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let-it-raines · 6 years ago

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Indirect Deposit (1/3)

Summary: It’s the oldest story in the world, isn’t it? Falling in love with your neighbor. Killian’s sure that he’s seen hundreds of books and television shows starting off that way, and he’s always thought them all to be entirely unrealistic. That is until he started getting to know Emma Swan, who just so happens to live across the hall from him, and he has absolutely fallen for her in a way that he hasn’t fallen for anyone in a long time.

It’s the oldest story in the world...until it isn’t. Because it’s not just Emma he’s fallen in love with. It’s her unborn child too, and while everyone he knows thinks he’s crazy for falling in love with a pregnant woman, he knows that he’s not. Some things in life are worth taking the risk.

Some people are worth loving. And some things about life may surprise you.

A/N: This fic wouldn’t happen without @csmarchmadness and @wellhellotragic. When you guys get to the end of the chapter, some things may seem familiar, and that’s because this was her fic idea that she has graciously passed onto me to write. She’s very kindly given me lots of ideas that have been incorporated. I know I don’t have her magic touch, but I hope I do it justice! Seriously, thank you for letting me write this even when it made me want to pull my hair out! All of the credit goes to you, lovely!

Found on AO3: | Here |

Tag list: Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for the next few parts!

@nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian

The door shakes behind him as he enters his apartment, the pounding sound it makes when it locks into its frame reverberating in his ears while he throws his backpack down on the floor, not caring for its contents or the fact that it’s not his usual spot to keep his things. On any other day, he’d carefully take off his shoes, straightening them next to the door, and purposefully unstrap his bag from his back and place it on the bench seat that he keeps in the entryway of his apartment.

But today is not any other day.

It started as any other day, his alarm going off at six, early enough for him to go for his run and get back home in order to take a shower and get ready for work, arriving on campus a little after eight for his office hours. Very rarely does a student ever come talk to him during Monday morning office hours, which is partially the reason he timed them that way. It gives him time to grade exams, not being a fan of scantrons and their automatic grading when he’s an English professor who gives exams that mostly deal with essays, without distractions as well as helping to fulfill the Boston university-required demands of him having ten hours spent in his office per week.

As luck would have it, though, he had five students waiting for him the moment he walked up to his door, each and every one of them nearly jumping from their seats on the floor and thrusting their newly graded essays in his face claiming how unfair his grading was. But it’s not. He knows that it’s not. If anything, he’s overly kind with his assignments. He’s thirty-three, not that far removed from university himself, and he remembers how much he despised professors who failed students simply because they could. So, usually, he’d take a look at these papers and consider their protests, normally deciding to help the kids, but he knew for a fact that these five never showed up to class, never came to any of his extra lectures, so he said no, not today.

They were not pleased with him, but he didn’t care. He’s lenient, but you have to show up to class or prove that you can do the work on your own if you decide not to come.

That only soured his mood a bit, something he figured he’d forget about, but then his classes were all difficult that day, no one paying attention to a single word he said, no one engaging in discussions, and all of the passion he usually held for teaching seemed to fade away. But it was just a bad day, nothing that a glass of rum at home wouldn’t fix, and then his ex showed up outside of his classroom.

What. The. Hell.

He and Milah broke up seven months ago after he walked in on her, in their apartment, sleeping with another man. That’s a sight he’s never quite forgotten, as much as he’s tried, but it often plays in the back of his mind when he’s up late at night and can’t sleep. He told her to get out then, and that’s the same thing he told her earlier today when she decided to beg for his forgiveness, to ask to come back talking about how much she still loved him. How fucking dare she try to come back, to even think that he’d want to be with someone who broke his heart and betrayed his trust in such a way that he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to recover from it all. He had loved her, still loves her really, and he’s never quite understood where he went wrong, where they went wrong. They had a good, solid relationship…and it simply disappeared because of something Milah called one stupid mistake. Maybe he should have listened to her, maybe he should have thought about trying again, maybe it really was simply one moment of weakness, but he doesn’t think he’s ready to try to build up that trust again. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So her face and the memories of her cheating on him replayed on his entire drive home, the only reprieve (or not) being flashes of memories of all of the good times too, and as he walked into his apartment, the place he has completely redone to his own tastes since they broke up, all he can do is see her face and the laughter lines he used to love so much. So no part of him cares if he keeps the place as neat as usual. No one is here but him anyways.

He doesn’t want anyone here but himself.

Huffing, he walks into his kitchen, bypassing the pitcher of water in his fridge and grabbing a bottle of beer. He feels like downing an entire bottle of rum, and not the cheap stuff, but he’s not twenty-one anymore. Hangovers are a bitch, and he’s still got to edit his lectures for the rest of the week, not content with the premade ones his mentor sent him when he took over British Literature at the beginning of the fall semester last month.

He’d really like that rum.

The liquid is refreshing as he tilts the bottle to his lips, letting the alcohol run down his throat, doing little more than giving him the smallest sense of control. But after he downs the one bottle, he tosses it into the bin and pours himself the glass of water he’d just turned his nose up on, grabbing an apple and making his way to his living room, promptly settling himself down onto his couch and turning on his TV, not caring what’s on as long as there’s some kind of noise besides his breathing and the cars driving by outside.

“God,” he groans, running his hand through his hair and squeezing his eyes closed in an attempt to shut everything out. “What the hell kind of day is this?”

Almost as if the world is out to get him, he hears a knock on his door. The absolute last thing he wants to be doing is talk to someone else, but then they knock again and he stands from the couch, adjusting his pants and shirt before making his way to the door, looking through the peephole and seeing his neighbor from across the hall standing outside of his door with her teeth tugging on her bottom lip and her hands behind her back.

Undoing the locks, he swings open the door, catching it to make sure it doesn’t slam into the wall, not wanting the knob to make a dent.

“Hello, Swan,” he greets, forcing a smile onto his face. He may be right pissed at life today, his mind running the paces of the entire spectrum of emotion, but she doesn’t deserve any of his ire.

They don’t talk often, nothing more than hellos and the occasional friendly small talk. He knows that she’s a lawyer, that her father was a police captain who was murdered in the line of duty on a case that he wasn’t even supposed to be out in the field for. He only knows that because it was all over the news, every local channel covering the story for weeks on end, Emma’s sullen face in the background of every shot. She was always alone, no one standing by her, and in her he always saw himself when he was twelve, standing alone at his mother’s funeral while Liam gave the eulogy. The dead parents club is a club you don’t want to be in, and every time he meets a new member, he wishes that he hadn’t.

But that was five years ago, and he didn’t know her then. He doesn’t truly know her too much now. She just moved into his building a little over a year ago. He figured someone with her kind of money could live in a nicer apartment, not that their places aren’t nice, but they’re not exactly peak Boston real estate. He can only really still afford the place on his own because of the money his mum had put away for him and the extra jobs he picks up.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

That takes him aback, the way she blurted the words out not at all what he was expecting, but before he even gets the chance to answer, she’s pushing past him, running down the hallway and swinging open his bedroom door and disappearing from sight.

This day could not possibly get any weirder.

Sighing, he closes his front door and quickly makes his way back toward his bedroom, not knowing what to expect. She’s nowhere to be seen until he hears the sound of dry heaving from the bathroom.

So this day could get weirder.

He should honestly write a book of his own documenting all of the unbelievable things that happen in his life. Forget writing about academia when he has a best seller about his ex-girlfriend showing up back in his life and making him want to vomit only to have his neighbor actually vomit in his bathroom.

Top of the best seller list. No doubt.

It might need a bit of padding, some more plot, maybe something more unexpected happening, but it’s got potential.

“Love.” He knocks on the door, not really sure why he’s asking for permission to enter a room in his own home, but nothing quite makes sense today. “Swan, are you okay?”

She doesn’t respond, and he can still hear the noise emanating from the other side of the door. Not really sure what to do, he turns the knob, pulling the door open to find Emma collapsed on the floor, her arms resting on the lid of the toilet. For some reason his first thought is that he’s relieved that he cleaned the bathroom Saturday morning.

“Shit, Swan,” he groans, walking toward her and squatting down next to her, tucking her hair behind her ears so that it doesn’t fall into her face or the vomit that he’s attempting not to smell. “Are you okay?”

“Obviously not,” she snarks, her voice shaky and not at all as solid as it usually is, at least from his limited experience of talking to her about sales at the grocery store down the street. “I need – ” she dry heaves into the toilet again, the sound causing his stomach to roll, but he tries to calm himself down by focusing on Emma, holding her hair back and rubbing his hand in soothing circles up and down her back. It’s been awhile since he’s had to soothe someone through something like this, and usually it’s a buddy who’s had too much to drink, but the mechanisms are always the same.

When she’s finished, she leans back against his bathtub, her face covered in a sheen of sweat and all of her color has been completely drained from skin. She looks miserable, and he has no idea what’s going on. So he flushes the toilet and washes his hands, scrubbing up and down his forearms until he feels clean enough. He’s not sure if he’ll ever feel clean enough, so he can’t imagine how Emma must feel. He grabs a washcloth and wets it with cold water, squeezing it out before squatting down in front of Emma and handing it to her.

“Thank you,” she sighs, taking the cloth and dabbing at her face, letting the cloth fall to the floor before she takes her hair, the strands seemingly never-ending, and pulls it up into a sloppy bun, brushing all of the loose strands back and off of her forehead. “I feel like I owe you a million explanations and apologies before I, you know, disappear out of mortification.”

“What? What about this situation could possibly be mortifying?”

She huffs, the smallest of smiles tugging at one side of her lips before she wipes her face down again. He smiles a bit at his own humor. He’d normally find that pathetic, but he thinks he can get a free pass today. “Every bit of it.” “Eh, I’ve seen worse. My ex-girlfriend showed up to my office today, and several of my students witnessed us getting into an argument. Talk about professional.”

He doesn’t know what convinced him to share that, why he thought that would be in any way equivalent to what’s currently happening right now, and the way Emma’s looking at him makes him realize that she thinks the same. There’s not exactly a guideline for how to handle this situation.

Maybe that will be what his book is about: How To Handle When Your Neighbor Vomits In Your Bathroom For Dummies.

“Okay, so bad example,” he sighs, reaching up and scratching behind his ear while his mind runs all over the place on what to say, what to do. “I’ll come up with something better if you tell me why you needed to come into my apartment to vomit.”

Emma scrunches up her face, all of her features distorting, and for a moment all he can think about is how adorable that motion is, how he’d kind of like for her to do it again.

“Well, I lost my key for one. And I’m also having just horrible morning sickness, which is a major lie considering it’s six o’clock in the evening. This sure as hell isn’t morning.”

Morning sickness.

Morning sickness…she’s pregnant. He didn’t even know she was seeing anyone, not that it’s any of his business. She’s his neighbor. That’s all. Sure, he’s always thought she was beautiful, her flowing blonde hair and green eyes calling to him as much as her smile or the way her ass looks in a skirt when he sees her on her way to work. So he has no reason for the way his stomach twists, the way he feels suddenly nauseous as well, the way it has nothing to do with the smell of vomit. He barely knows her.

“Congratulations,” he grits out, wishing he’d been able to express more genuine joy. It’s just a shock is all. And it’s not like there’s really another way to express joy over someone else having a child. He’s not about to tell her congratulations on having sex.

But it is a weird day, so he wouldn’t put himself past it.

“Thanks. I, um, I’m sorry for all of this. I just need to call the building manager and have him unlock my door, so as soon as my legs stop shaking, I’m going to go do that.” “You can stay here as long as you need. I really don’t mind.”

“Look, you’re being nice, which I really appreciate. I was about to vomit all over the carpet outside before I dared come knock on your door. And as great as this little chat has been, I really don’t want to impose on you anymore.” “Swan, I get that, but it could take awhile for Scarlet to get here. He works another job down at O’Leary’s during the evenings.”

“Of course he does.” “So call him, and we’ll hope that he’s not working tonight, but if he is, you can stay here. You can stay in my guest room if you want. It’s got its own bathroom.”

She looks like she could vomit again before her shoulders relax and she reaches up to push her hair back again, catching all of the loose strands and slicking them down. “Thanks.” Emma calls Scarlet, who turns out not to be working, so within an hour, he’s unlocking Emma’s door, griping and moaning about how she should give a friend her spare key instead of keeping it inside her apartment. He only knows this because Will basically screams when he speaks, his voice reaching all the way into Killian’s apartment. He can’t hear Emma’s response, though, but he imagines she pretty much tells Will to fuck off.

What a day.

-/-

“Mate, I’m not bloody doing it.” “It’s been months,” Robin says, taking a sip of his water before twisting on his barstool while Roland continues to color in his book, his curly hair flopping over his eyes. “You need to get back out there.”

“No offense, but you’re likely the last person to give me relationship advice.”

“Yeah, Papa.”

Killian chuckles, reaching out his hand to give Roland a high five, the kid smacking his hand as hard as he can. That’s his best bud, always backing him up even to his dad. “See, even your son knows.”

“That’s because my son is a nosy seven-year-old who agrees with everything his uncle says but not everything his own father says.”

Roland shrugs. “I like Uncle Killian.”

“What? And you don’t like me?”

“You make me eat green beans. Killian gave me a cookie last week.”

Robin sighs, shaking his head back and forth while he smiles. “If you ever have kids, I absolutely cannot wait to load them up with sugar and leave you to deal with the consequences.”

“Considering I don’t plan on dating for a very long time, I imagine that we won’t have this problem.”

“So you really won’t go out with Rebecca?”

He shakes his head before running his hand through his hair, wishing that the thought of dating didn’t make his stomach twist. “I just can’t, mate. I’m still…I can’t. And, honestly, I’m fine with how things are. I don’t need to be with someone.”

“If you say so. But Roland is going to get older, and suddenly single Uncle Killian isn’t going to seem quite as cool.” “Please,” he huffs, rolling his eyes, “I’m always going to be cool.”

He leaves Robin’s house a little after seven, letting him put Roland to bed in peace. Most of his Saturdays are spent at their house after they go to Roland’s football games, even if he cringes a bit at all of the kids calling it soccer. He might have been in America for over a decade, but there are some things he still hasn’t switched over in his vocabulary. Others slip off of his tongue like he’s been speaking that way for his entire life, but the football and soccer distinction is something that’ll likely always stay.

He’s tempted to pull over into several bars on his way home, knowing that he’s not got anything else to do tomorrow since he finished most of his work for the next week Friday afternoon (maybe he really does need a bit more of a social life), but he’d honestly rather go home and change into his joggers and catch up on some television. To some it might make him boring, but he likes doing things that make him happy.

After he parks in the garage a block over from his building, he makes his short walk home, ignoring all of the people passing by who are going out to dinner or going out with friends. He’s spent all day with his best mate and his son, and honestly, that’s how he likes things. He likes being comfortable.

If he had the money, he’d buy a boat and spend his days out on the water reading, letting the waves move below him while he gets lost in the words that others have written.

That would be the perfect Saturday.

When he enters his building, he makes a stop by the mailboxes, figuring he should go ahead and check while he’s down here, but then he sees long blonde hair and the red jacket that she’s always wearing. It’s only been a week since he last saw Emma, since she came into his apartment, and he’s almost sure that she’s been going out of her way to avoid him. He understands. It’s not exactly a situation that you want to have to talk about all of the time. If he were Emma, he’d probably want to just forget about it.

Though it’s not something one easily forgets.

He’s just about to turn around and walk away from the boxes, respecting her space, when she turns, several envelopes in her hand that she’s shuffling. He thinks that he has time to move out of the way, to stay unseen, but then she’s looking up and looking directly at him, her eyes going wide like she’s been shocked.

So, yeah, she was definitely avoiding him.

“Hello, love,” he waves, giving her a kind smile while he makes an attempt not to cringe. “How are you today?”

Her eyes slant, almost like she’s studying him, but then they widen again to reveal the green. “Are you asking because you care or are you asking because you’re scared I’m about to vomit all over your shoes?”

He chuckles under his breath, reaching up to scratch behind his ear while he clicks his tongue, not really sure what to say. He does rather like these shoes. “Can I say both?”

“You can, but I’m not sure that I’ll believe you.”

“Fair,” he sighs, sticking his hands in his pockets so that he can stop his fingers from fidgeting. “You get anything interesting?”

Bloody hell. Why is he even bothering to speak? Everything that comes out of his mouth seems like something a teenager who’s never spoken to a woman would say. Or worse, he sounds a bit like someone who’s just never spoken at all. And the way Emma’s eyebrows raise doesn’t exactly help him feel any less awkward than he does right now.

He’s asking her if she got anything in the mail for fuck’s sake.

“I don’t think you could handle all of the interesting things I get in the mail.”

“I can handle more than you think, darling,” he promises, tilting his head so that he can look Emma directly in the eye while he runs his tongue across his bottom lip.

There he goes. That’s more like him. “Right,” she says incredulously, looking up at him before back down at her mail. “So I’m just going to go. Have a good night.”

She begins to walk away, and he’s not sure what comes over him next. But, honestly, once the words start, he can’t make them stop. “What are you doing tonight?”

Emma stops in her tracks, her sneakers actually squeaking against the tile as she turns around. “I’m just going to watch some TV, catch up on some shows. Why?”

“Would you like to come over for a drink?”

She smiles at him then, something soft and subtle, but it’s a smile. “Pregnant, remember?”

Well fuck. How did he forget that? She’s pregnant. Of course he knew that. Of course he knew that she’s pregnant. And she has a boyfriend, so she probably has no interest in hanging out with someone she barely knows, not that her having a boyfriend means she can’t have other friends. That would be ridiculous. It’s just…he guesses Robin’s words about not being alone and watching all of those people go out with their friends outside, they must have impacted him in some way. He likes being alone, prefers it sometimes, but he wouldn’t absolutely hate to have someone watch TV with him.

Probably just not Emma Swan.

“Sorry, love,” he apologizes, having to work to keep his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t scratch his ear again. “I didn’t mean to impose. I’m not sure why I asked.”

He thinks she’s just going to walk away again, but she doesn’t. “Well, there are other drinks besides alcohol, you know? I happen to be a big fan of hot chocolate.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nods, taking a step closer to him and uncrossing her arms from her chest. “And I was thinking about watching Big Little Lies. So if you have hot chocolate and like Reese Witherspoon, I feel like I might agree to having a drink with you.” “Aye, I have hot chocolate, and how can one not love Reese Witherspoon? She’s America’s sweetheart.”

“Aren’t you British?”

He winks. “That’s beside the point.”

-/-

Emma knocks on his door a little after eight, and he lets her inside. The similar layouts of their apartments must make her feel at home as she simply walks into his living room and sits down, spreading out the blanket she brought with her over her legs. He’s never known someone to bring their own blanket with them, but it’s actually a good idea. Oftentimes he goes over to someone’s house and is either freezing or is stuck using a blanket with uncomfortable material.

When the hell did he become such an old man?

He joins her with the hot chocolate he was making before she came. He only had the instant packets, not the ingredients to make the good stuff, but he’s never had the need to use anything but the instant anyways. Honestly, he usually adds rum or whiskey to it, but he didn’t tonight. Solidarity and all.

Besides, he’s genuinely confused as to what the hell is happening, so being sober is probably a bright idea. Emma’s been in his apartment twice. Once to throw up, another to spend a Saturday night watching television. He feels like there should be some kind of in between or, really, a better beginning. But it is what it is, so he’s simply going to go with it.

Whatever it is, he doesn’t know.

“Thank you,” she says, smiling up at him before placing her mug on his side table and leaning forward so that she yanks his coffee table closer to her, propping her feet up on the wood. “I promise I’ll move it back before I leave. I just have to have something to prop my feet up on.”

“I’m the same way.”

“Yeah? It seemed a little far away for you to be able to do that.”

He waggles his eyebrows, leaning a bit closer to her. “I’m a tad bit taller than you, Swan, so my legs are longer. It’s part of my devilishly handsome appeal.”

“Well, you have to have something to support that large ego of yours.” “Touché. So tell me about this show we’re watching.”

“Wait,” she begins, taking a sip out of her mug, “you haven’t even heard of it?”

“Well, I have, but all I know is that it’s about a bunch of rich women and there’s something about Audrey Hepburn.”

