, wicked forks of lightning. His audience was every bit as rapt as he had intended, allowing Killian only a moment for a sidelong glance at Emma with a twinkle in his eye.

“That stormy night, all but the night’s watch were in their bunks, and the lad knew he would find no sympathy from any quarter at any rate. His older brother was on the ship with him, but that young man was the only one who showed the boy any consideration, and he was fast asleep, having already put in what would be a hard day’s work for a full grown man, much less a stripling of fourteen. And so, the boy huddled in the corner of his small bunk, crowding against the wall and trying to block out the booming claps of thunder with hands pressed over his ears, willing his stomach not to turn as they were rolled up, down, and sideways by the vicious swells.”

Hope snuggled deeper into his embrace, seeking comfort for herself, empathetic little siren that she was, and unknowingly grounding him in the present, soothing the long scabbed-over wounds this story pricked. As though somehow sensing the boy from the story was closer than its teller let on, Killian also felt the feather-light brush of young Gideon’s fingers come to rest on his knee, offering silent support in his own timid way. He was hardly privy to what his dear friend Belle told her son about his past history or the harsh beginnings he’d weathered early in life, but he sensed in that moment that Hope’s unlikely playmate knew the frightened youth of long ago was now the man seated before him. And he wanted to bolster him in a difficult moment.

It was enough to have Killian swallowing back a lump in his throat. Meeting the child’s searching gaze, Killian offered a smile and nod of the head in unspoken gratitude, to which Gideon beamed and patted his knee with more confidence.

“Though the boy tried to remain still,” Killian continued solemnly, “the storm did not let up. Instead it raged harder until he was sure he would be thrown from his berth to the floor and that the ship itself would be turned on its side and sink into the deep. His thin shoulders shook as he wept, and though he fought to hold back his tears, occasionally a hiccup or gasp for air escaped.”

“It was at that moment,” and here the pirate’s voice, though still rough with deeply felt emotion, grew more musical and light, “when all hope seemed lost, that he felt a soft, familiar touch on his shoulder sliding down to gently rub his back until his strangled sobs eased. It was his older brother, roused from slumber, either by the boy’s distress or the ferocity of the storm, and quick to come to his younger sibling’s aid. The elder scooted into the bunk and gingerly wrapped an arm around the trembling smaller form, shushing and soothing as best he could.”

“Even as the wind continued to wail and howl all around, and as the waves slapped against the hold where they huddled together, the boy already felt much stronger - less afraid - just knowing that he was not alone. And then the elder brother began to hum. It was a familiar tune, a soothing lullaby coaxed from the far reaches of the younger’s memory along with an echo of his mother’s warm voice singing that same melody. Soon his brother was offering lilting words as well, in barely more than a whisper. Both knew the ire which would rain down on their heads if they roused any others, and yet his sibling dared those consequences to end his little brother’s torment. As the near-forgotten song continued, the effects of the wild storm seemed to die away. By the time the end of the song neared, that frightened cabin boy had finally found sleep.”

“What was the song?” Hope piped up curiously. “Can you sing it for us?”

Killian shook his head with a humored huff, having expected no less. Not letting himself hesitate long enough to change his mind, he wet his lips, drew in a steadying breath, and launched into the old tune he remembered hearing in Liam’s murmured, youthful tones. His brother had always told him it was their mother’s favorite - one she had used often to soothe fevers or lull her boys back to peaceful dreams after nightmares. Killian had barely remembered her - or anything about the cozy, cliffside cottage that had been their home - even then, but Liam had held it dear in his own heart and had brought the same feeling to life for Killian.

As Killian continued to sing, voice gathering strength while rising and falling with the notes, the rain outside their small shelter in the woods seemed to wrap around and join the chorus. His audience in the cabin listened closely, drawn into the song that had once been his mother’s, which had comforted him for years as something of his older brother’s, passing on once again to the new family they had made.