“And murder.” “Spoilers, Swan,” he teases, feeling lighter than he has in awhile. It’s nice to have a friend (maybe) who doesn’t expect anything from him but to watch TV. There’s no prodding into his life, no encouraging him to go on dates. It’s all purely conversation for the sake of lounging around the apartment and watching television. “Alright then, let’s watch this show where Reese Witherspoon is a murderer. I simply don’t believe that to be true after all that time she spent becoming a lawyer.”

“I applaud your pop culture references, Jones. That’s a good quality in a man.”

“Well, you could also technically be legally blonde, so it works.” Emma groans, throwing her head back against the couch before twisting her neck to look at him with a soft smile. “That is so not the first time I’ve heard that joke. You’ve got to be more original if you’re going to make a joke about my job and my hair color.” He raises a brow, the corners of his lips ticking up until he feels as if his entire face is smiling. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just that you’re pretty much the definition of blonde ambition.” “Play the damn show, Killian.”

He’s surprisingly intrigued by the show, but mostly he’s surprised how open Emma is as she talks while they’re watching each episode. He doesn’t think she realizes all of the little things she’s revealing with her statements and with the moments that she laughs at, but he wouldn’t either. Hell, he’s probably doing the same thing. Mostly, though, as the hours pass and the episodes continue, he’s as wrapped up in the show as he is with Emma. It’s an entirely inappropriate feeling, this liking her, and he’s got to stuff it down. He will not be someone who cheats, he will not be someone who has feelings for someone who is in a relationship, but he will be friends with someone…just friends. That’s what’s appropriate, and that’s what he’ll do.

Besides, this is one night. It doesn’t mean anything. She’s likely just bored and saw an opportunity not to spend her night alone, which is funny to him because she’s always struck him as someone who likes to be alone. Then again, how much can he really know about someone from only short, superficial interactions?

Not much, but maybe Emma Swan isn’t as stand offish as he once believed.

Maybe Reese Witherspoon really does bring people together.

When it’s two in the morning, Emma lets out a big yawn, covering her mouth to hide it, and when she’s in the middle of saying something, another yawn catches her. She’s exhausted. Has he kept her up all this time? Don’t pregnant women need more sleep than normal people? They do. He’s almost entirely sure that they do.

“We can stop watching, love. You look like you need to go to bed.”

“No, no,” she protests, another yawn passing through her lips, “we have to keep going. We’re almost finished. I want to know what happens.”

“Swan, you’re practically falling asleep sitting up.”

“Jones, suck it up. We’re finishing the show tonight. It’s what Elle Woods would do.”

So he sucks it up and powers on, finishing watching the show and wondering about how the hell they could end it like that. It’s not a cliffhanger, but he needs more. As the credits roll, though, he doesn’t get up to turn the television off and go to bed. No, he stays exactly where he is because Emma Swan, his elusive neighbor, is fast asleep with her head on his lap, her blanket pulled up over her shoulders while she lets out small puffs of air onto his knee.

He can’t wake her. He just can’t, not when she obviously needed the sleep, so even though he’s deeply uncomfortable, he stays how he is and lets her sleep.

Eventually, he falls asleep too.

And when he wakes up, while he’s not surprised that she’s not longer there, he is disappointed.

-/-

After he woke up alone, he tried not to dwell on it too much, tried not to dwell on the fact that he felt like he’d had a really good first date only to have his date not having enjoyed herself. He knows how to woo and charm a woman, but he’s not for everyone. If he was, well, then he’d be crazy. Or he’d just go on the Bachelor. The men on that show seem to attract several women all at once.

Not that he’d do that or even want that. For all of his bravado and flirting, for all of the times that he’s come home with a woman without knowing more than her name, and sometimes not even that, he actually prefers relationships. He prefers the steadiness of them, the friendship, the way that he gets to truly know the likes and dislikes of his partner. So the Bachelor probably isn’t for him, but if he’s desperately bored enough, he might watch it.

Maybe it’ll make his pop culture knowledge soar. Emma seemed to like whenever he referenced anything, always giggling a bit before telling him something just as clever. No, she was normally more clever. And he really liked the way that she’d look like she was so proud of herself after every joke that she told. That was so endearing.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, resisting the urge to kick his foot against his bedframe from where he’s been folding his laundry. He is in deep after one night to an unavailable woman, and no part of that is okay with him.

Wasn’t he just convincing himself that they were friends? Or really good acquaintances? It was one night.

There’s a knock at his front door, more of a pounding really, and his heartrate increases while his cheeks flush. The only person to knock on his door in the past week has been Emma, and he’s irrationally getting his hopes up that it’s going to be her again. He shouldn’t even want to see her, not after she left this morning, not after he knows that he has feelings for her when she’s with someone else.

It’s a crush. It’s like when he was younger. It’s simply a crush, and it’ll go away.

After he finishes folding the t-shirt and places it in its correct pile, he walks out of his room and down the hall to his front door, unlocking the latches and swinging it open to reveal Emma standing there still in her clothes from yesterday holding two grocery bags. What in the world is she doing here?

“So, I woke up this morning and was thinking.”

“Please enlighten me as to what the brilliant Emma Swan was thinking.”

She rolls her eyes but steps inside his apartment, pushing through him and the way he had his arm propped up against the door until she’s completely inside and standing by the kitchen counters.

“Just let yourself in, Swan.”

“I just did,” she laughs, unpacking her bags while he closes his door and moves to stand opposite of her. “So anyways, I was thinking that we definitely need to finish the show.” He opens his mouth to say that he finished it, and she holds her finger in the air and places it on his lips. “Don’t say that you finished it without me. And I thought if we’re going to do that, I absolutely have to get you the good kind of hot chocolate. And snacks. We need snacks, so I woke up, went home and brushed my teeth and stuff, and then ran to the store.”

She’s been unpacking her bags, chocolate, whipped cream, milk, cinnamon, popcorn, and pop tarts all coming out, and for a moment he’s not sure if he’s speaking with a grown woman or with a child.

“Love, what the hell is all this stuff?”

“It’s the provisions, Jones. I’m going to make the hot chocolate the way my dad taught me to make it, which is pretty much the only way to make it, and then we’re going to stuff ourselves with my favorite food.”

“Pop Tarts?”

“Well, no. I like grilled cheese and onion rings, but the grease isn’t sitting well with me right now. And I know I’m supposed to eat healthy and all that, and I do, but I really want the damn Pop Tarts.”

He picks up the box, inspecting it while Emma goes through his cabinets. They look disgusting, but if it’s what she wants, he guesses that’s what they’ll have. “Then Pop Tarts you shall have, milady.”

“I know. I bought the things. Where do you keep your pans?”

-/-

September fades away into October in the blink of an eye, the leaves morphing into warm oranges and reds all the while the air in Boston dips and chill winds begin to blow through. It’s his favorite time of the year without question, though he does enjoy summer months and any opportunity he gets to go out and spend time by the harbor, possibly even on a boat, and even though he’s spent more hours locked away in his office grading midterms than he’d like, he’s happier than he has been in a long time.

Much happier than some of his students are going to be when they get back from fall break.

He tries to attribute it to the fact that he’s moving on from all of his heartbreak in the past, that he’s not waking up in the middle of the night and seeing flashes of Milah and the life they used to share, and he’s finding a new rhythm that he likes. That he loves really.

In the mornings, he wakes and goes for runs down by the river. Some days he listens to music, other days he lets his thoughts keep him company. Afterward, depending on when his lectures are, he either runs errands or heads to work, both of which give him the same amount of joy. Usually he’s much more fond of his students, but this semester he only truly likes the English comp class that he took up teaching for extra pay.

And he despises teaching English Composition.

But his class is full of bright-eyed freshman who for some reason actually show up to class and ask questions, a lot of them begging to write about something more interesting than your run of the mill essay topics when all he’s trying to teach them is proper grammar and punctuation.

As someone who doesn’t always use proper grammar and punctuation, it’s a bit of a difficult task.

After his lectures he usually goes to his office, talking to some of his coworkers and preparing lectures and grading assignments. It’s his normal day, really, but there’s a pep in his step that he hasn’t felt in a long time. And it definitely comes from the fact that every day a little after seven, he eats dinner with Emma.

Yeah, so that’s a new part of his routine. It used to be that he’d eat alone, going over to Rob’s once or twice a week to join them, but ever since he and Emma started their binge watching sessions and he saw how dreadfully she ate at home, they’ve been eating dinner together.

He’d gotten a little carried away from himself and googled examples of diets for pregnant women, knowing that it was none of his business and that Emma was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and her baby, but he also knew from their time together that she didn’t cook. At all. And she said the things she did occasionally cook were making her feel sick. So one night while making some stir fry for himself, he realized how easy it would be to add a little extra food and have enough for two people.

And maybe after the first few times he offered Emma food, claiming he had extra, he made a little more so she’d have leftovers to take to work for lunch.

So, yeah, he’s got a little pep in his step every day.

He’s making salmon for them tonight, and he needs to get home and get it prepared. He also needs to get some coffee before he gets home. Emma’s trying not to drink any caffeine, claiming she used to drink too much of it to begin with, so he’s been staying away from it when she’s around. He can’t stay away from it completely, so he definitely just drinks it and chucks all of the evidence before she can see it…or smell it. She usually smells it on his breath.

They’ve formed a strange friendship over the past six weeks.

And he knows that it’s a friendship, he does, even if he has feelings that are far from appropriate for her. For awhile, he felt infinitely guilty, like he was doing something wrong, but he and Emma aren’t dating. He’s not doing anything wrong. There’s no cheating involved, and he would never make a move on a woman who’s in a relationship.

It’s just not good form. Not for him. He’s sure there can sometimes be extenuating circumstances that can make it be reasonable, but he just…he can’t. Not after the way his heart was ripped out by having his relationship broken apart.

But from what he’s figured out, Emma’s not seeing anyone. If she is, she’d have to only see him during the day since she seems to spend every night with him, and that would be one of the strangest relationships he’s ever seen. He’s decided, though, that Emma must have been dating someone and when she told him she was pregnant, he bolted. The bloody asshole. He’s not even sure who the wanker is or what exactly happened, but when he thinks about it too much, all he wants to do is tear the man apart. She doesn’t talk about it, though, doesn’t allude to having gone through a breakup, and if she doesn’t want to talk about it, he won’t ask.

They work how they are, and he doesn’t plan on changing anything.

He hears the knob on his door jingle, the lock twisting, from his spot in the kitchen pouring the sauce over the salmon. He’d given Emma a key last week, and just two days ago, she’d come to his door with a reluctantly happy look on her face while she held up a key.

“I need you to keep my spare key for me.”

“What?”

“I need someone to keep my spare key for me, and I don’t have anyone who lives near here who can do it.”

“So you want me to do it?”

“Are you going to steal any of my stuff?”

“No, but I don’t think anyone would answer yes to that question.”

“This is a good point. So no stealing, but I wouldn’t hate it if you left me food.”

“I believe leaving things in someone’s apartment is the opposite of stealing.”

“Shut up, Jones.”

Emma comes into view a moment later, the door opening and quickly closing. She’s already changed out of her work attire and into the sweatpants and sweater she’s been fond of lately, but she hasn’t removed her makeup or pulled up her hair so it’s like she’s a mixture of professional and casual.

He’s rather fond of when she wears her hair down. It’s long and flowing, always a slight wave to it, and it’s soft to the touch. Plus, it smells bloody amazing. He doesn’t know what kind of shampoo she uses, but he hopes that she uses it for a long time to come.

(He may have to vacuum his apartment and shake out all of his throw pillows from all of the blonde hair everywhere.)

“Hey,” she greets, a timid smile on her face. She’s holding a brown paper bag, and he’s really not sure what’s in there, especially since she’s holding it rather closely and stays on the other side of his island with it.

He continues to pour the sauce over the salmon before turning around and sliding it into the oven. When he turns around, it’s to Emma still standing there with her bottom lip tugging between her teeth. “What’s up, love? Why do you look nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Your nerves are practically radiating over your entire body.” He takes a step closer to her, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s wrong, Swan?”

“Nothing.”

“Swan.”

“Okay, okay,” she concedes, raising her hands in the air, “so I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, but some of my coworkers brought me a cake today.” “Why is that a big deal? It seems sweet.”

“Because today is my thirtieth birthday.”

“Happy – ”

“No, no, no. Okay, so I haven’t really celebrated my birthday in a long time, and I don’t usually like it. But I figured we could eat this after dinner. It’s, like, a birthday cheesecake or something. And before you say anything, yes, I checked to make sure I could eat it. There’s no funky cheeses in or anything. I just thought it’d be nice.”

He smiles to himself, shaking his head a little bit before stepping toward her and brushing a brief kiss against her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin underneath his lips. “Happy birthday, darling. I’d love to eat your cheesecake.” “How did you manage to make that sound dirty?”

He pulls back and winks before moving his brows across his forehead in the way that he knows makes her laugh. Sure enough, she giggles, shaking her head back and forth as she takes the cheesecake and moves it into his fridge.

“So what are we eating?” “Salmon and a salad.”

“Really?” “Yep, gotta cancel out all of the cheesecake we’re obviously going to be eating over the next few days. It’s good, though, love. I promise. My brother makes it all the time when I visit him.”

“So you’re telling me that you fly to London just for your brother to make you salmon you can make yourself?”

“I mean, I do enjoy seeing my brother too.”

“That seems like it’s not reasonable at all. You guys should be eating, like, tea and crumpets or something.” He raises a brow. “Darling, is your entire knowledge of London based on television shows set centuries ago?”

“Maybe,” she begins, scrunching up her face in the way that he’s really come to like, that he’s always liked. “I’ve literally only ever lived in Boston. I grew up here, went to college here, work here. The furthest I’ve been away from here is Seattle, and I only went for a two-day work conference. I was in conference rooms the entire time.”

“We’ll just have to remedy that someday. I can suggest a lot of places if you and your little one ever want to holiday somewhere.” “Oh,” she gasps, her entire face lighting up. Ever since her morning sickness has waned, he swears that she’s been glowing in all of the stereotypical ways that sometimes pregnant women glow. It could just be her makeup, but he thinks she glows a bit. Maybe it’s just him. Maybe he’s simply become delusional. Her breasts are rounding out, though. He has noticed that no matter how much he tries to keep his eyes trained on hers. “I have a bump finally. Like, one that other people besides me and my jeans notice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, hold on.” She gets up from her stool and comes to stand in front of him, pressing her sweater against her stomach to reveal the smallest of round curves. He knows that she’s pregnant, has known for awhile, and even with all of the other signs and symptoms, it’s lovely to get to see this. It’s even lovelier that she feels comfortable sharing it with him. “See? I have a bump. I never thought I’d be one of those women who gets excited about stuff like this, but I’m excited, you know?”

“Not from experience, but yeah, I know.”

“Hush,” she laughs, letting her sweater go loose. “Maybe if you were less healthy and sat on your ass all of the time, you could have a little bump too.” “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The salmon is fantastic if he does say so himself, and even though he knew that he would enjoy it, he’s glad that Emma does, especially since it’s apparently her birthday. He’s never been one to celebrate much, but he at least celebrates a little. She seemed mostly averse to the idea, but he’s hoping that she’s having a good night.

He really does.

She deserves to have good days.

God, he’s a goner. It’s ridiculous.

They spend the evening eating and continuing to work their way through the American version of The Office. He’d never seen it, so Emma insisted. Like, really insisted. She’s seen it before, but she sits there and laughs the entire time like it’s the first time she’s watching it. It took some adjusting to get used to Michael, but now that he has, he really enjoys the show.

And the cheesecake is damn good.

“I mean, obviously Jim isn’t going to stay with Karen,” he tells Emma when they’re each two pieces of cheesecake in and it’s one in the morning.

“You don’t know that.” “It’s a TV show, and he’s been in love with Pam for years. They’re going to give them the happy ending. What’s the point of television if not to give people something to root for? To give them a happy ending because life doesn’t always work that way?”

Emma sighs next to him before she scoots closer to him, their thighs touching, and rests her head on his shoulder. He feels the shiver the runs down his spine, the gooseflesh that’s rising on his skin under his shirt, and it’s the most pleasant feeling he’s had in a long time.

“I like happy endings. I used to…my life has been hard,” she admits quietly, the words almost lost in the material of his shirt, “and I thought maybe that I could never have anything happy, never have anything good in my life without having it taken away from me, but then I got pregnant, you know. And while I don’t believe anyone should have a child in some desperate attempt to be happy, I know that this kid makes me happy. It’s something that’s mine, and even though it’s hard, I love having a family again. I love getting to love someone else again.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, how to respond to her quiet admission of all of the heartbreak she’s been through, so he wraps his arm around her shoulder and tugs her closer, pressing a quick kiss against her temple. “You’ll get your happy ending, Swan.”

-/-

Emma: I can’t make dinner tonight.

Killian: Why not?

Emma: I have a doctor’s appointment in an hour, and since it’s making me miss work, I have to stay late.

Killian: Are you okay?

Emma: It’s just my 16-week check up. Nothing to concern yourself with.

Emma: Don’t eat anything good without me.

Killian: I won’t.

“Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you just go all starry-eyed and then look disappointed?”

“I did not,” he scoffs, stuffing his phone in his desk drawer and looking back to his computer where Liam’s got a smug look on his face. Haughty. He looks haughty. “I was just replying to some texts.”

“With your girlfriend?”

“Bloody hell. You know I don’t have a girlfriend, you wanker.”

“What about that woman who you spend your nights with? She seems like a girlfriend.”

“So how’s work?” he asks, rolling his eyes and changing the subject. “You get to captain any new ships lately?” “You know as well as I do that I sit in an office all day filling out paperwork and when they’re feeling the need to put on a show, I have to get all dressed up and wander out to inspect the ships.” He watches Liam slide on his glasses before licking his thumb to turn the page of whatever it is he’s reading. When did his brother become such a middle-aged man? Even more so than Killian and his blanket preferences. “I also know that you’re changing the subject.”

“How’s Loren?”

“Bloody brilliant as always. She’s at her mum’s tonight, but I’m sure she sends her love. So you seriously don’t want to talk about this woman? Emma, right? I think you let it slip once that that’s her name.”

He sighs, running his hand through his hair before tapping his finger against the stubble on his chin. “Aye, Emma. Her name is Emma.”

“And you say you’re not dating?”

“Correct.” “And yet you’ve had dinner with her every night for what? Two months now? Loren and I are married, and we don’t even eat dinner together that often.”

“We like to eat,” Killian laughs, reclining himself in his office chair since he knows that there’s no getting out of this one. “And it’s nice to have company that’s not Robin or Roland, as great as they are.”

“So what’s the problem then? You obviously like her, and don’t protest. Your cheeks are blushing, and every time you talk about her you scratch behind that damned ear. I’m assuming she likes you or else she wouldn’t spend all of this time together. Are you really just so stubborn so that you won’t date again?”

“I’m sorry I had my bloody heart ripped out of my chest, Li. That’s not something I can just get over like it didn’t happen. I was convinced I’d found the woman who I was going to spend the rest of my life with, and she didn’t feel the same way. I still don’t understand it. It hurt, it still hurts, and if I have scars from that, I can’t even begin to imagine the scars Emma must have from her boyfriend leaving her after she told him she was pregnant.”

He knows he’s messed up, that he’s shared too much, the moment the words leave his lips. He doesn’t even know if it’s true, doesn’t want to invade on the parts of Emma’s life that she doesn’t want to share, and he sure as hell shouldn’t have shared her private life with his brother.

“The woman you like is pregnant?”

“Yep,” he answers nonchalantly, looking away from the screen so that he doesn’t have to see the way Liam’s looking at him with slanted eyes and parted lips. “She’s sixteen weeks pregnant, and I think she’s going to find out if she’s having a girl or boy today, if my googling is any indication.”

“Killian,” Liam sighs, the disappointment in his voice obvious, “I love you and support you, but this isn’t one of your best decisions. Her life is obviously complicated, and you need something simple. Because I know you. You’ll fall hard and fast and get attached to both her and the baby only for the father to come back into the picture and you to get left in the dust.”

Liam’s words ring true, but he’s not about to let his brother terrify him away from one of the best friends he’s had in years. And he’s not about to leave Emma to be alone, pregnancy or no pregnancy. They are friends, and him wanting them to be more than that won’t change anything. If he has to, he’ll stay her friend and nothing more for the rest of his life. He simply likes to spend time with her and for her to be happy.

He likes when she’s happy.

She makes him happy.

“I appreciate your concern, but you don’t need to be. We’re simply friends, and her being pregnant doesn’t change who she is as a person.”

“Just think about what I’ve said.”

“I will.”

He won’t.

When he gets home several hours later, he takes the opportunity of having the night to himself to clean his apartment. He doesn’t need to deep clean it, but he definitely needs to straighten up and dust off the bookshelves. He probably needs to wash the sheets in the guest room too. It’s been awhile since they were touched, and everything in that room is beginning to feel a bit stale. But he really won’t go down to the basement to do laundry until Thursday when he’s also got some clothes he needs to wash.

So he focuses on the living room, taking all of the books off the bookshelf and dusting underneath them all the while candles burn to make everything smell less sterile. Or like lemons. Sterile and lemons. It’s like a hospital in here.

He’s sitting on the ground in his living room organizing some of his old binders from when he was getting his doctorate that he saves for God knows what reason when his front door swings open and Emma comes into view, her favorite oversized plaid blanket wrapped around her shoulders and dragging along the ground. He doesn’t look up, just sees her mismatched socks, and continues to restack the shelves.

“Killian?”

The sound of her voice, the way that it’s strained and watery, gets his attention, and he’s immediately up off the floor, not caring how much it hurts his knees after being on the ground for so long. He’s by her in an instant, and even though she’s looking at the ground, he can see the tear tracks on her cheeks and the way her eyes are read and puffy, all of her makeup removed. And he doubts she removed it with the wipes she uses.

“Emma?” he questions, placing his thumb on her chin and guiding her gaze up to his. “Love, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

She nods her head up and down before leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his middle. He can feel her bump in between them, and he wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her even closer, letting her bury her head in his shirt as he rubs his hand up and down her back. He’s got no clue what’s happening, not a one, and the only thing that comforts him is knowing that the baby is okay. He just hopes Emma is okay too.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” she sniffles, the words murmured into his t-shirt. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to c-cry, but I…I had a bad day.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Or do you want to ignore it?” “Talk about it, but I want ice cream first.” “I don’t have any ice cream.” “Yes, you do. I put it in your freezer last week.”

He chuckles into her hair before pulling back, swiping his thumbs underneath her eyes to wipe away her tears. They’re still watery and puffy, but he hopes that changes soon. He also cannot believe she snuck ice cream in here.

“Go get your secret ice cream, love, and I will put my listening ears on.”

“You’re such a dork.”

He settles down on his couch while Emma gets her ice cream, coming back with the small container and handing him a spoon. It’s banana split flavored, and while he doesn’t love that, if Emma wants him to eat some ice cream right now, he’ll eat some ice cream. Mostly though he just wants her to know everything is okay.

After she’s eaten half the carton, she finally puts the spoon down and the ice cream on the table. It’s going to melt, but he really shouldn’t be worrying about that right now.

“I’m having a girl,” she finally says, the corners of her lips ticking up into a small smile. “I saw her on the monitor today, and God, Killian, it was like…it was like magic.” “Yeah?” he asks, and he can feel the own smile on his face. That little girl is going to be so loved.

“Yeah.” She pulls her knees up to her stomach and wraps her blanket around her knees again. “I’m really excited, which I’m sure doesn’t make sense with the breakdown I just had.”

“It makes perfect sense, Swan.”

She rolls her eyes, wiping at her eyes again. “Okay, okay, so I’m going to tell you some stuff, and I really hope you’re not going to judge me for it.” “Never.” “That’s what you say now.”

“I promise I won’t judge, love. This, like whatever that blasted gym is called down the street, is a judgment free zone.”

She laughs a little bit, and he already feels a bit better that she feels better. He’s still absolutely terrified of what she has to say.

“My parents are dead,” she blurts out, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth, the surefire sign that she’s nervous. “My mom, I didn’t…I never even knew her. There are pictures I have, pictures from when I’m a few months old, and that’s really all I have. I actually, she didn’t die, not that I know. She left me and dad, and since I don’t like to think about that, I like to think that she’s just…dead.”

“I do the same thing with my dad,” he admits, and Emma’s head shoots up so fast that she must get whiplash. He’s guessing she wasn’t expecting that. “It hurts so much to feel unwanted that you rationalize and try to convince yourself that something else happened.”

“I’m sorry, Killian.”

“I’m sorry for you too. Bet you didn’t expect our parental history to be so similar.” “Not at all. I just…is your mom dead too? Because I’m sure you saw the news of when my dad was killed, and I – I’d hate for you to have been through what I went through.” “Cancer,” he shrugs, pushing down all of his emotions. He’s come to peace with his parents’ deaths...or abandonment, really. They still sting on occasion, but he’s come to peace with them. “She died of cancer. I think we make quite the pair, Swan. So is that why you’re upset? Your parents?”

“In a way,” she admits, curling into an even smaller ball, “but not really. I mean, I miss my dad every day, but that’s not why I told you not to make fun of me. I told you not to make fun of me because well, I…I got pregnant through a sperm donor.”

Well, there goes every single theory he’s had. Like, every single one. He was not expecting that at all, not in the slightest, and he’s not sure what to say. He’s not even sure if he’s supposed to say anything. It’s really not a big deal, but she obviously feels like it is. She wouldn’t be announcing it in this way if she didn’t think so.

“I just…I have been alone for a lot of my life when I really just wanted a family, but I seem to have crappy luck in that department. And the same with guys. God, one day I’ll have to tell you about all of my shitty boyfriends. But I don’t know, I didn’t want to have to wait for a guy to have my own family. I wanted to take it into my own hands, so I did.” “That’s brave of you, love.” “Then why does it make me feel weak? What am I doing to this little girl? She’s not going to have a dad, grandparents. She’s just going to have me, which is what I wanted, but what if she resents me for that one day? What if I screw her up because she doesn’t have anyone but me because I’m alone? That’s why I’m freaking out. I’m freaking out that I’ve been selfish and have already messed my daughter up.”

“You’re not going to, not beyond what’s normal. You’re already a great mum. I promise. And you’re not alone.” “But I am.”

“I know this might be forward, Emma, but I will always, always be by your side if you let me. You don’t have to be alone.” “You say that now, but what happens when I have the baby, when I’m tired and cranky and have this loud little girl that’s going to take up all of my time. You’re young, you’re kind, and I really don’t understand why you spend so much time with a sad pregnant lady.”

He shrugs. “I like you. I like being around you. And if you let me, I’ll like being around your little girl even when you’re both having meltdowns. You mean a lot to me, love. These past few months just cooking with you and getting to know you and arguing over the merits of British television versus American television – ”

“American is better.” “So you say. But these weeks have been incredible, and I really do consider you one of my closest friends.”

Emma opens her mouth to say something, but then her lips close and she’s leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his middle while she settles herself on his lap. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t respond, just kisses the crown of her head and holds onto her in the way she’s holding onto him.

-/-

Months begin to pass at a quicker rate than they have for his entire life. He’s not entirely convinced that hasn’t entered some kind of time warp because before he knows it, he’s finished with his semester at school and on Christmas break for two weeks. He spends his time between preparing for next semester, hanging out with Robin and Roland as they take Roland around to city to look at decorations, and working in Emma’s spare bedroom to set up the nursery for her daughter. It doesn’t take him long to finish painting and building the crib, but considering that’s all Emma’s bought besides a few outfits, there’s really nothing else to do.

Naturally this means that he drags her out shopping, finding every Christmas sale that he can as he goes down the list of things every newborn needs. He’s put far more research into this than he should have, and as prepared as Emma is with her job, she’s not so much that way in other parts of her life. She kind of just figures that things will work out, that she’ll make them work out, and with what he’s learned about her, she’s not wrong. It doesn’t make him feel better about everything, though, so he helps her go shopping and after weeks of prodding, he convinces her to allow her coworkers to throw her a shower.

It was like pulling teeth, but even Emma will open up to accepting free stuff.

She has off Christmas Eve, and while she apparently had a few offers from some of her friends from work, she’s spending it with him, going to Robin’s house so they can have dinner with he and Roland. It’s not the most festive of celebrations, but for people who don’t have a large friend group or family, having a seven-year-old running around on a sugar high talking about how Santa coming is about as good as you can get for Christmas Eve.

He’s watching Emma talk to Roland about the latest episode of Paw Patrol, showing as much enthusiasm as she does when they’re in a fierce debate over their own shows, and he can feel his smile stretching across his entire face.

“You’ve got it bad, mate.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, not even bothering to look at Robin while Emma quickly glances at him with a soft smile on her face and an elf headband perched on her hair, “I do.”

She falls asleep at his apartment that night, snuggling into his bed underneath all of his covers, and while he’s sure that Emma wouldn’t mind, would probably insist that it’s fine for him to stay in his own bed, he turns on his fan and kisses her forehead, whispering Happy Christmas before he settles down into his guest room, making sure to text Liam before he falls asleep.

January passes in a literal flurry of snow, the new semester starting with everyone having to brush their coats and hats off when they step inside. It’s beautiful yet annoying, and he won’t mind when it finally starts to get a bit warmer.

He decides that he loves Emma like the pathetic fool that he is one night when she comes knocking at his door around two in the morning and asks if he’ll go to the store and buy her bride’s cake ice cream. It’s not at the first store or any of the damn stores he goes to that night, and as frustrated as he is coming home with banana split ice cream since he knows that’s her favorite, he realizes that there’s not a single other person in the world who he’d spend over an hour in the middle of the night looking for ice cream for.

She really likes ice cream.

When he gets back to his apartment, she’s asleep on the couch with the comforter from his bedroom wrapped around her, and he doesn’t even care.

He doesn’t. He just wants her to be happy. They’ll eat the ice cream tomorrow.

“Killian,” she gasps one day when they’re sitting in her living room, the both of them on their laptops doing work.

“Yeah, love? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she promises, looking over at him with her entire face aglow. “You’ve got to feel what she’s doing in here though.” She moves her laptop and grabs his hand, placing it over her stomach where he can feel a definite pressure from where her baby must be doing high kicks. “Do you feel that?”

“How could I not?” he whispers, his voice leaving him with the disbelief that he can feel Emma’s daughter moving inside of her. Emma’s been feeling her for months, but he never has. “That’s incredible, darling.” “It’s insane. It’s like she’s practicing karate or something in there.”

“Exactly my thoughts,” he laughs, moving his hand around her stomach and feeling the movements follow. “Hello, little love. Are you practicing inside mummy? I’m sure that can’t be too comfortable for her, yeah?” He looks up at Emma with a smile that immediately fades when he sees the water that’s forming around her irises. “Swan, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she insists, even as she wipes her tears off of her cheeks. “Nothing is wrong. Hormones, you know?”

He doesn’t believe her, but he lets it slide, knowing not to push her right now. “Yeah, little love, I think you really are driving your mum crazy.”

At the end of February she gives him the invitation to her baby shower at work, insisting that he doesn’t have to come, especially since they’re giving it in the middle of the day. But he’s the one who insisted that she accept their invitation to host one, and he wants to always be there for her. So he cancels his classes for the day, citing a family emergency, and heads to her law office with a bag full of small things that no one bought off of the registry but that he knows that she needs.

Seriously, he knows far too much about pregnancy and the first year of a baby’s life.

“How can I help you, hon?” a receptionist named Anna asks him when he walks in.

“I’m just dropping by for Emma’s baby shower.”

Anna’s face lights up, and she immediately gets out of her chair. And comes to stand next to him. “Oh, you must be the daddy. It’s so nice to meet you. We love our Emma, but she is so reserved sometimes. I’m surprised she’s even letting us do this.” “Ah, yeah,” he awkwardly mumbles, reaching up to scratch behind his ear while he’s led to the breakroom. “I’m not – ”

“Killian?” Emma questions, interrupting him from correcting Anna. “What are you doing here?” “You didn’t think I was going to miss this, did you?” He nods to Anna before walking over to Emma and pressing a kiss against her cheek while her perfume invades his senses. She looks absolutely beautiful today, glowing in all of the clichéd ways. “I cancelled my classes for the day. Figured I’d mooch off some of the cake and help you take your gifts home.”

He sees the blush rise on her cheeks, and she just shakes her head back and forth, looking down at her shoes…which are slippers. She must have not bothered changing back into her heels. He doesn’t blame her. Not that he has worn heels. He just can’t see how they could possibly be comfortable.

“You’re ridiculous, but thank you. Ruby’s grandmother made the cake, so you’re in for a treat.”

Emma’s definitely the quietest of all of the people in the breakroom, but it’s nice to see her laughing and spending time with other people besides him and his friends. She may claim to not be the most social of people, but he can tell how comfortable she is laughing and joking around with her coworkers, opening up all kinds of outfits that make jokes about Emma being a lawyer as well as several things that he knows he’ll be unpacking in the nursery.

Emma wasn’t joking when she said he was in for a treat because as Emma wraps her arm around his waist while he carries her last round of presents, he realizes that this has been a surprisingly fun day.

Well, surprising isn’t the right word. He loves any time they get together.

As spring begins, all of the snow fading away and green grass and bright flowers blooming again, he thinks that time really is zooming forward at an alarming rate. At least for him. For Emma, she’s miserable in her last month of pregnancy. He can tell from the look on her face every day when she gets home from work and the way she doesn’t want to do anything, usually snapping at him when he suggests something. He’s completely and totally aware of how odd their friendship is, how he’s basically in a committed relationship without being in a relationship at all, and he really doesn’t care.

Liam thinks he’s crazy, Robin might too, and while he might be, again, he absolutely doesn’t care.

Two weeks before her due date he starts sleeping at Emma’s apartment. She can only get comfortable when he’s wrapping his body around hers, supporting her stomach with his arms while she tucks her freezing feet in between his calves. He’s not even really sure how they figured this out. Like most things with his relationship with Emma, it all just happened naturally.

Emma losing her key and having to vomit in his bathroom may very well be the best thing that ever happened to him.

At three in the morning on April sixth, Emma wakes him up and, through the grit of her teeth, tells him to grab the damn hospital bag because she’s having the baby. He’s never been more terrified of anything than he is hearing those words, and he’s not even the one giving birth. There’s more screaming, crying, cursing, and crushed hands than he expected, but fifteen hours after checking into the hospital, Emma has the tiniest, most precious baby girl in her arms.

Sawyer Reese Swan.

“Hi, my name is Sawyer, and my mummy is a lawyer.” “I am going to hurt Killian,” Emma whispers to Sawyer, running her finger over her face like she’s been doing for the past two hours. “He’s making fun of the name of my sweet baby, and if I wasn’t extremely hormonal and hurting like hell, he would get a nice slap across his face. Yeah, he would, baby.”

He leans down and presses his lips to the crown of Emma’s head, wiping her hair back. “You’re teaching your daughter to be violent from the very beginning.” “Yes, yes I am.” Her eyes move away from Sawyer to look up at him, the green bright even though they’re still red rimmed. “Thank you for being here today, and all of the time. You don’t…you don’t have to be here at all. You don’t have to be so good to me, to us, and I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you.” “Hey,” he soothes, settling down onto her mattress and placing his hand over her forearm while the other tugs at Sawyer’s hat, “there is never any need to repay me. Since the day you knocked on my door and threw up in my toilet, I have been absolutely thrilled to be your friend and to be by your side. I wouldn’t change any of this.” “Yeah?” “Absolutely.” He wants to tell her he loves her, but he can’t. Not like this. He’s wanted to for months. He is absolutely in love with her, but now is not the time. He’s not sure there will ever be the time, but now is definitely not it. But he’s absolutely besotted with she and Sawyer. “You are my absolute best friend. I would say that you’re my favorite person, but that’s this little girl.” He looks down at Sawyer’s small face, the way her lips twitch, before looking up at Emma, who has a tear falling from her eye that he has to wipe away. “You’re my best friend too. And she is pretty great, isn’t she?” “She’s perfect.”

-/-

“Wow, your daughter looks just like her daddy,” the nurse tells Emma when she’s coming in to check how Emma’s healing, and the more he looks at Sawyer, the more he agrees, which is impossible. He’s very much in love with Emma and would love to be a father figure for Sawyer if that’s what Emma allows him to be, but it’s physically impossible for him to be Sawyer’s dad. Emma went to a sperm bank, was artificially inseminated, and besides that, they’ve never even slept together. There’s no physical way for him to be her dad. Emma probably just has a type, dark hair and blue eyes, and that’s all.

But it nags at him for the next few hours as Emma sleeps and he cuddles with Sawyer, walking her back and forth in the room, admiring the petite features and relaxed face that she’s miraculously keeping, the crying at a minimum so far except when she struggled latching the first few times. It couldn’t…there’s no way. He’d donated sperm a few years ago, just the one time, and it had been a desperate attempt to pay for his rent when he was in between jobs right after getting his Masters. It’s not something he was proud of, not wanting to have a child out in the world he didn’t know about, not wanting to be like his father in any way, but Sawyer…she looks like him. He can see a bit of Emma, but he mostly sees himself.

Which is all crazy. Newborns all look the same.

Is he crazy? Is this just some kind of desperate attempt to be the father of his best friend’s baby? Because that sounds like something a lunatic would do.

He is not a lunatic.

Maybe he is a lunatic.

“Hey, little love,” he coos when Sawyer stirs in his arms, her small blue eyes opening up to him, “are you sleeping well? Like mummy? Yeah? You’re already doing so well. An overachiever, I tell you.” Her small arms reach up to him as much as she can, which isn’t saying much, and he gives her his finger, letting her tiny fingers grasp around his larger one.

“I want a picture of you two.”

Emma’s voice shocks him, making him turn to look at her in the bed. She looks exhausted, beautiful but exhausted. She did a lot today…or yesterday. It’s probably five the next morning now, but he’s honestly not sure. He hasn’t checked his phone or watch in awhile.

“Why, love?”

“Because moments like this need to be documented. Come here.”

He steps closer to her, sitting down on the side of her bed while she gets her phone of off the side table and begins taking pictures, just a few before she asks for him to hand Sawyer back to her.

“Emma, love,” he begins, reaching up and scratching behind his ear, “can I ask you something?”

“As long as I don’t have to get up out of this bed, you can ask me anything you want.”

“Where did you go…to have her?”

“Huh?” “What sperm bank did you go to?”

“Weird question but okay,” she hums, looking down at her daughter while she talks. “Um, I went to the New England Center.”

Is this…there’s no way. He’s crazy. He has to be crazy. Babies all look the same. How could anyone even tell who Sawyer looks like? He’s just tired and overwhelmed. That’s all. There’s no way that she would have chosen him. There was an entire book full of donors when he was there.

“Do you remember anything about your donor?”

“Yeah,” she cautiously sighs, eyeing him while helping Sawyer latch on to her breast, this time going easier than the first few times, “of course I do. I spent forever picking one out.”

“Describe him to me.”

“Killian, what’s this about?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.” “Then tell me.”

“Um, okay,” she sighs, running her finger over Sawyer’s dark shock of hair peeking out beneath her hat, “he had black hair, blue eyes, and I think he was 6’1. I’m not sure though. The details are a little fuzzy right now. He went to college at Oxford, which I thought was super cool. He never had braces, his family didn’t have any hereditary diseases. His mom did have cancer, but it was because she was a smoker, not something he could have passed down. It didn’t say where he grew up or anything, but I figured that didn’t matter. I’m sure there was other stuff, but I felt like those were the highlights. Good genes, smart, healthy.”

His heart is practically beating out of his chest, threatening to break the skin, and he has to take several deep, calming breaths in an attempt to get himself back to normal. He’s not sure he’s ever going to feel normal ever again, especially as his stomach continues to drop only to rise again.

“Did you know his age?”

“I think he was twenty-five-ish when he donated.”

Holy shit.

He thinks that he’s Sawyer’s father.