And as the fireplace crackled invitingly, his wife’s golden head rested on his shoulder, and he sang the last lines, the sudden storm they’d hunkered down to escape seemed to have enclosed them in a haven instead. The wind blowing the branches against the windows still showed its power, but with those he loved around him, the storm which had accompanied his long held memories finally ceased.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @anmylica @justanother-unluckysoul @bluewildcatfanatic @xsajx

@tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @lfh1226-linda

@xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv @goforlaunchcee @stahlop @caught-in-the-filter

@donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @elizabeethan @undercaffinatednightmare @drowned-dreamer

@gingerpolyglot @gingerchangeling @scientificapricot @motherkatereloyshipper @myfearless-love

@belovedcreation @exhaustedpirate @grimmswan @zaharadessert

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Valentine’s Rerun (1 of 2): Cupid’s Grenade

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew4 @annaamell @flslp87 @emmateo26@bethacaciakay @ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones @kat2609 @brooke-to-broch @missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @daxx04 @nickillian @in-spirational @gillie  @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst @kmomof4  @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @laughswaytoomuch  @allyourdarlingswans  @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 @therooksshiningknight, @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree  @jrob64  @anmylica     @cosette141​

Originally part of my Fluffy Fridays collection. When a mysterious stranger comes to town and sets off a magical grenade in Granny’s during the breakfast rush on the day before Valentine’s Day, the residents of the town suddenly feel extra amorous. What will Emma and Killian do if the spell doesn’t wear off?

CS Genre: Canon divergence from early 3b

He crossed the town line into Storybrooke late on the night of February 12th.  He walked for half a mile before he reached anything resembling civilization, wanting nothing more than a place to rest and regroup, a place to plan his next move.

It had been an extraordinarily bad year.  So much discord, so much division everywhere he turned.  It drained his energy, his very life source like nothing had since the last Ogre War.  He needed an infusion, and he needed one fast.  Thank the gods Valentine’s Day was little more than a day away.

He passed a shop, dark and closed, caught his reflection in the picture window and jumped back, startled, bringing one wrinkled, bony hand to his equally wrinkled, bony face.  He was even further gone than he’d previously believed.  He could only hope the rumors about this sleepy little town were true.

“Storybrooke, that’s where you want to go,” the seer had assured him.  “Not only is it the only source of magic in this land, but it’s brimming with True Love, both that which is acknowledged, and that which is denied.”

If he had any hope to survive the week, he needed that True Love.

If this world had any hope to survive, they needed him just as badly.

He walked slowly, laboriously, looking for the most opportune place.  Town hall?  No, it emitted angry energy, a place of discord.  A brick building with a sign over the door calling itself The Rabbit Hole was promising, but still not quite right.  Finally, he arrived at an establishment with tables and chairs on the terrace, a bright, neon sign proclaiming Granny’s.

Perfect.

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

The next morning, Granny’s

Killian stepped from his room in the bed and breakfast and headed downstairs to the cafe where he was to meet Swan and her parents for a quick strategy meeting while they dined on Granny’s delectable fare.

He smiled to himself, an extra spring in his step as he walked.  The situation in which the residents of Storybrooke found themselves was, once again, less than ideal.  An unknown, unnamed villain had cursed them back to Storybrooke and wiped their memories of the past year, and no one had any idea why.  He should be concerned; he knew he should, but he couldn’t stop the joy that bubbled up within his heart.

Selfish though the thought was, he was grateful for the villain’s machinations, grateful for the curse.

For it was the curse that allowed him to cross worlds, the curse that allowed him to be reunited with his Swan, the curse that ended the hell that had been the last year without her.

Oh, he’d tried to convince himself that he’d merely needed to return to his pirate lifestyle, but every step he took away from her, away from the hero he’d tried to become for her, had felt wrong, made him feel her loss even more acutely.

Slowly, but surely he’d come to realize that it was more than just the loss of the love of his life that made his pirate activities lose their luster.  He’d changed.  Not just because of her, but because of himself.  He wanted to be a good man, a hero.

Killian stepped into the cafe.  Early though it was, the sun had barely come up, the establishment was already brimming with business.  He scanned the tables until he saw her sitting at a booth across from her parents.

His heart turned over.  She was so bloody beautiful, so bloody precious to him.

He knew she was hesitant to embrace life here in Storybrooke once again.  She loved her parents, held at least some amount of affection for him, but the weight of being The Savior hung heavy on her.  He couldn’t blame her for wishing to retain the seemingly peaceful existence she’d lived with her lad in New York.