#cs fic #cs ff #direct deposit #cs march madness #captain swan

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spartanguard · 6 years ago

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savage garden, 8/8

Summary: Killian Jones was, by far, the worst, weakest, most ineffectual Dark One ever. (According to the Darkness, at least.) And he was fine with that. He was just a slave, a deckhand—what use did he have of dark magic? And even less want. But the Darkness has vowed to firmly get him under its grasp, one of these days. He finds respite in a beautiful secluded garden—and the amazing woman he eventually meets there. The question remains, though: is it—is she—enough to keep him out of the dark completely? One can only hope…

A/N: AHHHHHHHHH IT’S THE END!!! OMG!!! Thank you so much to everyone who has gone on this little journey with me and CS! Especially all you repeat flailers :) Title for this epilogue comes from “You Can Still Be Free” by Savage Garden. Hope you like it, and thanks again!

epilogue—the past is gone, but you can still be free

After they broke the kiss, they stayed close, unwilling to be parted by anything again, even if it was just a few inches of breathing room. There were still things to address, they knew—Emma’s parents, the garden, and just what the hell Killian was supposed to do with his days now—but the longer and tighter they held to each other, the later that could be dealt with. They’d had a long day, even if the most eventful part of it was measured in minutes, and rest was calling.

It wasn’t to be, though, and the gentle clearing of a voice made them both jump in their skin and hold each other just a little tighter.

Emma relaxed when she saw their visitors, though, and Killian quickly figured out why: it was the fairies. Many of them, all in monochromatic outfits that matched their wings and complexions. He recognized Tinkerbell quickly, standing to one side of who he assumed was the leader, a woman dressed all in blue with brunette curls piled high on her head.

“Congratulations,” the blue-tinted fairy said, grinning. “You did it. The prophecy has been fulfilled.”

“Uh, thanks,” Emma said, blushing fiercely; it was all kinds of adorable. “You couldn’t have given me more specifics, though?”

“No,” the fairy simply replied.

Emma had never mentioned much about the prophecy, other than complaining about it—so how had it been met? “What was the prophecy, love?”

She swallowed. “It...I...I was destined to destroy the Darkness.”

Intuition allowed him to fill in the blanks there. That explained a lot about her early behavior towards him, though he was still astonished that they were here if she’d known all along they might one day come to blows. “You knew from the beginning?”

She just nodded.

Were the Darkness still attached to him, he’d probably feel somewhat betrayed—or be told to feel that way; but now, all he knew was pride. “You’re brilliant, love,” he told her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Absolutely amazing.”

“Actually,” another fairy chimed in, this one dressed in shades of red-orange, with tanned skin and dark hair in plaits. “It wasn’t just Emma, though she is the Savior—it was both of you. She couldn’t destroy the Darkness while it was tied to a soul; it needed to be freed first.”

“What?” he and Emma said at the same time, then exchanged a confused look.

“That part was all you, Killian,” Tink explained, smiling. “What you did? That only worked because you had outright rejected its power at the point of no return. Emma couldn’t have done anything without what you did first,” she explained.

He was stunned; he’d actually done some good? Even in his weakest moment, he’d been helping rid the world of the Darkness? That seemed incomprehensible; that was a role for someone else, for a—

“I told you.” Emma interrupted his train of thought. “You’re a hero, Killian Jones.”

“Huh,” was all he could manage to say.

Emma squeezed his bicep and looked like she was about to say something, but the blue fairy cut her off. “And Emma? You might want to go check on your parents.”

“What? Why? Did something happen?” Her comforting grip turned into a panicked one; it was his turn to give support, holding tight to her waist.

“It did,” the fairy said, smiling. “But don’t worry—only good things!”

He was growing slightly annoyed with this fairy’s way of delivering good news, but that wasn’t what was important now. “Emma, you need to go to them.”

“But, Killian—”

“No, no buts. They’re your parents; they must be worried sick. Go.”

“Are you sure? I just—we just—”

“We have all the time in the world, love,” he assured her, brushing a loose tendril of hair away. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, not now.”

She chewed on her bottom lip a bit before telling him, “I’ll be back as fast as I can; I promise.”

“Take your time, darling.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He’d never tire of hearing or saying that.

She gave him a quick peck and then was up, running from the garden, the majority of the fairies following after her. He waited for Emma to run through the door before letting out a long exhale and slumping in his seat, then running his hand down his face. That had been...more than he knew how to handle, and he needed a bit of time to process all that had just been revealed. Knowing was one thing—accepting was a whole other. And he’d always been slow in that regard; resurrection couldn’t change it.

He? A hero? He had a lifetime of proof against that—two or three, really. Even if that was what it had taken to be in the right place at the right time to finally rid the world of that curse, the things he’d done still haunted him.

“Stop it.” Tink was standing over him, arms crossed looking down at him, with as stern a look the fairy could muster. “I can tell what you’re doing. Don’t.”

“Easier said than done, Lady Bell,” he sighed.

“I know. And Emma does, too. Do you remember what I said last time?”

He searched his memory. “‘Don’t let the past dictate the future,’” he quoted.

“Exactly. That’s especially true now.”

Logically, he knew that was the case; but when he looked around at the devastation in the garden, it was still a bit hard to believe. Although something on one wall caught his eye: miraculously, the middlemist was still intact. It was certainly a testament to the strength of Emma’s magic, but if it made it through, then maybe he would, too. He just needed a moment to let it sink in, and he couldn’t do that here.

“I know; there’s just...one thing I need to do,” he answered, standing up. “Will you let Emma know that I won’t be long?”

“Of course; take your time. Just not too much of it—yours isn’t unlimited anymore,” she winked.

“I know,” he answered, smiling; who knew that there’d be peace in losing immortality? “I don’t plan to dally. I just don’t want her to think I’ve run.”

“If I know anything about Emma, it’s that she’s freaking out just as much as you right now.” His brow furrowed at the way she described it, but he had to admit—he did feel slightly manic, as well as elated, depressed, ashamed, enamored, and tired, so tired. “Go. I’ll let her know.”

“Thank you, love,” he effused, then didn’t waste a moment in heading off. He took one last look at the garden from the door, noting that Tink had already left, and trying to pull a bit more encouragement from the pink blossoms standing in stark contrast to the black and gray all around them.

Killian needed to see one last thing before he could accept that the decades-long nightmare was over, and he moved with as much haste as he could muster.

“Thought I might find you here.”

A few hours had passed since Killian left the garden, and yet he still hadn’t done what he’d intended. The sun was starting to set, but he hadn’t moved from where he’d collapsed of fatigue on arrival. Emma sat down next to him, no hint of judgment in her voice.

“How did you find me?” he asked quietly.

“Well, thankfully, this didn’t work,” she said, pulling out the nameless dagger. “So if you needed anymore confirmation, there’s that.” She dropped the blade in the sand in front of them. “And then I just...knew. As contrived as it sounds, I followed my heart.”

He smiled softly at the idea; he, too, had sensed her approach before he heard it, so her greeting hadn’t startled him. “Your parents?”

“Awake,” she said, relieved. “And, true to form, my mother is already planning the celebration ball.”

He chuckled. “I’d say a curse breaking warrants one.”

“Oh, but I didn’t tell you the best part: you’re the guest of honor.”

He sat straight up. “Beg your pardon? Why me?”

“Because,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “Apparently, Maleficent tweaked the curse so it could only be broken by a True Love’s Kiss of the romantic variety.”

His jaw dropped; it was starting to ache from how much that had happened today. “Well,” he finally stammered. “I think most of the credit there goes to you, given that I had little to do with that action.”

Emma tilted her head to give him a side-eyed glance. “One of these days, you’re gonna learn to accept a compliment. The kiss wouldn’t have worked if you didn’t feel the same way. That, and my mom kind of started hyperventilating when I told her. She’s a sucker for a good love story.”

Quietly, he asked, “Is that what we have?”

“I’d say so. How many people can say the strength of their love defeated the darkest magic in the realm and then brought a bunch of people back to the land of the living?”

He shifted in his seat nervously. “I’m...I’m sorry you had to face that on your own; that I made you—”

“Hush,” she interrupted. “I wasn’t.” He furrowed his brow in confusion—he was definitely not conscious for that—but she went on. “My magic has never been as strong as it was today. But all I could think about was you—how long you fought and your sacrifice; I wasn’t going to let it be in vain. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I…” He was nearly speechless. “Um...you’re welcome?” he tried; this confidence thing was uncomfortable.

Thankfully, she laughed. “Thank you,” she told him, then placed a kiss on his cheek. “Now was that so hard?”

“Yes.”

She just giggled again, and then rested her head on his shoulder as they stared at the ocean in front of them. “How do you feel?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.” He’d thought being by the sea would help, and relaxing as the crashing waves were, his emotions were still a jumbled mess. “I’m still getting used to my thoughts being my own, with no intrusive personality adding their comments and insults. And I’m still not sure it’s real—that this isn’t some drawn-out fantasy the Darkness is putting me through, only to drag me back under further in the end. I…” His voice cracked. “I've been staring at the water for hours now, wishing to go in but terrified that it still won’t let me.”

“Then let’s do it together.” She didn’t wait for his answer and stood immediately, pulling him up, and he was quick to follow as she led him to the edge of the water. “Oh! I almost forgot.” With a wave of her hand, she summoned the dagger from where it had been left behind. “Would you like to do the honors?”

He was more than a little terrified to hold that cursed blade again, but he also needed to know for sure. Gingerly, he took it by the handle, then turned it over to inspect each side.

It was...nothing. It bore no name, and no voices rang in his head when he touched it. It was just a dagger now. But one that he never wished to see again.

With a cathartic grunting yell, he swung back and threw the dagger at the ocean with all his might, then watched as it sailed through the air and fell into the water with an inconsequential splash. Farewell and good riddance, he thought.

He stared at the waves lapping at his feet then, soaking his boots and leaving salty spray on his leather pants. Emma squeezed his hand encouragingly, and he took a step forward, into the shallows. Then another, and another, with her right behind him.

They kept going until the water rose to his thighs. It was cold and nearly impossible to wade through in his clothing, but bloody hell—he was in the ocean! Finally! He dragged his fingers through the gentle waves moving across the surface and grinned at the water’s resistance. He half expected a large wave to cast him out, but none came—just small ones welcoming him in.

A splash hit him in the face; he looked up to see Emma smirking playfully and about to send another his way. Two could play at that game, though, and he beat her to the punch.

She fought back, of course, so he retaliated, and it went back and forth until they were both soaked to the bone, shivering, and holding the other tight for warmth.

He could taste salt on his lips, he assumed from their water fight, but then Emma said “Oh, Killian,” and wiped a warm tear from his face. And a few more. “I’ve got you,” she whispered, hugging him tight, as all the emotions finally poured out of him in wracking sobs. It was the release he needed, and he felt lighter with every tear drop shed.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but the sun was nearly set by the time he calmed down. Emma was shivering, but she hadn’t loosened her grip on him in the slightest. “Better?” She asked.

“Aye,” he choked out. “It’s...it’s finally over.”

“It is,” she confirmed, brushing his salty hair from his eyes, then rising on her toes to find his lips with hers. Despite the cold—which he was feeling more than ever—her affection heated him inside, and he pulled her impossibly tighter to try to do the same for her. Feeling a bit more thawed, they broke the kiss but stayed close and Emma went on. “But there’s one more thing we have to do.”

“What’s that?” He could think of so many more than just one thing to do; for the first time ever, he was looking ahead more than a day, and he wanted to do all of it—everything—with her. (Especially if it involved more kissing; he quite liked that.)

“Help me restore the garden?”

He grinned. “With pleasure.”

The familiar sensation of translocation took hold, but it was so much warmer and gentler than he’d ever experienced. In the growing shadows of evening, the garden looked even more ghostly than earlier, but Emma believed it could be healed, so he did, too. If she could bring him back to life, then this would be nothing.

She was looking around with a pensive look on her face. “How can I help, love?” he offered, coming back to her side.

She looked up at him and smiled. “Just hold my hand.”

“As you wish.” He took her delicate hand in his rough one and held tight. She closed her eyes in concentration, and a moment later, he swore, she was glowing.

Her other hand was held open, and a fountain of those beautiful baubles of light of hers came rushing out, flooding the garden with the warm glow of her magic. Wherever they floated, green followed—the grass, the leaves, the stems of all the plants flourished and grew as they were healed. The benches were repaired, the fountain gurgled again, and the lanterns brought back their soft illumination.

Last was the flowers: the blossoms sprouted slowly, the small ones on the trees first, then the vines and bulb flowers, and finally the rainbow of roses around the perimeter.

Emma sagged against him when she was done, thoroughly spent, and he gently guided her to the plush lawn. “You’re bloody brilliant, my love; absolutely incredible,” he gushed, placing a kiss on her temple as he noted everything about the renewed space. He was fading fast, too, but the beauty all around was overwhelming.

“I know,” she said casually. “But only because you are, too.”

He didn’t dare refute her again. “I love you, Emma.”

“I love you, too, Killian. Now, are you ready for what comes next?”

“And what’s that?”

“Whatever we want.”

“Sounds perfect.”

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his lap and finding her lips in a passionate kiss. It was languid and unhurried, careful and deep—everything he’d been longing to give her, but there was no urgency behind it like their first, no reason for haste. For though his days were no longer unlimited, he knew that he had all of his remaining ones to show Emma just how much she meant to him.

For the first time in his long, long life, he had no title or binding: not slave, not deckhand, not pirate nor Dark One. Finally, he was free of the savage garden of his past and ready to see what lay ahead for Killian Jones—his own man.

They inevitably had to break apart for air, and exhaustion quickly claimed them. Killian actually slept for the first time in so long, dreaming happy dreams of what the future might hold. The ball lay ahead for certain, and Maleficent was likely still out there; but beyond that, he couldn’t wait to start the next adventure—although, if it was tamer than the last, he’d be the last person to complain.

He woke up the next morning more refreshed than he’d ever been, ready to make those dreams real. And he woke up in the way he hoped he would for the rest of his days: with Emma at his side.

thanks again!!! tags: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @isignedthebookofthebeast @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @queen-mabs-revenge @killianmesmalls @distant-rose @sherlockianwhovian @effulgentcolors @laschatzi @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @nfbagelperson @the-captains-ayebrows @stubble-sandwich @killian-whump @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @wyntereyez @lfh1962 @bmbbcs4evr @therooksshiningknight @facesiousbutton82

#cs ff #deckhand hook #cs march madness #fic: savage garden #my ff

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shireness-says · 6 years ago

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If I Could See Your Face Once More (1/6)

Summary: This time, there's no celebration at Granny's when the latest crisis has been resolved. Instead, they're left to deal with the body of Killian Jones. A 5B canon divergence where Killian dies in Camelot, never becoming a Dark One. Rated T for language. Also on AO3. ~4.3K.

Here it is - my contribution to @csmarchmadness! Thanks to @xemmaloveskillianx for organizing such a great event! I started writing this 2 years ago, before it got way out of hand and I ran out of steam. The next chapter will be posted on the 13th.

If you guys have talked to me for any length of time, you know I hate 5B. Hate it. Why all this Zelena/Hades stuff? Isn’t this supposed to be about saving Killian? Wtf? So here’s my take on 5B, featuring Liam not being a murderer, no Gold at all, Robin not dying, and so many other corrections. I have a lot of feelings about this, guys. Title taken from the Kodaline song that gave me these feelings in the first place (”All I Want”).

Special thanks to my beta, @snidgetsafan, who’s been surprisingly happy to deal with all this angst and dragging me through the writing process. You’re the best, babe.

Tagging: @thejollyroger-writer, @captainsjedi, @profdanglaisstuff, and @ultraluckycatnd. Shoot me a message if you want to be added to the list!

Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!

This time, there’s no celebration at Granny’s when the latest crisis is has been resolved.

There’s just Emma, re-forging Excalibur with shaking hands to trap what’s left of the Dark One inside the blade, removing it from a human vessel once and for all.

Then, of course, they’re left to deal with the body of Killian Jones.

------

When Killian steps off the boat into the Underworld, it’s a small consolation to see Liam waiting at the docks for him.

It’s somehow fitting that the first words he hears from his brother in nearly three hundred years are “Little brother!” as he smiles sadly and pulls Killian into a fierce hug. And even if Killian tosses back a half-hearted “younger…”, he can’t help but squeeze even tighter, just to savor this reunion.

When the two finally break apart, it’s Liam who speaks first.

“I’ve been waiting so long for you, Killian. I can’t tell you how good it is to see your face again.”

“I know, believe me, I know,” he replies, before realizing something. “How did you know I was coming?”

Liam looks a bit sheepish and moves to scratch behind his ear in the same way Killian does (the same way Emma calls “adorable”). “Ah, well… you see, the captain’s log aboard the Jewel has kept me apprised of your life up above - the most painful moments, to be precise. A form of penance, I suppose. When the entries cut off abruptly after you got hurt in that swordfight, though, I got worried. So when a new house appeared down here... I couldn’t resist going to check it out, just in case it was yours.”

Killian knows immediately which one he’s talking about. “Grey Victorian? Tower room?”

“That’s the one. I walked in, saw pictures of you and your lovely wife, and figured one of you would be showing up in the next couple of days. Even if it was your lady instead of yourself, I thought I should still check in on her and find out how you were doing.”

Killian’s heart sinks as soon as he hears the word “wife”. He hates to disillusion Liam of this idea that he’s been living some idyllic life, but it will hurt too much in the long run to pretend, even for a little bit. So he forces himself to whisper back, regret coloring his voice, “I’m not married, brother.”

Liam frowns. “I’m sorry, I just thought… there was a picture of you two dancing. She was in a white dress, you looked dressed to the nines… I just assumed…”

Killian cuts him off before he can go any further. “It’s quite alright, we just… it was a maybe, someday.” He pauses. “I guess not anymore.”

“And the house?”

“We were planning on living there together. Building a future. But again…”

“Not anymore.” Liam nods. “Well, whatever would or wouldn’t have happened, the house appears to be for your use down here. Come along, I’ll take you there.”

------

The house Liam brings him to appears to be a perfect replica of the one Henry and he picked out back in Camelot, just more run down. What little furniture is present is covered in drop cloths and feels stiff and painful. Of course, those observations are secondary to how his attention is immediately drawn to the two photos in the entryway – the one from Camelot that Liam described, and the tiny instant photograph the Lady Snow took the night of their first date. Emma’s beautiful pink dress had made her look like an angel of some kind, and he can just see his temporarily-restored left hand resting on the small of her back. It’s a little bittersweet, seeing those images in this place that might have been home, but he’d rather they were here than not.

Liam, as it turns out, lives on the Jewel of the Realm (and it’s definitely the Jewel here, not the Jolly – beautiful and pristine and not marred by centuries of unintentional gouges from his hook) and runs the local bar, where he promptly offers his little brother (“Younger!”) a job. Turns out this was the only place at which he could find employment when he first arrived, and when the previous owner moved on, ownership transferred to Liam.

“And why have you never been able to move on? Go, be happy and at peace?”

Liam smiles sadly. “I was always worrying about you, wondering how you fared. Felt too guilty about not listening to you, I suppose, making you watch me die like that.”

Whether intentional or not, Killian can’t help but feel a pang of guilt at the fact that his brother has been trapped here because of him. Gods, will his list of sins never end?

But Liam breezes on. “Now that you’re here, though, I think I’ll be able to move on, just as soon as we sort your unfinished business. Any idea what that might be?”

That only twists the knife deeper. Of course he knows what his unfinished business is, and it’s nothing that can be sorted out in a few weeks. It’s promising Emma a happy ending and a future – hell, just promising her that he’d survive. “Ah, well, we’ll both be here for a while then.” Liam quirks a quizzical brow. “I made a vow I ended up not being able to keep. So until Emma either moves on or…” He can’t even speak the words, refuses to even contemplate Emma dying and joining him down here for many, many years yet. “… then I’m stuck here. Which apparently means so are you.”

That feels like the worst admission of all – that he’s somehow doomed everyone he cares about to a lifetime of misery. And when Liam pulls him into a hug that he’s sure is meant to be comforting, he can’t help but feel that he doesn’t deserve that kindness, not one bit.

------

Killian quickly settles into a routine, if only in an attempt to retain some semblance of sanity. Every evening, he joins Liam to work behind the bar at the Underworld’s version of the Rabbit Hole (though down here, the bar seems to cater to those drinking to forget, rather than serving as the social hub it was back in the real Storybrooke); every morning and early afternoon he tries to fix up their – his house a little more, straightening hinges and sanding floors as best as he can. A man learns a good bit of carpentry over years of maintaining a ship; the only thing holding Killian back oftentimes is his lack of proper tools. Liam’s assistance is often offered, but rarely accepted; somehow, Killian feels like this is a task he must accomplish on his own.

Besides being in a state of complete and utter disrepair, the house additionally seems to have a mind and a life of its own. Killian simultaneously loves and dreads the surprises the house conjures up for him. The metal table and chairs on the back porch are an exact match to the set outside of Granny’s where he and Emma shared their first real kiss; a constant smell of cinnamon lingers in the kitchen, despite there not being any of the spice in the house; Middlemist flowers wilt, half dead, in the front flowerbeds. The tower room upstairs must have been meant for Henry in another life, as all of the photographs that appear there are of the two of them or of him, the lad, and Emma. He even finds the Author’s pen in a drawer of the desk beneath the window. This is, oddly enough, the room that hurts the most – a vivid reminder of the life they all might have had. Yet he still finds himself checking the room nearly every day, sometimes twice a day, to see if any new memories have appeared of him and the young man he was looking forward to one day proudly calling his stepson.

------

Every few days, he allows himself to visit the red talking phone box to try and send a message to Emma. There’s no real knowing if any of it reaches her, but he repeats the same words over and over again anyways:

“I’m so sorry, Swan. I’m so very, very sorry to have left you, especially after I promised I wouldn’t. I’m so sorry and I love you so incredibly much, will love you as long as I have a soul to do so.”

(He can’t decide if it hurts more to talk to her or to stop.)

------

A few weeks after he arrives in the Underworld – he thinks three, but really, time runs together down here – there’s a persistently circulating murmur that the former Dark One, Rumpelstiltskin, had been brought here, brought to the Underworld to answer for his sins, before being taken back to the world above by Charon on the very same boat.

Killian knows it’s petty, and far too late anyhow, but he can’t help but feel like he deserves a second chance more than the Crocodile ever could.

Maybe that’s the reason – when given the option of a second chance, a shot to redeem himself, Killian grabbed it with both hands and made the most of every moment. He was satisfied. He was happy. Rumpelstiltskin hasn’t achieved any of that. Apparently, someone thinks he deserves all that just once.

Whatever the case, Killian knows he’d have given anything to be the one going home – back to his real home – on that boat.

------

Maybe a week after that, Killian is shocked one afternoon to feel a strange tingling all over his body, and when he looks back up, is stunned to see himself not in his kitchen, but in Storybrooke’s cemetery with Henry standing in front of him. In his joy, he rushes forward to embrace Henry… only to be devastated to see his arms pass right through his boy.

Henry looks just as crushed. “It’s only temporary,” he explains softly. “I got this ale stuff from Merida to talk to you.”

Killian nods. “That was very resourceful, lad.” A pause. “How are you doing?”

Henry shrugs noncommittally; Killian knows the feeling. “Ok, I guess. I miss you. We all do.”

“I miss you too, Henry, you and your mum. More than I can properly express.”

“She misses you like crazy, you know. Kinda just goes through the motions like she’s in a daze. I guess she imagines your voice sometimes, cus that’s what she always tells me when I walk in on her crying.”

(In that moment, Killian vows to stop visiting the talking phone box. It’s clearly hurting her more than it’s helping him.)

Henry looks worried for a second. “Are you doing alright? You’re not… it’s not like pits of fire down there, is it?”

Bless this wonderful boy for worrying about a man who can’t possibly deserve it. “I’m ok. I’m with my brother, get left alone most of the time. I wish I was up here with you lot but it’s not so bad, being dead.”

Henry nods, and Killian’s heart breaks a little more at the thought of having left this young man concerned about him for even a moment. Henry shouldn’t ever have to be in position where he has to think about what happens to the soul of one of his loved ones after they’re gone. He’s already had to do it with his father; the last thing he ever wanted was to put Henry through that pain again.

Henry seems to finally work up the courage to get to his point, the reason he summoned Killian. “Gold woke up the other day. We all thought he wouldn’t, and I think my moms kinda hoped he wouldn’t, but he did.”

Killian nods. “I know. I heard down in the Underworld.”

“It’s just so unfair, you know? That you don’t get another chance too. I know more people would want you back.”

“Ah, but we don’t get to decide these things, lad. You have to know that if it was up to me, I’d be back with you two in a heartbeat. I’d choose you every time.”

“I know.”

Another pause. It’s like there’s so much to say that neither even knows where to start.

Killian breaks it first. “I take it you’re back in Storybrooke then?”

“Yeah. Mom used…” His voice falters. “Mom used your heart to cast the Dark Curse. She and my other mom and the fairies and Merlin are trying to figure out how to send the Camelot folks back now.”

“Does she know you’re here?”

“No. I just thought…” Yet another pause. “I figured if this didn’t work, I didn’t want to get her hopes up. She’s already sad enough as it is.”

Selfishly, he wants to beg Henry to go bring her here as fast as possible, but he can feel whatever this spell is about to fade out, a tingling starting in his toes. Not to mention, the lad is right. No need to torture his love unnecessarily. He wants her to move on, be happy, and that’s just not possible if she’s coming to summon him every chance she gets.

“I think that’s smart, lad. Maybe we don’t tell her? Just keep this between us?”

He can tell Henry wants to object. “But –“

“It’ll be too hard otherwise. For both of us. I just want her to move on and be happy, yeah?” At least this time, Henry nods. “I think I have to go now, but I love and miss you both so much, ok? Try to be happy for me?”

He won’t lie – it hurts a lot that his last view of Henry before he reappears in his kitchen is of the lad sniffling and trying to hold back tears as he waves goodbye.

------

Not long after his talk with Henry, Killian is shocked to walk past a previously empty room of the house one day to discover a fully furnished nursery. Mostly, he hopes to any god that might be listening that this is just another trick of the house, another glimpse of what he could have and should have had, had he lived. He hopes Swan isn’t having to go through a pregnancy alone again.

(A selfish part of him likes to imagine she has a little someone to remember him by – a little lass or laddie with her hair and his eyes.)

(He can’t help but add that thought to the ever-expanding list of reasons to be disgusted with himself.)

------

About two months after his death, Killian is once again summoned by Henry, who is pacing and clearly furious when he rematerializes.

Internally, Killian can’t help but huff a sigh – Henry needs to move on, needs to let him go, needs to not try and contact him every time something goes wrong. “Henry…” he starts, intending to reprimand the boy, when the young man in question colorfully interrupts.

“That son of a bitch!”

“Henry, language! I know for a fact neither of your mothers tolerates that.”

“Well pardon me, but that asshat Gold separated Excalibur and took back the Darkness, so I think it might be warranted.”

“That son of a whore,” Killian can’t help but blurt out. So much for scolding Henry.

“See?”

This talk ends up being slightly longer than the last – Henry just needs to vent, but when it comes to the Crocodile, there’s always an awful lot to vent about. But right before he fades out, Henry fixes his full attention on Killian.

“I’m going to find a way to bring you back, okay? If he gets to live, so should you. You deserve it a million times over.”

(He knows he no longer has a heart, but somehow, it still feels warm anyways.)

------

The next few weeks, he can’t help but feel hopeful. It must be apparent, because Liam keeps commenting on how cheerful he seems, one day even (Gods help him) catching him whistling. Killian even finds himself making an effort to interact with the other souls living in the Underworld. In the end, that’s how he meets Milah again.

It’s bittersweet, really. Killian spent hundreds of years trying to avenge his first great love, only to see her again and realize how many of the finer details he had forgotten. He supposes that’s what happens when you finally move on.

At least he’s relieved to learn that Milah’s unfinished business has nothing to do with him (one less thing to carry on his conscience). In fact, it’s her guilt over leaving Bae that has kept her here all this time. It’s the very least he can do to tell her about all the times he and Bae – or Neal – interacted, how Bae had still fiercely loved his mother and forgiven her for leaving before he had died. That seems to be enough for her – to know that her son had ultimately been happy.

It’s a little awkward, telling Milah about how he had moved on with Emma (especially since he had been dating the former lover of his own former lover’s son), but she loves hearing his stories about Henry – how smart and down to Earth he is, how brave, how adventurous. It’s a pity, really, that the two will never meet – he sees so much of Milah in her grandson, and thinks the two would have gotten along famously.

“Thank you,” she tells him, as she kisses his cheek. “I’m happy you were able to find a family for yourself. You and your big heart deserve it, even if you want to pretend otherwise.”

Then she vanishes, off to hopefully meet her son in a better place.

------

Five weeks after Henry’s second visit (this time, Killian is counting carefully), he’s summoned for a third time to find Henry looking exhausted and disheveled.

“Gods above, lad, are you alright? What happened?”

“Don’t worry. Long story.”

“Well then summarize.”

“Uh… Belle found out about Gold taking back the darkness. Broke up with Gold. Found out she was pregnant. Then Gold found out she was pregnant, and tried to manipulate her to come back to him, but she didn’t. So he sped up Zelena’s pregnancy so we’d be distracted while he tried to kidnap Belle to another realm. And I’ve been researching all the while.”

“Is she alright? Is everyone alright?”

“Yeah, Belle’s fine. Mom and Mom figured out what was going on pretty quick and Mom – Regina and Gramps went after him while Mom held down the fort at the hospital. That’s what I’m here about actually – Merlin and I found a spell to get to the Underworld. It required the blood of someone who had already been but came back, but Gramps nicked Gold before he fell through the portal, so we’re all set now. Just have to wait a few days, six days, for the full moon and then we’re coming to get you.”

Killian knows he should be grateful, but his blood runs cold when he hears the words. “No, Henry, you can’t, I can’t let you put yourself in danger for me. I’m already dead, I can’t let you risk getting yourself killed to fix something that isn’t meant to be fixed.”

“I don’t care. I miss you, Mom’s miserable, so I’m going to get you back. End of discussion.”

And, well, who is he to argue with the young man who possesses the Heart of the Truest Believer?

------

Of course, it’s too much to hope that everything will run smoothly and he’ll be home in a week. Instead, Hades shows up in all his slimy glory. Apparently, Killian’s hope is a little too contagious - enough that the Lord of the Dead himself has noticed and deemed it a threat to his rule.

Instead of waiting in his house for his Swan and their boy to take him home, he gets taken to Hades’ underground cavern of a dungeon to have the hope beat out of him.

------

Briefly, through a haze of pain and a coating of blood, Killian thinks he feels himself being summoned again, thinks he catches a glimpse of Emma and all her – their – family, but he writes it off as a hallucination.

------

And then suddenly, he’s being lifted down from the chains he’s strung up in by a pair of small, gentle hands.

Emma.

He’s half delirious with pain, but he can’t help but try and grin when her face swims into focus (or at least as much focus as he can achieve with one eye swollen shut). She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, even in filthy jeans and an oversized sweater with a pale face and tears in her eyes.

It’s the very least he can do, after all he’s put her through, to work through the pain to try and wipe away her tears.

------

Somehow, Emma helps him hobble out of the chamber where he had been suspended to an outer landing where Liam is waiting with a boat, ready to return them both to the upper levels of the Underworld.

(There's some tension between the two, but it’s difficult to comment on that tension when he has to consciously focus on breathing properly and not falling over.)

Killian is more than happy to mask any physical pain, however, when upon re-emerging into the Underworld’s facsimile of a library, Henry rushes up to wrap him in an enormous hug. He may not be fully healed for a while, but this? This is a start.

He’s just as touched to see the small crowd assembled behind the lad – Emma’s parents are there, of course, and he’s not that shocked to see Regina, considering that it was her precious son that engineered the plan to find and retrieve him, but it’s something more of a surprise to see Belle and Robin as well. He shakes the men’s hands in turn, offers a nod to Regina, and hugs Belle as firmly as his injuries will allow (taking the chance to whisper a soft but deeply meant “congratulations” in her ear). Killian then does his best to console the lady Snow – who looks close to tears – with a mumbled “it’s not as bad as it looks” as she holds his face to kiss his cheek before Emma interrupts to say she needs to bring him home and clean him up. At that, the others disperse, either to the Charmings’ loft or the Mayor’s mansion, as his Swan slides her slender arm around his waist and tosses his arm over her shoulder in order to help him hobble the few blocks back to his – their house.

It’s only once she gets him inside and settled in a kitchen chair – “I know it’s unsanitary, but hey, better than getting bloodstains on the couch, right?” – that Killian starts to think something is off. He hadn’t been too surprised when Emma wasn’t clinging to him in front of her family; on the best of days, she isn’t much for public displays of affection (or “PDA”, as she and Henry insist on saying), and a time when he needs help holding himself up certainly isn’t the best of days. But they’re alone now, and he’s sitting down, and damn if he doesn’t want to hold her. Killian knows it’s not the blood that’s the issue – he may be covered in the stuff, but so is she after supporting his weight for the past forty-five minutes, and it doesn’t seem to be fazing her in the least. Maybe before, his lack of self-confidence would have insisted Emma didn’t actually want to be here, didn’t want to be with him, but the way she tries to touch his face or his hand every time she passes him as she scurries around his kitchen trying to clean off the worst of the blood seems to suggest otherwise. So why doesn’t Emma seem to want him to hold her? It could just be that she doesn’t want to hurt him further, aggravate his wounds, but something makes him think otherwise.

“Love?”

She hums in his general direction.

“What’s wrong?”

Emma shoots a quick, though tight smile his way before turning back to the sink, trying to wring out a rag that was surely as clean as it was going to get. “Nothing’s the matter babe, don’t worry about it.”

He wants to believe her, so badly, but he knows how to spot her avoidances. And this? This is one of the most obvious he’s seen. “Emma, love…”

Killian holds out his hand towards her, and even if she was trying to avoid him a moment ago, she takes it like their palms are connected by magnets. “I’m just so relieved to have found you, to see you again. That’s all.”

“Even if that’s true, I know that’s not all,” he replies, to her half-hearted scoff. “You don’t have to tell me right now, but just let me hold you, love, let me try and make it better for both of us, yeah?”

As he tugs her closer, Emma tries to protest, tries to tell him “Killian, I don’t think that’s a good —” but he’s even quicker to interrupt.

“If this is you worrying about my injuries, sod the injuries,” he dismisses as his hand and stump move to her waist in order to pull her closer, only to unexpectedly encounter firmness.

Now Emma has always been strong and well-muscled, certainly, but she’s also a tiny, petite thing, thanks to her mother’s genes. So to encounter her now, more filled out, is odd. And suddenly, Killian remembers –

Upstairs, there is a room, meant to be a nursery.

“Swan…” he murmurs, slowly pulling up her sweater as she sighs in defeat to reveal…

…The small beginnings of a bump.

“…Surprise?”

#cs march madness #captain swan #cs ff #cs canon divergence #my writing #If I Could See Your Face Once More #I have a lot of opinions about 5b and none of them are good

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lifeinahole27 · 6 years ago

Text

CS ff: “Love So Sweetly” (Part 1 of 2) (au)

Summary: If you ask either of them, they’ll both claim it isn’t their fault. It starts with feuding musicians, a pair of handcuffs, and the evolution a relationship can go through over the course of 24 hours.

Rating: E

Warnings: handcuffs?

A/N: Hello, friends. Can we talk about how fucking difficult it is to figure out the logistics of how two people would move while handcuffed together, and then to put those movements into words that other people will understand? Pain in the ass, but I hope y’all enjoy this. This was started almost three years ago for AU Week 2016, and I posted a snippet, and then never got back to it. Thanks to @xemmaloveskillianx for making @csmarchmadness so I could get back on this and finish it up. Except, of course, for the cosmic joke that is my life... It’s not finished yet. This is part 1 of 2. I will get Part 2 done as soon as I possibly can, because the end is so near I can taste it!!

And again, thanks to the whole CS March Madness Discord for being so damn lovely. I was so lucky to have you all cheering me on and entertaining me, caring when I needed that little bit of extra care (and advice), and just being all around excellent people. And a hearty thank you to my beta, @captainstudmuffin, for finding all the shit I overlooked a thousand times.

Find it on Ao3 or FFN!

-x-

The Storybrooke Music Festival has been a staple of Almost-Middle-of-Nowhere, Maine for longer than most people that attend it can remember. The tradition of the gathering, in some cases, has been passed down from generation to generation, where the kids of the rockers and attendees are now the ones rocking and attending, and this year is no different from any other.

From all around the country, bands have flocked after being invited to play – some are bigger names, some smaller, some lost in the between. Some are one-hit-wonders and others have topped the pop charts for months at a time. The thing they all have in common: they’ve gathered here because their fans nominated them and the committee voted to invite them.

Over the span of a few acres, there’s a main stage and two smaller ones, with a sprawling campground surrounding the whole thing. And then there’s the vendors and merch stands, the specialty shops that have paid to set up. During the few days that the festival takes place, it’s anybody’s guess who will be there, where the weather will fall, and what will happen.

It’s early summer, but in their particular location, that still means a pop up storm or two. The days are warm, but without the drought of mid-summer, the paths that are marked for walking are quickly turning runny with mud, which normally would be fine. Normally.

“Well, princess maybe if you didn’t want a little mud on the tires, so to speak, you should’ve avoided the music festival ring! If the lowlands here are so offensive to you, perhaps you should get back to your pampered mansion back up on the hill.” Ignore the fact that he can also access the VIP tents as a musician, but it’s the principle of the matter…

None of the parties involved remember how this all started, besides the fact that Killian Jones, one half of the small-time Hook & Crook, fell in front of the golf cart that Emma Swan and Ruby Lucas, two thirds of The Ugly Ducklings, were riding in while one of the web media teams interviewed them. To be more precise, he fell on the hood of the golf cart, after he slipped in a slick spot of mud. The hit to the hood did something, however, and now the two woman are standing outside the cart as the media team struggles to get it working again, while Emma and Killian snipe back and forth at each other.

“It’s not the mud I’m mad about. I would happily get the hell away from you if you hadn’t stalled out our damn ride, though. Why weren’t you paying attention? You could’ve gotten seriously injured, you know.” Her finger is jabbing into his chest, belying the message she was spouting off.

“Careful love, you might make a man think you cared with such impassioned speeches,” Killian tells her, toe to toe, boot to boot, in front of the stalled out cart in question. That his are knock off from a secondhand store and hers are knee high genuine leather matters little to either of them, now. He sways into her space in a tantalizing way, his arrogance getting the better of him in this situation.

In retaliation, Emma straightens to her full height. Despite being shorter than him by almost half a foot, Killian swallows. It’s not her star power. He knows damn well who Emma Swan is. He won’t admit to the tracks he listens to in his downtime, with Emma’s voice conducting his mood like a bloody maestro without even trying.

No, Emma is a powerhouse without having to stand behind her fame.

Keeping up the façade of cocksure, he knows that whatever her next move is will be the finishing blow. She opens her mouth to tear into him, but a high-pitched honking causes them to snap out of it. He actually releases the tiniest of relieved breaths after the interruption, after Emma jolts away from him, thankful that she didn’t have a chance to use that legendary sharp tongue on him. He thinks himself a proud man, but he’s not sure even he could take getting verbally filleted by one of his celebrity crushes.

“What seems to be the problem here?” The woman is one Killian has seen around the festival since the gates opened the day before. She’s older, gray hair loosely pinned in a bun and glasses hanging around her neck from a beaded chain.

“Granny!” Ruby rushes at the older woman with a bright smile. “I was wondering where you were hiding.”

“Goodness, child, there’s been no hiding involved. I’ve just been keeping feuding rock stars in line. Speaking of, this looks like some trouble.”

“It’s nothing, Ms. Lucas,” Emma says, her whole demeanor softening to the obviously familiar newcomer.