Still, she’d come back with him, had agreed to help her family, the whole town, defeat the newest threat to their safety.  He could only hope to one day exhibit half her courage and selflessness.

“Hook, you finally made it,” Swan said, scooting over and patting the seat next to her.  “After all your talk about being a pirate and rising with the sun I thought I was going to have to go up and drag your butt out of bed.”

Killian gratefully took the seat next to Emma, using all his willpower to avoid imagining Emma coming to his bed.

“I rise with the sun, darling,” he said with a grin, “but it would seem you lot couldn’t wait for that auspicious occasion.”

Emma looked down, playing with the handle of her mug of cocoa.  “Yeah, well we wanted to make sure and meet early enough that we could talk before Henry wakes up.  Don’t want the kid to get freaked out with mentions of curses and villains and whatever other crap we need to discuss.  He doesn’t have his memories, after all.”

Snow White reached across the table and covered her daughter’s hand on her mug.  “Don’t worry, honey.  We’ll find a way to bring back Henry’s memories.  Somehow.  And until then everyone here has agreed to live like that sleepy, normal town we thought we were during the curse.”

Emma glanced aside, a look of guilt on her face, and not for the first time, Killian wondered if she even wanted her son to regain his memories.  He could feel the turmoil coming off of her in waves and he wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and sooth the tension away.

But he knew his Swan better than that.  She’d rebuilt the fortress around her heart over the last, long year of separation, and it would take him some time to help her disassemble it; some time before his advances were once again tolerated, let alone welcomed.

“Okay,” Emma said, after a deep breath, “so we know someone cursed you.  We know a year has gone by that you don’t remember.  We know crossing the town line turns people into, I can’t believe I’m going to say this, flying monkeys.  Anything else I’m missing?”

“I had a conversation with the dwarfs,” David answered, “and after their latest patrol at the town line, they found…”

Suddenly the door to the diner was slammed open, the bell above ringing angrily.  The entire diner went silent, still, as the oldest man Killian had ever seen walked slowly in until he was standing in the very center of the room.  Dressed all in red, quite the dapper tuxedo and top hat at that, the man walked, hunched over, leaning heavily on a cane.  Every eye was on him as he stopped, looked at the gaudy Valentine’s Day decorations Granny had hung, shaking his head at the Cupid with his bow and arrow, and then reached into his breast pocket.

Killian watched, fascinated as he pulled out a small red object in the shape of a heart, pulled a pin from its center, tossed it to the floor and then slowly began walking away.

“Grenade!”  Leroy shouted as the object began smoking.

Chaos ensued as the cafe’s patrons scrambled to reach the exits, but it was clear they’d never be free of the building in time.  Killian reacted on instinct, moving to cover Swan’s body with his own just as a large “boom!” filled the diner as the heart-shaped object exploded.

He waited for the shock, the pain as the explosive blasted him, but it never came.  He looked up to see nothing but a pink, shimmering cloud billowing from the heart, suffusing the diner, and then dissipating.

For a moment he felt an intense burst of love and longing for the woman beside him, and he instinctively looked down into her startled eyes, but then she blinked, and the spell was over.  Killian shook his head and sat up, resuming his own seat on the bench.

For a moment, a shocked silence fell over the room, and then an excited buzz began as Granny’s patrons realized they had indeed survived the...whatever the blazes that had been.

“What the hell was that?!” Emma ground out.

“I don’t know,” Dave said, “but I have a feeling we really need to find out.”

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

Later that afternoon

“Cupid?  You’re telling me that old guy was Cupid?”

Emma ground her teeth in frustration, keeping her hands resolutely in her jeans pockets lest she do something stupid like grab her pirate (no!  Not her pirate) and kiss the daylights out of him.

What was wrong with her?

After the heart grenade had gone off in Granny’s this morning, she, her parents and Hook had found Belle in Gold’s shop to pick her brain, see if she had any idea who the mysterious old man was.

Of all the answers Belle could have given them,  “It appears Cupid has come to Storybrooke,” was the last one Emma had expected.

Of course Cupid was real too, because...of course he was.