“You know to call me Granny, dear! And this doesn’t look like nothing,” she says, motioning between Emma and Killian. “This is a festival to bring all kinds of musicians together. Emma, you know that better than most since this was your first break, right?” Granny takes one of Emma’s hands in her own, smiling fondly at the blonde.

She turns to Killian next, looking him up and down once and giving him an appreciative grin.

“You look like a tall glass of trouble. You boys harassing my girls?”

“Not at all, ma’am. Just a mild stumble that began a misunderstanding,” Killian says, laying the charm thick by grabbing her free hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“Mhmm, well, mild misunderstandings are solved easily enough,” she says. “I have just the thing.”

“Granny?”

There’s something in the tone of Ruby’s voice that catches his attention, and he turns to see the slightly horrified look on her face. With speed he would’ve never credited the older woman to possess, he certainly doesn’t have time to stop her before he feels the cool metal snap around his left wrist. He looks down in confusion at the chain, following the line of it to where it’s connected to the other cuff, which is now locked in place around Emma’s right wrist. When Granny managed to pass his hand over to Emma’s instead of her own is beyond him, but the older woman is moving swiftly away from them, a grin on her face.

“What – “

“Granny, you can’t!”

“Let’s see how that works for you two! Now get along and maybe I’ll take them off!”

Faster than anyone can react, Granny is back on the cart that brought her to them and she’s speeding away. Ruby runs after her, followed by Robin, who’ve both figured out that their bandmates have just been handcuffed together.

Killian and Emma, however, are still rooted in place, disbelief painted on both their faces. They make eye contact, the reality of their predicament slamming into them at the same time before they look at their rapidly disappearing freedom.

“Wait!” they call out at the same time, taking off sprinting as a unit.

How Granny manages to disappear into the crowd so quickly is beyond all of them. Of course, she does have the advantage of being on wheels where the rest of them are all on foot. It feels like they’ve been running and searching for miles, all while the crowd ebbs and flows around them.

The only thing they can really do is head back to the VIP tents with a quick flash of their badges. There’s beer waiting from them, handed over from multiple angles, and Emma and Killian both take one in their free hands and greedily gulp from the clear plastic.

“Any luck contacting Granny?” Emma asks when she’s halfway through the beer. She looks down at her boots and sniffs once in annoyance. They’re not covered, by any means, but he’s guessing she had no intentions of getting them dirty at all. His have about the same amount on them, but he’s eternally grateful that he didn’t fall in front of the cart, because he cannot imagine trying to clean up while Emma is with him. Or change, for that matter.

“None. She must not have her phone on and none of the techs will let me contact her on the walkie.”

“I’m going to kill her. You know that, right?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that,” Ruby mutters, sipping from her cup.

As they all settle in, assessing what to do next, Killian sits back and observes the people around him. The other women, he knows, are Mary Margaret and Ruby, and there’s another one off to the side on her cellphone, the stern set of her face speaking of management.

“Regina,” Emma says, catching where his line of sight is trained. “She’s our manager. She’s trying to track down bolt cutters or something. Ruby texted her on our way back up here.”

“Ah, well. Hopefully she’ll succeed. I cannot imagine having to be stuck this way for much longer.”

“You and me both, pal.”

“Killian,” he says, holding out his right hand. “Killian Jones.”

She stares at his outstretched hand for a moment, an unreadable expression on her face, before she finally relaxes and lifts her right hand as much as she can, given their situation. “Emma Swan.”

“I’m sorry for the spat earlier,” he tells her, honesty at the forefront. He genuinely can’t remember who started hurling insults first but it was bad form, all around.

Emma fidgets a little, her eyes looking anywhere but at him. “Same. It’s uh, been a long day already and the weather isn’t helping.” He knows that all too well. The temperamental showers passing through have been hell since he and Robin left New York.

Whatever Killian goes to say next is cut off when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He releases her hand to dig it out and opens the message from their friend-but-also-manager, David, who they may or may not have forgotten about in the interim.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Killian says, scrambling to chug the rest of his beer and motion to Robin. “We play in half an hour. We’ve got to get over to our stage. Now.” He’s not sure how he let the time slip away from him so fast; he’s been looking forward to nothing but this set for ages.

“What? Hey, you’re attached to someone, you know. Go easy on the tugging.”

He looks down at where he’s clearly moved without thought again, noticing at the same time that there are dual red marks on their wrists from where the metal has dug into their skin. “Please, Swan, don’t make me beg. We barely lucked into this slot, and if we don’t play then we won’t get invited back.”

Emma stares at him for the length of ten heartbeats, and then she sighs. “Fine. Let’s get going. This should be interesting.”

The trek from the musicians’ tent to the stage where Hook & Crook are supposed to play is not an easy one. For both being musically inclined, and thus, coordinated enough to play instruments, they’re both incredibly clumsy when attached to another person. The number of times they yank each other in separate directions is somewhere in the twenties by the time they reach their destination (and right on time, thankfully). Killian is convinced that they will kill each other if the cuffs aren’t removed in a timely fashion.

To say the crowd is a bit surprised at the appearance of one Emma Swan on stage is a bit of an understatement, as they first gasp in surprise, then cheer wildly when she raises her right hand (along with his left) in greeting to wave at them all.

“We seem to be the victims of a cruel and unusual social experiment,” Killian tells the audience when they get settled. His voice booms out among the audience thanks to the amplifiers, even if they aren’t as big as the ones Emma will be plugged into tomorrow on the main stage. He’s damn proud of their attendance, so now it’s important to make the performance match.

It takes Killian all of two seconds to realize the biggest oversight yet, just as soon as he goes to pick up his guitar. He realizes it’s a problem, of course, because Emma’s hand goes with his.

“Shit,” she whispers, at the same time much less pleasant words are coming from his mouth.

“What do we do?” Try as he might, there’s panic licking up his spine and bloody hell would it be so much easier if he played the keyboard or something.

“I have an idea,” she tells him, picking his darling guitar up by the neck and turning to face him for a minute. After making sure the shoulder strap is in place and his hands are where they’re supposed to be, Emma supports her hand on his forearm and otherwise turns so she’s partially behind him. It’s awkward, feeling someone standing close, and her hand will no doubt get tired, but holding it the way she is means he still has complete freedom to move his hand to play. He strums a few chords just to make sure it’ll work and gives her a look and a thumbs up.

He does his best to forget about the woman literally attached to him, which is a little hard at first. But then the music kind of takes over, as it always has with him, and he’s lost in the set list he and Robin have played for years; this is what he works for year round – this opportunity to play for this crowd, some of whom have followed their little duo for years.

To his surprise, Emma doesn’t get tired of where her hand rests, even tapping along to the beat with her thumb. After three songs, she presses her back against his and starts swaying back and forth behind him, compelling him to move as well. It becomes difficult to remain solely focused on the song he’s playing when he can feel her shimmying against him.

“It seems as though our unexpected guest likes my music,” Killian says into the microphone, turning his head just enough to smile at her as she looks over his shoulder. The crowd cheers again, and they launch into their next song, one the audience clearly knows well enough that he feels pride welling in his chest when they sing along. He knows their time is running out, but he lets the buzz of performing wash over him, enjoying the way Emma is still moving to the beat at his back.

Their last song is a crowd favorite, so while he gives the audience a moment to sing the lyrics back to him – the ones he spent hours getting just right – he takes the time to appreciate just where he is, almost forgetting about the handcuff on his wrist, and the argument from earlier. With the final notes, the crowd starts cheering and whistling, and he smiles as he leans towards the mic to thank them again for their time.

The coordinator to the side of the stage waves to get his attention, and Killian glances over expecting to see the gesture for wrapping up. Instead, he grins wide when he sees the girl asking him to stretch their set by just one more song. They’re out of songs that are ready for performance, so he’ll have to think up something quick.

“We have time for one more song, and I think we should let this one choose the tune,” Killian says, using the chain that connects them to pull Emma back around to stand next to him. She groans and rolls her eyes, but glances back at Robin. With a thumbs-up from him, she looks to Killian and raises her eyebrows.

There’s a heavy pause, one in which she’s clearly thinking of the right song that they’ll both know.

“Hold your hand up,” Emma tells him, and without further preamble, she stomps her foot twice on the stage, followed by a high five for the clap that should follow. She repeats the motion a couple times to the audience, getting them to join in with a little help from Robin, before she reaches for the mic. She keeps up the double foot stomps but lets the crowd do the claps.

He idolizes Freddie Mercury, and appreciates the way Adam Lambert sings the lyrics of the famous Queen song, but he finds he’s instantly attracted to the way Emma’s voice sounds singing the opening lines of “We Will Rock You.”

Without discussing it beforehand, they perfectly switch off between stanzas, singing the chorus together. Killian is no Brian May, but he manages a guitar solo that makes the crowd go wild as Emma stamps her foot through the end of it. The applause is a level of deafening that Killian has never heard before, having drawn even more of a crowd than they normally would’ve with those passing by who heard the song. And while they take their bows at the end and exit the stage, he knows it won’t be soon that his adrenaline wears down.

Just as they’re giving a final wave, he spots Granny on the outskirts, looking something like proud. Instead of pulling away and letting the chain drag Emma along, he grabs her hand, yelling out to Robin that he’ll meet him later if this works, and they take off running. At the stage entrance, he holds still long enough for David to unstrap his guitar. He gives one quick “Thanks, mate!” before they’re off again, running and hoping.

By the time they reach where the older woman just was, the spot is vacated, and the audience is trying to clamor around them for autographs and pictures.

“Which way did she go?” Emma’s yelling to be heard over everyone else, both of them on their tiptoes to try to see if they can spot her.

“I couldn’t tell,” Killian says, his defeated tone obvious as he turns back to her. “Should we?” The circle around them is closing fast, and they either need to break out while they still can or resign themselves to signing and smiling for a bit while the stage changes set ups.

As if noticing the people around them for the first time, Emma’s face goes from fallen to smiling. She looks at him, shrugging a little and reaching for the nearest autograph book and pen that someone’s holding out. His hand jerks along with hers, and they look at each other and sigh.

The rain that falls just a few minutes later is a blessing, because they can finally slip away as everyone else scatters at the same time. With no sense of direction, they start running, and Killian is thankful for the open yurt he sees just ahead, especially when thunder rumbles ominously much closer than he expected. He pulls Emma in just as the rainfall turns to a total deluge, and lightning flashes brightly.

By now, they’re likely postponing shows and getting festival goers to safety, so there’s no chance they’ll be moving before the storm passes, and no chance they’ll find Granny in the meantime. Other than to check the weather outside, the occupants of the yurt barely pay attention to them as newcomers. There are blankets covering the whole floor, in a circle around a young woman with an acoustic guitar, and as someone stands to close the doors on the weather outside, Killian leads Emma further in along the curved wall. They find an empty spot to settle down, both shivering from the moisture that’s soaked through their clothes.

A young woman with a mane of fiery red hair hands Killian a blanket. Her eyebrows go up and she stifles laughter when she sees the handcuffs. He’s not one to blush, and yet he feels his cheeks heating in response to whatever this woman is imagining. He opens his mouth to explain, to defend his honor, whatever – but the quiet applause for the woman playing in the center of the room cuts him off, and the woman with the blankets wanders away.

Emma smiles at him gratefully as he hands her one end of the soft fleece. Working together, they manage to get it around their shoulders, huddling close to get the most out of the material.

In between songs, he finds time to ask. “How are you holding up, Swan?”

“I’ve been better, Jones. I’ve been better. Hey um, thanks for including me in your set. That was a lot of fun.”

“Aye. I’d wager the crowd loved it just as much,” he notes. He wants to say more, to tell her how much he’s enjoyed this little adventure they’re on together. He wants to tell her how much he loves her music, and that he’s been a fan for ages. That he never meant to let their meeting escalate the way it did. She’s looking at him, her eyes darting between his, as if she’s reading his mind and can hear the words he can’t seem to speak. The set in the yurt continues, so he resigns himself to a tight-lipped smile and a nod, which she accepts with a small bob of her head. He unconsciously presses a little closer to her, not realizing how she returns the movement.

It’s several songs later that they notice the sounds from outside the yurt have quieted down, and they fold the blanket and leave it where they were sitting. Emma makes sure to snag one of the cards and demo discs that are sitting out on a small table near the entrance, something Killian failed to notice on his way in. Then again, he was mostly concerned with finding dry and safe and warm at that moment.

The long trek back to the musicians’ tent is spent in amiable silence. Neither are thirsting for conversation, but it’s not the same hostile silence they had at the beginning of this day. Someone slams into Killian, though, and the quick jolt to their wrists is enough for Killian to grab her hand again, leading her over to a merch stand somewhere halfway between where they were and where they’re going. He chooses two wrist bands at random, handing over the money and turning back to Emma before she can even question what he’s doing.

“Here, should make things a little better.” He holds one out for Emma, waiting until she’s wiggled hers on with a relieved hum before he does the same. The cold metal is no longer digging into his skin, which is the most important factor. “Shall we?”

They weave their way back to the musicians’ tent, stepping as carefully as they can through the mud that’s starting to form faster with the sudden rainfall. He’s used to festivals being a little rougher than indoor shows, so he does his best to keep his eyes on the ground and guide them through the worst of it.

When they get back to their destination, Ruby is engaged in conversation with another woman, and Killian immediately notices a disturbing pattern of managers looking very smitten with band members, or vice versa. Robin might have actual hearts in his eyes as he listens to something Regina is saying. Meanwhile, David and Mary Margaret look like they’re about five minutes from planning their wedding.

Killian looks at Emma, who looks back at him with a similar expression. She shakes her head, working her way over to where they’re all sitting and throwing her hands up in victory as their friends all turn and cheer for them.

“Where the bloody hell have you been, mate?” Robin claps him on the shoulder, and Killian would buy his concern if it weren’t for the fact that he’s sure Robin forgot he existed for a bit, there.

“We tried to track down Granny,” Emma explains. “But we were too late. Then got mobbed by fans. Then got stuck in a storm. Then ended up in a tent listening to an acoustic show.”

“Sounds like you two have had quite the adventure,” Ruby comments, her grin directed at Emma and looking something along the lines of predatory, if he had to put a name to it.

Emma hums in response, eyes narrowing as she looks at her friend. Whatever conversation they have between themselves during that moment, it’s something Killian isn’t meant to understand. Instead, he focuses on checking his social media accounts with the phone that David has returned over to him. He’d plum forgotten that he’d given it to Dave before they started their set.

He’s surprised when the biggest trending picture from the festival is one from Ruby’s account. There he is on stage, glancing over his shoulder at Emma behind him, she who has her eyes closed and is clearly mid-dance move against his back. It’s taken from the backstage area, and he didn’t even realize Ruby bothered to follow them, but he’s going to have to thank her for it later, and get the original sent his way so he can frame it and hang it up. It’s not every day you get to play a show handcuffed to someone you view as an idol. But there was the living proof of that.

“I can’t just sit here,” Ruby announces not more than ten seconds after his thoughts. “Let’s go explore!”

-x-

As far as ideas go, Ruby could have better ones sometimes. For one, she could be tracking down her heinous grandmother (who she would never claim is actually heinous in any other circumstance – the woman practically helped raise her, after all) to get a certain key to a certain set of handcuffs. She could be walking back to Storybrooke’s town limits to find her own spare key, for all Emma cares. But no, instead, her friend and bandmate is talking about how she’s apparently bored.

“Uh, Red? I’m kind of… stuck to someone.”

“So what? We bring him along. And any of the others that want to join?” She looks around at their strange group as she says it.

“Wait, wait. That’s it? You don’t have any other back up plans? A hairpin? A lock pick set? A good set of bolt cutters?” The whole group turns to look at Emma’s outburst, but no one says a word.

“I mean, you can try. But I swear those things are made of magic. They’re the only pair I was never able to bust out of without the key.”

The fact that Ruby’s been stuck in these cuffs, or that she’d been stuck in other pairs of cuffs, is no surprise to her, but it doesn’t facilitate a reaction with anyone in the circle either. Where did she find these people?

“So, we going?”

Mary Margaret visibly brightens as Ruby draws attention to her plan. “You’ll come, too?” she asks David. Ugh, even Mary Margaret has forsaken her. She knows David by reputation only; she’s met him a couple times and even likes him, but she knows that as soon as the manager turns a hopeful look towards Killian, they’re all apparently going gallivanting around the music festival.

“I guess that can be arranged. Now that Hook & Crook are done for the day, there’s really not much else for me to do,” David finally says after a wordless conversation with Killian.

“I’ll sit this one out,” Regina says, clearly taking on the air of Important Manager of an Important Musical Act.

“Count me out,” Robin says following her declaration. “I’ve had quite enough excitement for a bit.”

“Suit yourself,” Ruby says, clearly dismissing him and turning back to the rest of the crew. “Come on. There’s a Ferris wheel with my name on it.” Without further prompting, she grabs Emma’s hand and starts dragging her away. Killian isn’t quick enough to move, so his shoulder gets jolted again before Emma grabs his hand and pulls him along. She makes sure to murmur an apology to him as they exit the tent, and his quiet reply starts her heart beating like it was when they were on stage together.

That’s quite enough of those emotions, though. She’s been back and forth on the emotional spectrum since this morning, and really, some cliché pitter patter of her heart is just one step too far. So she had fun with him performing. So he’s easy on the eyes. So what? So are plenty of other men, and she’s certainly not about to one-night-stand a guy she’s literally stuck to. That just feels like asking for the key to be lost or the handcuffs to be rotted shut and then they’re just living out their days: the losers who got stuck handcuffed together and had sex once. Nope. No thanks.

Okay, so that’s a little hyperbolic, even for her. But she’s noticing that she’s getting used to the feeling of his hand in hers, and the sound of his voice as he quietly asks about the newest joiner of their group.

At the head of the pack, Ruby walks side by side with Mulan, who Emma points out to Killian as Ruby’s girlfriend. She does casual security for them as they walk through festivals such as this, so it’s Mulan who clears the path for them to walk through, herding them easily enough through the crowds and making sure they have enough space at all times. It’s clear Killian is out of his comfort zone – while he seemed to have a great amount of his own followers at their show and afterwards, and even as they sift through the crowd, he doesn’t look like he’s used to this large mass of people clambering to get selfies or autographs. Mostly, he just keeps hold of her hand and does his best to keep up.

That’s not to say they don’t stop for some of the fans. There are quite a few times where the three women just can’t ignore the people around them, and Mulan sighs in mock frustration (a smile on her face the whole time) as they linger with fans for a couple minutes at a time, trying to cover as many people as possible. They have a reputation (Emma especially) for trying to get to everyone, and so Mulan is hard on her to move along after an allotted amount of time.

What does come as a surprise is the amount of people who ask for pictures of Emma and Killian together, their handcuffed wrists held up like some kind of publicity stunt or punishment depending on what people ask. He tries to keep up with it all, and Emma gives him a quick smile before they keep moving again towards Ruby’s ride of choice.

“How’re you holding up?” she asks as they get escorted to the front of the line. There are some tiny perks to their ‘fame’ if she says so herself.

“Better than expected. That is, it’s not every day you wind up handcuffed to some beautiful celebrity and find out how the other half lives.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes as the carriage comes to a stop in front of where they’re standing. All six of them load in, and Emma tries to keep her wayward emotions in check as she ends up pressed tight against Killian’s side.

The whole grounds of the festival stretch before them, with the stages visible out one side and what feels like miles of camp grounds all around them. There are other rides, ones she doesn’t think they’ll be able to handle with two people trapped together, but she smiles as she watches them cycle through, the thrilled screams of passengers filtering all the way up to them at the top.

As the wind whips around them, Emma glances at her companions in turn. Understandably, Ruby and Mulan are huddled together, with Ruby’s arm wrapped around Mulan’s shoulders and their cheeks pressed together as they look out at their surroundings. David and Mary Margaret are holding hands, a new development judging by the nervous smiles on their faces, and they’re glancing between each other and the view. Killian, however, is looking at her. As soon as she looks back at him, he darts his eyes to the side to look out at the landscape, but there’s a hint of smile on his lips while his hair dances in the breeze. She is very aware of how tightly she’s gripping his hand, unnecessary while they’re not in motion but habit now, nonetheless.