Belle reached under the counter and retrieved an old book decorated with flowers and hearts.  Flipping through several pages, she turned the tome toward them, pointing to a photograph of a very old man.  

“That’s him,” Snow said, “that’s the man who...did whatever he did to us.”

“Like I said,” Belle said, turning the book back toward her.  “It seems we’ve been visited by Cupid.”

“Who and what is Cupid?” Killian asked from her side.  (Emma ground her teeth again, determinedly ignoring the way his velvety voice made the butterflies in her chest flutter and come to life.  Ignoring the intense affection she suddenly felt for him.  Ignoring the sudden desire to lace her fingers with his.)

“Best I can tell,” Belle said, “he’s a deity of some kind.  He, for lack of a better word, feeds on love.  It’s his source of sustenance.  The more the world around him is depleted of love, the older, frailer he becomes.”

“And what does that have to do with the grenade or whatever that he tossed at us?” Emma asked.

Belle flipped a couple of pages, and then pointed down at a passage of text.  “That’s the interesting part.  You see, February 14, Valentine’s Day is his big day of love harvest every year.  His grenades contain a powerful spell that...encourages love and affection in everyone on which the spell falls.  It reaches its peak in 24 hours, which makes today, February 13 the perfect day to launch it.”

Emma groaned.  “A love spell?  Are you telling me freaking Cupid cast a love spell on all of us?  One that won’t wear off until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid so,” Belle answered.

Well, that was just...just…

Actually that was kind of reassuring.

From the second that damn grenade had gone off, Emma had been feeling things she couldn’t explain, things she didn’t want to feel, things she’d been working hard at denying ever since Neverland, maybe even before.

As soon as the spell had cleared, she’d looked up into Killian’s intense blue eyes and felt wave after wave of want, of longing, of...of...love crash over her.  She wanted to hold him, kiss him, hold his hand, touch him. 

But that wasn’t the worst part.  Physical attraction she could handle.  Hook was hot, there was no denying that.  Feeling a physical pull to him, that was understandable.  If she didn’t think it would give him the wrong impression, she’d have no problem giving into her urges.  She’d had plenty of one-nighters in the past.

But it wasn’t just physical attraction she felt following the pink, sparkly cloud.  No, it was emotions as well.  She had the sudden need to talk to him alone, to tell him that she’d somehow missed him during the last year, even though she didn’t remember him.  That some part of her had been so intensely happy to see him there at her apartment door that she could hardly contain herself.  That his attempted True Love’s Kiss...she didn’t knee him because he’d assaulted her, she’d kneed him because it felt right, like she was coming home and that totally freaked her out.  She wanted to tell him she was glad he’d found her, glad he was by her side, glad he’d brought her home.

But that, all of that, was crazy.  She didn’t do emotions, didn’t let herself be that vulnerable with another person, someone who could destroy her if she let him.

So all things considered?  Finding out she was feeling all this due to a stupid love potion was a relief.

All she had to do was grin and bear it until the spell wore off tomorrow and then everything would be back to normal.

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

Granny’s Bed and Breakfast, February 15, 2 hours before dawn

Emma tossed and turned, her fitful sleep punctuated by dreams.  Disturbing, troubling dreams.

Dreams where she walked with Hook, hand in hand, down by the docks.  Where they talked and kissed.  He smiled at her and she smiled back.  They were both radiantly, blissfully happy.  He led her back to his ship (where was his ship, by the way?  She was pretty sure she hadn’t seen it since they’d come back to Storybrooke), down to his captain’s quarters.

She teased him about his tiny bed, he’d laughed along with her, wiggling his expressive eyebrows in that ridiculous way of his, joking that it wasn’t the size, it was what you did with it.  He’d swaggered to her, invaded her space, threaded his fingers through her hair as he leaned down and captured her lips….

Henry mumbled something in his sleep, and Emma woke with a start.

The dream had been so damn lifelike.  She could still feel Killian’s hand in her hair, feel his lips against hers.  Bringing a hand to her chest, Emma willed her heart rate to slow.  Why was this happening to her?

The last 36 hours had been torture.  Pure, beautiful, intense torture.

Her feelings for Killian had grown and strengthened as the 13th and then the 14th wore on, and though she knew they weren’t real, knew they were caused solely by Cupid’s stupid love spell, more than once she’d almost cracked, almost thrown caution to the wind and bared her heart to the man who was constantly in her thoughts.