When the ride is over, they slowly disembark to a bunch of fans waiting. The crowds at the festival aren’t quite mob mentality, so it’s something they can handle and enjoy – these small groups that just want a small introduction and a moment to say their thanks. While she may have a few more fans trying to capture her attention, Killian still has a few things to sign and fans to greet while Emma is preoccupied with her own. She smiles when she catches sight of him talking with a smitten teenage girl, enjoying the way he’s so genuine with the people around them.

To be honest, after hearing him play, she wants to look him up online, find his albums, find out who he is without… you know… talking to him. Because that’s how she is. If she asks him questions, she’ll have to answer some of the ones he has for her, and that’s not how she does things. What’s weirder is that this whole scenario should be in the realm of “SOS immediately” in trying to get him unstuck from her, but Emma can’t help but slowly adjust to it all. Is this an ideal way to meet a man? Hell no. Is she going to make the most of it? It certainly seems that way.

As Mulan starts to move them along the path again, Emma’s stomach makes a loud growl, and it’s the first time she realizes how hungry she is. “Where the hell can we find some food?” she wonders, grabbing Killian’s hand and pulling him away from the departing fans. “You okay?”

She’s very aware, all of a sudden, that they are alone again somehow. He hasn’t said anything for a minute or two and the silence is suddenly unusual coming from him. But then he shakes his head and smiles at her, blaming his momentary lapse on his own lack of food.

“Pretty sure there’s loads of places we can find something to eat, love. Let’s sail away,” he responds, swinging their hands as they go along.

There was something there she just missed, and she can feel it. There’s something he’s not saying, a lie by some kind of omission, covered up by hunger, but when her stomach rumbles away again, she forces down that part of her that can sniff out a lie like a drug-seeking dog and focuses instead on food options.

They wander from stand to stand, weighing their options and discussing pros and cons of the various food choices. As they go along, she relaxes again and finds that she’s enjoying herself way too much. It’s not often that Emma finds herself calm in the company of a relative stranger. No – usually, when it’s outside of her fans, her skin crawls at the very prospect of spending any time with someone she doesn’t know.

Add in the fact that she is handcuffed (she feels as if she cannot emphasize this enough) to said stranger… well, let’s just say that Killian Jones is lucky there wasn’t anything pointy or stabby in near reach when Granny first locked the cuffs around their wrists.

Every moment since then has been a learning experience. It took more self-control than she thought it would to be teeth-grittingly polite after their initial predicament became clear to them. But man, as soon as that bravado, tough guy act faded away, Killian has been nothing but sweet and accommodating.

“Swan, onion rings,” he says, suddenly dispelling her thoughts again as he says the most magical words someone could ever say to her. “And frozen hot chocolates.”

“I don’t know about the frozen thing. I’m already starting to get chilly again,” she says. And it’s true. She’d left her jacket in the VIP tent when they went out for their interview, but the day had been sunny and glorious to start out. Now, with the sun setting and another round of clouds moving in, she shivers. It turns out leggings and a fitted t-shirt don’t do much, especially after a good soaking from the earlier rain.

Killian halts her progress towards the food stand for a quick detour to a small merch tent nearby. The young man running it looks like he has about a thousand safety pins attached to his outfit, and a surly look on his face. But when Killian waves a twenty, the kid’s whole demeanor changes. “This for the largest size of the goth Tinkerbell jumpers, and another if you give me all the extra safety pins you can find, along with a pair of scissors.”

Emma raises an eyebrow at his request, but Felix, as he introduces himself, grabs the items Killian has requested in record time and piled them on the sticker-covered table in front of the stand. When Killian goes to cut the side of the hoodie, Emma’s stomach reminds her that she’s starving and she throws in her own money. “I’ll give you an extra twenty if you cut that and wait for us to get back.”

Suddenly, Felix goes bashful. “I’ll do it for free if you sign an autograph for my cousin. She’s the model for the logo there, and she’s one of your biggest fans.”

“Deal. Just let me grab my food and we’ll be right back,” Emma says, smiling in victory as she pulls Killian over to the food stand he’d already spotted. They come back to Felix’s tent after Emma is already halfway through her onion rings, with a grilled cheese and two waters in the bag Killian is holding. After Emma holds up her end of the bargain, making sure to also promise a selfie with the cousin in question if she’s around the following day, Felix even helps them with the makeshift outerwear, diligently pinning the top seam he cut after realizing it would be easier for her to step into it instead of pull it over.

Encased in the soft, fleecy material, and having been fed, Emma is far more comfortable than she has been since she woke up this morning. Of course, that brings a whole new predicament. How the hell are they going to sleep? Because surely, they’ll have to do that at some point. She planned on sleeping on the tour bus which is fine in a pinch, but it’s a tight fit for her. How will Killian fit in there, too, unless he’s on top of her?

Suddenly, her mouth is dry at the thought, but she’s saved from her earlier thoughts of attraction by Killian’s gasp.

“Is that Granny up there?” All she can do is keep up as he moves them in a direction, and Emma realizes as she hears a loud chiming in the distance that it’s after midnight already. A whole day gone, but was it ever truly wasted connected to Killian Jones?

-x-

See you soon for Part 2!

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan ff #sarah writes ff #cs march madness

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ineffablecolors · 6 years ago

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THE WIFE [3/?]

The Wife || Ch 3 ~ 5.3 k || Ch 1 Ch2 || FF.NET&AO3 Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are? A/N: Do check the notes on chapter 1 Eternal thanks to @csmarchmadness - if it wasn’t for this event, I probably wouldn’t have gotten my ass in gear and sat down to actually write this thing that is now so beloved to me already. And to all the ladies in the Discord chat - you bring laughter and fanfiction into my life so you’re basically goddesses and I wanna keep you forever. Hope you all enjoy this and follow along for the rest of the journey cuz I have plansTM! :D

To her utter surprise a week is all it takes for Emma to become more or less attuned to the workings of the Jones household.

Much as she guessed the very first morning, catching Killian Jones in the midst of breaking his fast is near impossible. Every morning, by the time she makes her way down to breakfast, no matter how early she tries to rise, the table is set and waiting but any trace of the master of the house is already gone. Usually, he is just down the corridor in his study but occasionally he is already out of the house, meeting his brother for matters of business, by the time Emma – let alone Alice – takes her first sip of tea.

She notices that he makes a point of always sharing at least one meal with her and his daughter and, more often than even Alice seems to expect, he manages to make time to join them for a ride in the afternoon. Indeed, Emma tries not to let her fancy fly away from her and make her feel more important than she has a right to but she can’t help suspecting that it’s her own timidity and anxiety about riding that makes him lend his services to them, seeing as Alice is an extraordinarily accomplished rider.

Emma herself is moderately pleased with the progress she has made. In all honestly, she suspects it was more daring and youthful confidence that made her a somewhat decent rider when she was much younger rather than any proper form or natural talent. But, contrary to her own musings, both Killian and Alice assert that she appears to be a natural and, most of all, that she has managed to make Buttercup fall in love with her with merely a few words and touches, whereas Alice proclaims that Jolly will still be much happier dashing away on her own and Killian begrudgingly admits – at Peter’s ribbing and his daughter’s teasing – that it took months of time spent on his ass in the dirt for him to prove himself worthy of Roger. After a week of almost daily exercise atop her own mare, Emma feels her tailbone tingle with sympathy at the mere thought.

And yet, she has never felt more pleasantly exhausted in her life. The fresh air of the countryside all around them and the emotional and then simply physically taxation of getting back on a horse have taken their toll but she finds herself unwilling to refuse every time Alice appears in front of her with her riding clothes already on.

Perhaps this is the reason she has been unable to awake early enough to catch her husband in his morning routine but it does not serve to explain why she also has yet to see or hear him retire to bed. Aside from that very first night – that she thinks can hardly be named their “wedding night” – she has never seen Killian heading for his bedchambers.

What she has seen is that the library is not as often engaged as she first thought it might be and thus, Emma has already spent many an hour familiarizing herself with its collection and the numerous artefacts from the brothers’ travels. And still, late as she burns her candle in that room, she never manages to make it to the point when Jones – presumably – heads to bed himself. Ruby and Mrs Lucas have on a couple of occasions now asked if she needed anything and bid her goodnight before retiring to their rooms but heading to bed after her husband has proven as impossible as rising from it before him.

Finding and securing the company of his daughter is much easier and that when Alice doesn’t put some scheme of hers into action first. Emma thinks she might be on her way to unravelling another small mystery, that of Alice’s permanent residence away from her home. It takes but a day in the girl’s presence to realize that, charming as it might be, Storybrooke is much too small to contain her. Emma is rather puzzled why Alice does not go more into society here but she can perfectly perceive how the city might be calling to her after a few weeks in her family home.

A home which has proven rather favourable to Emma’s disposition despite the complete chance introduced into her life. So it is with an almost quiet resignation that Emma gasps awake long before dawn on a summer day a little over a week after her nuptials.

Her heart does its damnest to beat out of her chest and the sweat on her back makes her shiver under all the blankets but she regains control of most of her faculties almost immediately and proceeds to deepen her breathing the way she has learnt will help bring awareness of her surroundings and dissipate the dream faster. Her toes are ice-cold but her need to get up makes the bed resemble hot coals beneath her so she dresses quickly, aware that she will not be going back to sleep until night has arrived anew.

As it is, she is forced to take her candle with her, the sun not even peaking over the horizon yet as she makes her way down the stairs as silently as possible. It is only as she heads for the kitchen – her mind on a glass of warm milk – that she entertains the notion that anyone might already be awake.

“—and this girl now. What is the purpose of this?” Mrs Lucas’s voice is gruffer than usual, smudged with sleep and something else Emma cannot place through the door.

“You could be a bit kinder to her,” as for Killian’s voice, it is crisp and clear – he might as well have been awake for hours.

“And you can tell me why it is that you took her in. Lord knows, you probably haven’t told a soul. If any has asked.”

It is in that moment that she realizes herself the topic of their conversation. Perhaps, if it was more in her nature or even, if she stopped to truly consider, Emma might have lingered quietly outside a few minutes longer and gleaned some of that much coveted and hard to obtain knowledge of her husband’s private thoughts. But the sharp shove she gives the door is almost instinctive and has the immediate effect of silencing everyone on the other side.

She may have brought secrets into this house but she does not wish to accumulate new ones while here.

When she walks in, Mrs Lucas looks for all the world as if Emma has been stumbling into the kitchen at ungodly hours of the morning ever since she got here. Killian’s face, however – and Emma has quickly learnt that, for all the coldness and irreproachability that he tries to paint on it, it is a painfully expressive one – is caught somewhere between surprised guilt and uncomfortable suspicion.

But Emma’s state is still rumpled enough and her eyes not quite open enough to alarm anyone and make them believe she could have been eavesdropping.

“Well, there is certainly no need to be this early,” the cook mutters under her breath as she rolls up her sleeve and barely spares Emma a glance.

“Perhaps you should inform Ruby that the sun, as well as us, will be up before her soon enough,” Killian suggests in rebuff and Emma tries not to jump out of her way when the old woman stalks past her, grumbling under her breath that they all might as well not go to bed at all anymore.

“There was no need—“ she starts but Killian waves his hand in the air before he runs it over his face.

“She has been itching to either have it out with me or get out of this room for some moments now. Your appearance ruled rather in my favour.”

Emma nods and clasps her hands in front of her, now questioning her decision to run downstairs from her troubled thoughts. Normally, she uses any opportunity to take a peek at Jones’s inner workings but she questions her current ability for casual conversation, let alone something deeper.

“Were you looking for something?”

“Oh, I was just going to get a glass of milk.”

Killian snaps his fingers as if he should have guessed her reason for being here, already turning toward the stove and thankfully missing her slight jump at the sharp sound. Watching his back, Emma is frozen with indecision.

Far as her sleep-muddled mind planned, she would’ve found the kitchen still quiet and empty and made the drink herself. In the event of Ruby or Mrs Lucas being up already, she most certainly would’ve debated letting them get on with their work and sorting herself out. She did not account for Killian at all and her inexperience with gentlemen of his stature – let alone his manner, which seems rather singular to her – makes her uncertain of how she should proceed.

Certainly it is more befitting for her to take over any tasks in the kitchen rather than him? Yet, she does not feel herself ingrained into the household enough to take any such initiative. So instead she stays where she is and observes with interest the way he moves around the kitchen, operating predominantly with his real hand.

The missing limb seems to impair him extremely rarely when riding and, reading and writing being the other two activities in which she has mainly seen him engaged, Emma has given little thought to what she supposes is a battle wound.

Then he comes to a sudden halt and she straightens along with him, worried that he has somehow sensed, and does not appreciate, her pointed attention.

“Actually… would you like something a bit different?” Killian glances over his shoulder, his manner easy enough that Emma feels her shoulders relax as his lips quirk up the slightest amount. “I believe I already pointed out that a soldier salute is unnecessary.”

Emma frowns in confusion, her brain taking a moment to assimilate the words in the morning light that has barely appeared behind the white curtains, and then she shocks them both with a short burst of laughter. It’s a quick and slightly hysterical thing but with it she feels the last of her dark dreams disperse and drops almost theatrically in one of the hard kitchen chairs.

“Something different?”

“Mm, are you fond of hot chocolate?”

“I cannot answer that, seeing as I have never tried it.”

To his credit, a singular eyebrow expresses Killian’s disbelief before he turns back to his preparations.

“As I told your sister-in-law, sugar is one of my grandmother’s archenemies.”

“Which doesn’t say much about sugar at all with how many she must have.”

“Mrs Jones was equally witty and condemning. You must all have a frightfully low opinion of my family.”

“Rather that singular relation.”

“Well—“ she opens her mouth to say that, vile as the woman is, she constitutes the whole of Emma’s family, before she realizes that is technically no longer the case. “She did say you have a weakness for it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your sister-in-law. She said you also have a weakness for sugar.”

“Ah. Well, Elsa always likes to know where one’s strengths and weaknesses lie.”

“Then surely you must be flattered that is the only one she has found in you.”

“I can assure you that is not the case. But I do appreciate her choosing it as the one to expose on my wedding day. Now—“

He turns around with a pot in his hand and two cups, dangling by their handles from his little finger. Emma forces herself to remain seated, her hands in her lap and an expectant expression on her face.

Killian sets the cups down with a clatter and no saucers and starts pouring out a thick, dark liquid that makes her nose twitch with eagerness.

“A few centuries ago they used to stuff it full of spices but, as most good things, it’s best in its simplicity,” he nudges one cup toward Emma and takes his own, sitting across from her. “Though I will admit to a dash of cinnamon and vanilla.”

Emma takes the drink and gives it one more experimental sniff, despite the fact that the aroma has already made her mouth water with anticipation. She takes a small sip at first but that is enough – the warm liquid coasts her tongue in a way that simple milk could not have hoped to do – the taste and texture exquisitely rich, and then the flavours explode – teetering on the line between sweet and bitter, both smoothed and enhanced by the distinct kick of the cinnamon and the softness of the vanilla.

So focused on the sensations inside her mouth, she is quite unaware of what her face is doing, though Killian must not be because in the next second his laugh fills the gradually brightening kitchen. She would be rather offended, if it wasn’t for the fact that the sound is absolutely magnificent. That and he does seem – as is becoming usual – to delight in her reactions rather than mock them.

Emma takes another, more generous sip before she licks her lips and sets her cup down.

“Oh, you have made a believer out of me. Plain milk will never do again.”

“You should tell Mrs Lucas to increase her weekly purchase of the stuff then.”

“Me?” now she is very conscious of how her eyes widen with obvious dread of such an interaction.

“She does not actually bite,” Killian’s voice is reassuring but the glint in his eyes as he lifts his own cup to his mouth is anything but.

“With a bark like that I’m sure she does not need to.”

It’s more a snort than a laugh this time but Emma is much too distracted by the way his tongue flicks over his lips to clean them to mind.

In the golden morning light, now edging its way into every corner and crevice of the kitchen, with his jacket and waistcoat absent, his eyes flashing every once in awhile and his lips fitting themselves against the rim of his cup with obvious pleasure, Emma Jones rather likes her husband.

*****

Her knuckles pop a little as she tries to cover her yawn with the back of her hand.

“Why don’t you just go to bed?” Alice’s voice startles her – the girl has collected about a dozen cushions and pillows in front of the large fireplace in the library and is languidly making her way through The Odyssey and a pot of tea that Emma has refused to partake in. “You should know, tomorrow I will drag you out of doors, if I have to.”

Alice has certainly inherited her father’s cheek though not his preference for comfort of his own home. For it seems there is no greater offense to Miss Jones than remaining indoors on a “perfectly lovely summer day”. Indeed, on most days, Emma agrees with her with pleasure or at least without too much protest.

But the exceptionally early start of her day has left Emma both in good spirits and at the same time very reluctant to risk that pleasant, mellow feeling by quitting the house. So she showed some willfulness for the first time and postponed going to the seamstress from who they were to collect the last of her new wardrobe. Killian, receiving a substantial amount of correspondence before lunch, asked not to be bothered with such trifles and Emma hasn’t seen or heard him leave his study since. Alice was all too eager to exchange a trip to the shops for a long ride and was only temporary put out when Emma expressed her disinclination to join her.

So it is that she has spent most of her day learning the last details about the household from Ruby and going over the shopping lists – adding extra chocolate – with Mrs Lucas. Surprisingly the old woman displayed only her usual amount of annoyance in Emma’s presence and even accepted a suggestion or two she made (while declining another half a dozen, of course).

“You do not have to wait on me, I should be going to bed shortly,” Alice continues, breaking Emma out of her retrospection of her supposedly uneventful day. “And you certainly won’t be able to keep your eyes open long enough to see papa.”

“He was up early,” she replies before she can think to feign ignorance.

“He is always the first to light a candle in the mornings and the last to put it out in the evenings,” it is the first time she sees melancholy on Alice’s face, though, for a moment, something livelier and hopeful flashes through her eyes.

Emma frowns in thought – by her personal observations and calculations, it is simply impossible that Killian gets more than four or five hours of sleep.

They are silent long enough that Alice returns to her book and Emma watches the flames dancing in the fireplace – her own book abandoned on the little table beside her – and listens to the very stillness of the house. When the clock strikes 11, the fire is dangerously low and Emma is starting to feel a slight chill in the air. Alice leaves book, teacup and scattered furniture all as is and stretches her arms to the sides, declaring herself fit to go to bed. Her “goodnight” is rather pointed but her eyes are all softness and comfort and Emma stares after her for a minute or ten.

Then she jumps to her feet with a sudden burst of determination that she knows she must seize before it deserts her. A minute later she enters Killian’s study without knocking – Mrs Lucas would’ve probably dragged her out by the hair, if she had seen her.

“Why did you take me in?”

“I beg your pardon?” Killian’s head shoots up – his eyes are bloodshot from staring at the tiny figures before him under the light of a single candle. There is a half-full tumbler of golden liquid beside him but the room smells of wax rather than alcohol and Emma soldiers on.

“I know Regina was looking for a buyer and I know she didn’t expect to get half as good a deal as this. On top of the expenses of a wife, I’d wager she requested a nice commission for facilitating it all—“

“You would wager what exactly?” his voice is harsher than she has ever heard it directed at her and his scowl tells her how little he appreciates her brashness in this moment.

But she does not wish to be so tempted by answers that next time she has the opportunity to eavesdrop on some conversation, she does betray him.

“Nothing. For I have nothing. Some would say that I have ever less than a common girl and I know Regina—“

“Blast Regina. You think she was looking for a buyer?” Killian doesn’t jump to his feet the way she did earlier but the motion is somehow so powerful and full of agitation that Emma takes an instinctive step back. “Aye, that she was. And she wasn’t selling you the nice way either – quiet and private. She was getting desperate and acting like it was a bloody auction!”

She knew, of course. She knew Regina never cared for her and would sell her to the highest bidder. Her own metaphor aligns perfectly with Killian’s. And yet, hearing it from someone else’s mouth, having it confirmed that her grandmother shamelessly put her on the market like a piece of meat, makes her vision start to swim.