Emma had been half sure Hook would use the curse to try to get close to her.  She was afraid he’d declare himself again, try to force her into an awkward conversation about the feelings they held for each other, but she needn’t have worried.  Killian seemed no more eager to explore the effects of the love spell than she was.  He’d left the library soon after Belle explained their predicament, and he’d kept his distance ever since.

He’s giving you space.  He doesn’t want to pressure you, to take advantage.  He’s always a gentleman.

Emma felt a rush of affection yet again, and that alone frustrated her beyond belief.  It was February 15, the day after Valentine’s Day.  Why hadn’t the spell worn off?

Emma groaned, getting up and tossing on a sweatshirt and slippers.  Clearly she wasn’t getting anymore sleep tonight.  Better she go down to the diner and get some cocoa rather than risk waking Henry with her frustration.

“Hey, Ruby,” she said on a yawn, settling on a stool at the counter. “Hope I didn’t startle you.  I know you’re not exactly open yet.”

“Emma!” she said, stepping around the counter and giving Emma a quick hug.  “I’m a wolf, remember?  Heard you tossing and turning half the night.  Something on your mind?”

Emma buried her head in her hands.  “Got any cocoa?”

“Uh oh,” Ruby said, turning to give Emma her full attention.  “Is this a regular cocoa with cinnamon conversation or a cocoa with rum conversation?”

“Rum,” Emma mumbled.  “Definitely rum.”

Ruby tossed her a sympathetic smile, and then turned toward the kitchen.  A few minutes later she returned with a fragrant, steaming mug of cocoa.  Sliding it Emma’s way, Ruby leaned on the counter.  “Okay, spill.  What’s going on?”

“So who was it with you?”  Emma asked.  “You were here the other morning when Cupid dropped his bomb.  Who’d it make you think you love?”

Ruby gave her a strange look.  “Who’d it make me….?  Emma, what are you talking about?”

“You know, the grenade thing,” Emma said.  “I figure it made you think you were in love with the closest person to you.  Something like that?  I was just wondering who it made you love.”

“Emma, you know magic can’t make you fall in love with someone, right?”

Emma shrugged, then took a sip of her cocoa.  “I know it can’t create real love, but I mean, it was a spell, right?  Maybe it makes people think they’re feeling things they aren’t.”

Ruby’s smile was far, far too knowing.  “Hook right?”

“What?”

“After the whole love cloud thing, it was Hook that you fell for.”

Emma groaned, making Ruby smile all the wider.  “Knew it!  Knew the hot pirate had your panties in a twist.”

“Ruby!”

“Sorry,” she said, looking anything but.  “I just call ‘em like I see ‘em, and from what I see of the two of you around here everyday?  Yeah the sparks flying from the two of you could start a forest fire.”

Emma felt her cheeks flush and buried her face in her hands again.  “Ruby, it was just…”

“Don’t even think about saying it was just Cupid’s grenade,” Ruby said, “because, one, I’ve seen the two of you together since long behind that old man dropped his love bomb on everyone.  Two, like I told you, no magic can create love.  And three, you know who I suddenly fell in love with?”

Emma looked up, one eyebrow raised in question.

“No one,” Ruby said.  “Nothing changed for me at all. You know why that was?  It’s because if there is a person for me out there, they’re not here in Storybrooke.”

“But the cloud…”

Ruby shook her head.  “Emma, you and your family aren’t the only ones who talk to Belle and do research, you know.  After Cupid’s little stunt I paid her a visit too.  Wanted to know what was going on as much as you guys did.  I discovered that Cupid feeds on love.  Real love.  True love.  Fake, artificially created love would do nothing for him.  So his spell doesn’t make people feel things they don’t; it just helps people focus on the things they actually feel.”

Emma’s heart pounded.  “So you’re telling me, the hell I’ve been going through for the past day and a half…”

Ruby grinned again.  “Yep.  You, Emma Swan, have the hots for Killian Jones.  Cupid or no Cupid.  Besides, Cupid’s spell wore off several hours ago.  If it was fake, you’d have gone back to normal by now.”

Emma took one last swig of her cocoa and then carefully placed the mug back on its coaster.  “So what am I supposed to do with this now?  How am I supposed to proceed?”

Ruby shrugged, walking to the diner’s door, turning the lock and flipping the sign to open.  “That’s totally up to you, but my two cents?  Go talk to him.  Tell him what you’re thinking and feeling.  That unsettling feeling isn’t going to go away until you do.”

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

Killian heard a soft tentative knock on his door and he groaned, swimming reluctantly from the depths of sleep.  He’d been having such a good dream, such a beautiful dream.  He’d walked with Swan by the docks, taken her aboard the Jolly (how he missed his old girl, though he’d barter her away a million times if it meant he could be with Swan).  She’d joked with him about the size of his bunk.   He’d kissed her….

Knock, knock, knock

Killian groaned, noting from the pitch black of his window that it was not even dawn yet.  He hoped whoever was out there had a bloody good reason for disturbing him.

Tossing on a white undershirt and flannel sleep pants, Killian padded to the door and threw it open.

His irritated “What?” died on his lips when he saw his visitor.  Bathed in the soft light of Granny’s hallway, her hair soft against her shoulders, Swan looked like an angel.  Killian resisted the urge to pinch himself, half convinced he was still dreaming.

He swallowed hard.

“So, um, can I come in?” she asked with a self-conscious little smile.

Killian snapped his mouth shut and quickly stepped back, gesturing with his hook for her to enter while he flicked the switch that bathed his room with light.

“Of course, love,”  he said quickly.  “Please, have a seat.”

She looked around and sat on the edge of the second double bed in his room, the one he had not used, and then looked down, picking at a loose thread on the counterpane.

She’s nervous.

Killian’s curiosity was piqued.  Why had she come to him at this time of the morning?  What could have her so rattled?

“So,” he said finally, when it was clear she wasn’t going to speak first, “what brings you to my room, love?”

“It’s just…”  She started, before abruptly standing and turning toward the door.  “Ugh, this was a mistake.  I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have disturbed you.”

He rose quickly, stepping between her and the door.  “Please, Swan.  Something’s obviously on your mind.  Share your burden with me?”

She took a deep breath, and then nodded.

“It’s the whole Cupid love spell thing,” she said finally.

Killian suddenly looked aside, hand absentmindedly coming up to scratch behind his ear.  “Love, you needn’t say anything.  I’ve no wish to pressure you, no wish to hear a declaration bourne  artificially out of a spell…”

“That’s just it,” she said, stepping into his space, placing her hands on his arms.  “I...I...it didn’t go away.  The spell wore off yesterday, right?  I’m still feeling everything I was feeling then.”

He looked at her quickly, eyes widened, hope blooming within him in spite of himself.  “What are you saying, love?”

“I’m saying...look, I don’t know what I’m saying,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him until they were seated, facing each other on his bed.  “But there’s, there’s something there between us.  I’m really glad it was you that found Henry and me in New York.  I’m glad you came back to Storybrooke with me.  I, I feel better with you beside me.  I’m grateful that you’re there to listen when, you know, things get to be too much.  I can’t guarantee I won’t get scared again, and I can’t guarantee I won’t, I don’t know, build walls again, but I just wanted to let you know, at least once, that if we ever just have a peaceful moment in this town...maybe I’d be willing to see where things could go.”

His heart turned over, and he reached up to cup her cheek, couldn’t help himself.  Smiling gently, he leaned down and kissed her softly, almost reverently.  “Swan,” he breathed on a sigh.  “You’ve no need to thank me.  By your side is where I’ll always wish to be.”

“Good,”  she said softly before leaning in to return his kiss with interest.

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

He stopped outside Granny’s Bed and Breakfast and looked up at the single illumined window.  Breathing deeply, he smiled to himself.  His harvest was complete, and what a harvest it had been!

Passing the same shop he’d passed on his way into town he took a look at his reflection.  He stood tall and strong, skin smooth and youthful, hair sandy and neatly combed.  He was young and handsome once more.

He started walking toward the edge of town but then stopped, thinking better of it.  It was true what they said about this town; it was overflowing with love.  Perhaps he’d stick around for a while.