Emma tries to swallow around the lump in her throat and feels the tips of her nails digging into the flesh of her palm. Killian’s sharp exhale makes her vision sharpen a little as she tries to focus on him again – he looks rather stricken and she almost opens her mouth to assure him that he hasn’t really told her anything she didn’t already suspect.

“Emma, I—“ he takes a step forward then halts, looking as if he expects her to back away, and takes the next two slower, keeping his eyes on hers. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to—“

“So why did you bid?”

“What?”

She raises her chin and holds his gaze.

“If she was putting me out there like an auction piece, why did you bid?”

Killian slowly tilts his head to the side and regards her in silence and Emma tries to count her breaths so she doesn’t miss any. Finally, he sighs and hangs his head and for the first time since she barged into his study Emma feels like she has stepped out of line.

And for what?

“I will answer that.”

She blinks in surprise.

“Tomorrow. Can we do this tomorrow morning? I—“ he waves almost helplessly toward his desk and gives her a beseeching look.

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

She nods.

“But after the sun has properly risen.”

His mouth ticks up hesitantly on one side and he nods as well.

“After the sun is firmly anchored in the sky.”

“And maybe with that chocolate drink.”

“That can be arranged as well.”

“Alright.”

She nods once more and turns on her heel.

“Emma. I am sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

She turns back and lifts her shoulders, her eyes straying from his.

“I shouldn’t have barged in here like that.”

“One offense does not excuse another.”

“Hmm. I like that.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“Alright. I am not— You are forgiven.”

She is not sure this is the proper thing to say, it comes out sounding much haughtier than she wanted it to, not at all the sentiment she was trying to convey. But the look on Killian’s face stops her from regretting her choice of words.

“Goodnight, Killian.”

“Goodnight.”

“Go to bed.”

His chuckle behind her is tired but not entirely mirthless.

*****

She makes her way down the stairs and hopes with all her might to find Jones in the kitchen again. The library, let alone his study, will certainly hold the stale feeling of late night confusion and overexposed emotions.

Truth be told, by now Emma almost regrets posing the question that has been foremost in her mind ever since she heard Mrs Lucas put it into words, if not ever since she learnt she was to marry Killian Jones. Fairly gained intelligence is all good and proper but she is not entirely sure she is prepared to receive this particular piece of it.

Finding Killian where she hoped to restores a smidge of her confidence but she is still very conscious of the fact that – were he to act like nothing happened, she will allow it. Alas, if the look on his face is any indication, if he entertained the coward’s path at all, he decided to turn away from it.

“The sun is up, as requested. Should we make use of it and take a walk?”

Emma blinks in surprise. She considered the sturdy walls and dark tones of the house more befitting the conversation before them but now feels immense relief at the thought of fresh air and an open space.

Killian pushes off the counter and hands her a cup of what she assumes is hot chocolate and Emma’s straining nerves relax a little when her hand wraps around the warm cup – this one is bigger than the one he served them in the day before, its rim is not curved and instead it has a lid that she supposes will keep the liquid warm longer. For a moment, she wonders if Killian puts this much thought into every single action, if that is why he requested a whole night before he answered a straight question. It sounds both endearing and exhausting.

He holds the backdoor for her and they slip from the kitchen, the air much crisper than she expected.

“Would you like me to fetch you a coat?”

She shakes her head, knowing she will regret it soon enough and clutching her cup tighter. Then she turns to face her husband and, in the direct sunlight, comes to wonder if he has been to bed at all. His shirt and waistcoat are different but his hair looks like it has met with his hand rather than a pillow, the lines around his eyes seem deeper, the shadow under them – likewise.

He has not taken a drink for himself and – whether for his benefit or hers she wastes no time to determine – Emma slips her free hand in the crook of his right elbow. Killian startles but settles soon enough that she decides the gesture has been deemed acceptable.

“I believe it is of no use to do things by halves. So I’ve decided to give you more information than you were probably searching for, in order to make myself quite clear.”

His voice is gruff but not unkind and her surprise at this pronouncement is genuine but not unpleasant.

“I believe Mrs Mills has been struggling to maintain appearances while her finances have been failing her.”

Emma suspected as much herself but doubts she is aware of the full extend of Regina’s presumed troubles.

“I do not wish to be crude but I… I also believe she took stock of her valuables and decided you were the one she was most willing to part with.”

“I assure you, Regina would consider it much too great a compliment rather than an offense of any sort that I am being listed among her valuables.”

Killian glances at her before quickly looking away. He seems somewhat taken aback by her blasé attitude toward her grandmother’s mistreatment but even more so by the intimacy walking arm in arm has brought. Emma is fully aware that this is the closest she has been to her husband – physically speaking, but her main focus at the present moment is how close he is about to allow her in another sense.

“Yes, well… I think her mounting frustrations made her rather careless and… desperation is never a good calling card when the object is an engagement. Perhaps it wasn’t like that at first but— Emma, I am not sure you quite understand how far removed from society I am personally and how rare it is for gossip to make its way to my ears.”

She feels the blazing heat in her cheeks despite the morning chill that has control over most of the rest of her body. It’s a long time that she has been parted with her grandmother’s good – or at least tolerant – opinion and, as for society, Emma never much cared what gossip may spread about her, seeing as most of it will be deserved and she cared little for the company of people willing to be swayed by it.

Yet the idea of what whisperings might have reached all the way to the inhabitants of the Jones household makes the knot in her stomach tighten even further now.

“I do not wish to… to interrupt but I fail to see how that has led us… here.”

Killian sighs and, likely unconsciously, tightens his arm around her own.

“For that I need to… I will have to go further back. What I meant for you to take from this is that, knowingly or not, your grandmother was destroying your reputation and any future aspirations with an alarming – frankly, almost impressive, speed.”

When she lifts the cup to her mouth, it shakes a little in her grasp and Emma tries to tell herself that if the answer to why Killian Jones brought her into his family is pity, it is not the worst answer she could have received.

“My previous wife did not hold our daughter in much higher esteem than your grandmother seems to hold you.”

The change of topic is so sudden that her neck pops a little when she twists in his direction. He glances at her – his smile is tight and dark and his steps almost cease for an instant before he resumes the brisk pace that has been keeping her from truly suffering the coldness that the sun is still working on chasing away.

“Of course, I do not pretend to know the nature of your relationship but at the very least you were allowed to remain in Mrs Mill’s presence. My wife did not allow Alice the same courtesy and send her away to school as soon as such a scheme was feasible. A-and she could carry it out without my knowledge.”

Emma bites her tongue against the barge of questions bubbling up from inside her. Why would any mother want to be parted from her child? She supposes her indignation might be finding some outlet through her eyes but Killian’s are firmly focused on the trees in the distance. She is glad for it because – even as most of her anger is directed toward a woman now in her grave, she cannot quite understand why Killian would submit to such an arrangement after it was made known to him.

“When Alice was old enough and confident enough in herself to express her wish to remain at home for longer periods of time – and received my full support of the idea – her mother adopted a new method of keeping her away.”

Killian watches their feet advancing slowly for a few seconds and Emma takes a fortifying breath.

“My daughter found herself in much the same position as you, only much earlier in her life and, sadly, there could be no question of whether her chances and reputation was being ruined on purpose or not.”

“How could she—“

Killian’s jaw tightens and Emma stops herself from finishing the question.

“I do not mean to present my conduct in a more altruistic light than it deserves, Emma. My brother and his wife were much engaged in the task of introducing me to as many ladies as a man who does not attend dances and dinners could possibly meet. And it was my hope – for whose fulfilment I do wish to express my gratitude to you – that my daughter’s age and temperament would not set the two of you at odds and that your introduction into the family will provide sufficient reason for her to remain here for some time.”

She has drawn and discarded a dozen conclusions in the span of the last quarter of an hour and for each question that has been answered in some form a dozen more have arisen, but if Emma is uncertain that she can receive any more information at present, she is quite certain that Killian cannot give any more with additional pain to himself.

And if there is one conclusion that she has drawn and put safely away as fact, it is that she does not wish to cause Killian Jones any pain.

“So how bad is it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How far did Regina go before you could get to her? How bad of a blow is it to be married to me?”

It is the first time since they stepped outside that Killian comes to a firm stop and she tries not to give in to the shiver and stab of pain when he lets go of her arm so he can face her.

“I am a man who has taken many blows in his life, Emma.”

The pointed motion with his wooden hand surprises her but not nearly as much as the warmth of the fingers that settle under her chin and gently urge it up.

“I can assure you, you’re not one of them.”

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ilovemesomekillianjones · 6 years ago

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Happenstance

A/N: Hi All! I forgot to post my @csmarchmadness story yesterday! Thank you so much for having this event, I am posting a story I’ve worked on for the past three Januarys, so yes, I’ve written it over a three year period and just never had the motivation to finish it. When CS March Madness came along this year, it was the kick in the pants I needed. I went from four chapters complete to nine of ten now finished. I will post every third day until the story is complete. Thank you to my friend @hookedonapirate for sprucing up this piece with her expert beta skills!

Summary: Happenstance - noun, a chance happening or event. This Lieutenant Duckling story chronicles the events that lead two people, who are alone in the world, to each other. Their lives have been ever changing, Emma’s since she was born, and Killian’s since he was seven. When they meet each other after a series of events bring them to the same place, a new set of events, set in motion by their friendship, will lead them down a path to new possibilities. Love, friendship, and family, things neither thought they’d ever have, are all within their grasp, will they be able to reach out and take hold?

Rated T ao3 ffnet 13.1 K

Chapter 1

Her earliest memories were of a kind family, the Brown family. Remembering back, they had seemed perfect to her almost 3-year-old self, but Emma knew now, there was no such thing. Really, the first sign that they weren’t perfect should’ve been the appearance of perfection. The second, the fact that they only wanted her and not her twin brother, but the social workers chalked it up to the young couple not being able to afford two children.

She’d missed her brother so badly, it sometimes hurt. At that age, Emma wasn’t capable of understanding the deep wound being separated from her sibling would cause. And despite the fact that she was the one taken, she still felt a sense of abandonment without him. As young hearts tend to do though, she began to heal.

She was with the Brown family until she was almost four, which meant she had one year of seeming perfection. That was when the third and glaringly bright sign came. The couple decided to dump her back into the foster system; they didn’t say why, they didn’t give her warning. The social worker came for a visit, and when she left, she took Emma with her. The stress of losing her family had a huge impact on Emma. She didn’t speak for weeks, and wouldn’t eat for long periods of time; she cried every night, three thoughts ever present in her little mind - she was alone, she was unloved, and she could no longer remember her brother’s name.

She was never adopted, and bounced through the foster system without a safety net to catch her when she fell into the homes that used her as a meal ticket, the homes with abusive foster parents, the homes with drunks, and the homes that just didn’t care. As she entered teenhood she was sent to various group homes, where she eventually met him.

~~~

They’d moved here when he was 7, and shortly thereafter Rose Jones was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. She was the whole world to him and his brother, and in Killian Jones’ opinion, father should’ve been the one with cancer since he was the smoker… and an arse.

He remembers his mother telling him not to speak that way, even as their father proved to be a coward, running away from the situation shortly after her diagnosis. To keep the boys together Rose signed the consent paper allowing Liam to enter the U.S. Navy at the age of 17. Liam would have to be the man of the house and raise his younger brother now, she’d told them, to which Killian proudly stated he could take care of himself just fine. He didn’t know that in time, that’d be his only choice.

Liam finished boot camp and his schools, managing a month back before their mother’s passing. In a stroke of what might be considered luck, Liam was granted repeated shore duty positions. As the boys had no other relatives, he was the only adult in Killian’s life, and could not deploy. It was rare for accommodations like this, Liam had found a sympathetic detailer in Chief Nemo who’d lost his own family. Nemo knew the importance of these two boys only having each other, as he himself now had no one. For a little over 7 years, they were able to make a decent go of life after losing two parents. As Killian knows now though, if things seem too good to be true, it’s likely they are.

~~~

She was almost 16 when he’d swept into her life like a storm, all smiles and pretty words. They’d clicked right away, or at least she thought they had. It was her junior year at yet another new school. Emma Swan had blossomed into a gorgeous young woman, unbeknownst to herself; she still only saw the ugly duckling when she looked in the mirror. She was the new girl again, but this time, someone took notice.

He was the first person to show her undivided attention and affection. She changed over the next year as she let him rule her world, some of the jadedness acquired over years of being alone fell away. She opened up to him, quickly clinging to the belief that he truly loved her, and even more importantly, he chose to want her. In return for that affection, he’d monopolized her attention, her time, and groomed her to bend to his every will. They went to school together, ditched together, he even hung out at the group home with her. Neal also taught her some of the tricks of his trade - a petty thief - and Emma was putty in his hands.

There had been signs, there were always signs, but Emma had chosen to ignore them. Who cared that his father was the richest man in town, yet Neal still chose to steal? Who cared that he got insanely jealous and overprotective when other boys would talk to her; he must love her a lot, right? She’d thought it was love, but it was nothing more than control. Deep down she knew that her desperation for love had made her blind, and in her opinion now, love will only make you weak. But, at the time, she believed there wasn’t much else out there for a person like her, so she stayed. It beat being alone.

~~~

Killian was almost as old as Liam had been when Liam joined the service, so why the fuck should he need to go into the foster system? He thought he’d experienced the worst day of his life, the day that his beloved mother passed, but here he was looking at two naval officers who’d come to notify next of kin… and that was all he’d heard. When he came to, he was on his couch. He silently thanked his lucky stars that it’d all been a dream until he sat up to the crashing realization that this was the new worst day of his life.

They’d told him he was sole beneficiary to Liam’s life insurance policy, and would be entitled to the insurance money once he aged out of the system. What bloody system, he’d yelled. He was old enough to be on his own, dammit. The state disagreed, and at almost 16, Killian Jones became a ward of the state.

He was put into the system and promptly landed in a fancy new teen group home, belonging to one Robert Gold. Rumor had it, the teen home was a front to launder Gold’s dirty money. Befriended quickly by the spirited Mrs. Gold, he ate up the attention. They talked about everything; well, he talked, she listened. It was soothing to have found a parental figure to be able to confide in; it was soothing until it wasn’t. He’d naively believed she cared about him, even though he knew one of the boys here was her actual child, although he wasn’t sure which one.

A year into his time there, he was on his way to bed when he overheard her discussing the details of his life, and future, including the insurance money that would eventually come his way. Intent on finding out who the hell she was telling his business to, and why, he found himself shocked to silence when he heard the sordid details her husband was cooking up. Peeking through the cracked door, Killian saw Milah sat upon the lap of Gold, arms around his neck, his arms around her waist, as he told her to ‘seduce the boy, just until the money comes, it’d only be a year’.

He was so disgusted, so angry, he slammed the door open, ready to fight. She’d jumped up immediately calling his name, but he’d seen red. He’d attacked the man, beating him until his knuckles were bleeding and he was out of breath, tears of rage blinding him, and violence coursing through his veins. No charges were pressed; Gold had just as much to lose as Killian, if not more, as all the shady practices at Gold’s group home wouldn’t be looked upon kindly by the state. He was promptly moved from the group home without consequence.

Tagging some fandom readers: @laschatzi @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @artistic-writer @jennjenn615 @snowbellewells @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @emeraldwitches @nikkiemms @roseyflush @killianjonesownsmyheart1 @onceuponaprincessworld @captainswan-shipper88 @andiirivera @teamhook @tiganasummertree @deathbycaptainswan @kday426 @sherlockianwhovian @mayquita @captswanis4vr @effulgentcolors @welllpthisishappening @princesseslikepirates @officerrogers @therooksshiningknight @thisisforcs **Please let me know if you wish to be added or removed from the tag list.

#cs fan fic #cs ff #cs march madness #cs au #lieutenant duckling

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goodbysunball · 2 years ago

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Fresh trimmings

Alienator, World of Hate 7" (Convulse)

New recording from Portland, OR's Alienator following a 2021 demo. The band plays a sort of mid-tempo hardcore, burly almost-metal riffs and gruff vocals filling out the space afforded by the lower speeds. Passes surface level inspection, especially "I'm Nothing" or the stomping outro of "Social Disease," but all of the parts here don't really coalesce into the total package as advertised. Lyrics are clunky and hackneyed, even by hardcore's low standards, and I'm annoyed on each subsequent listen at how chugging death metal riffs are teased at the beginning of "Senseless Violence" and the title track but not fleshed out. It's all competent and fashionable, from the artwork to the execution, but doesn't really distinguish itself and, at worst, inflicts some secondhand embarrassment.

Delco MF's, March of the M.F.'s 7" EP (MF Records)

Seems recently any hardcore that catches my ear has to be verging on grindcore tempos, and Delco MF's do it better than most. The first 7" was great, and March of the M.F.'s continues the winning streak. There are some strong riffs on here, most potent on the title track, but this is a band primarily carried by the vocals and the drumming. "Future World" is a prime example, the vocals and violent tom fills racing and tripping over each other, until "Death of Me" pleases the crowd waiting to mosh. Six songs in six minutes, no room for filler (or, perhaps thankfully, a lyric sheet) - almost makes me agree with the "Hardcore Rules / Fuck Off" banner pictured on the back of the sleeve.

Mark Van Fleet, Vordenal CS (Refulgent Sepulchre)

I saw Mark perform as Face Place a few years ago, and it was cool, but felt very restrained and almost academic in its approach to noise. I was hoping for something a little closer to the heaving noisescapes he created as 1/2 of Sword Heaven, and now Vordenal comes close to fulfilling that wish: syrupy thick loops are urged to disintegrate, harsh sounds reflect off thin metal walls and a general unease presides. There are tracks, but this works as two side-long pieces. Side A's a little roomier, sounding like a high rise construction site on a windy day, creaking metal-on-metal and eerie whistling, until bolts shear and welds fracture during the swirling fever pitch of "Vordenal Slurp." Side B is just two tracks, and here's where the anxiety begins to burrow under your skin. The chomping and pounding of "Volume Fog" is particularly effective, and its guts are poured into the atonal drone of "Dungeon Summer," a drone that begins to pile on itself and buckle. When I listened to Vordenal on an airplane recently, it felt as if the plane were being ripped apart until the abrupt end of "Dungeon Summer" allowed the oppressive hum of steady cruising back in. What Mark's doing is in the league of Tom Darksmith and Aaron Dilloway, albeit a bit less polished than their recent works, but the stitches showing works in Vordenal's favor.

Life Expectancy, Decline CS (Iron Lung)

One of maybe three hardcore releases to leave a mark this year, Life Expectancy's Decline is a cavernous, feedback-ridden bullet train ride, except you're strapped on the outside like Mad Max in Fury Road. Plenty of noise here, including intro/outro on/off ramps, but the middle section is a pretty potent slurry of metal and punk, a combo that just doesn't add up for most bands. Vocals are a vicious black metal caterwaul, becoming more and more prominent as the tape plays, fully emerging on "Liquidated Flesh" and "S.M.R.A." where the tempo slows just enough for things to get really grimy. Blinding, blown-out, bleak: all applicable here, even if they curiously titled a track "Eggz." Completely unassuming packaging and quietly released, Decline sets a new bar for the skulls-and-chains crowd to gawk at.

Romance, Seven Inches of... 7" EP (self-released)

Hastily assembled sorta-supergroup from Sydney mows down the corny "murder punk" genre tag and reclaims the violent moniker for themselves. The band plays well - bass and drums thump and wallop, guitar slashes with abandon - but the draw here is the feral vocals of Jane, who must've had blisters on her vocal cords after the performance here. "Romance," "Fast Car" and "Surprise" are almost uncomfortable, blurring the line between performance and actual malice, and it's chilling in the best way. Nothing polished here, and all the better for it; you can definitely see why the band chose to self-release these tracks even after a couple of years. There is a palpable ferocity and recklessness across Seven Inches of..., and whoever says "fuckin' nailed it" at the end of "Sex Pact" ain't wrong.

Tàrrega 91', Fill de la Merda 7" EP (La Vida Es Un Mus)

The punk LVEUM mines from Spain almost always hits home with me, and Tàrrega 91' aren't about to break that streak. Fill de la Merda sports a bass-heavy recording, Discharge-style ripping guitars, but makes plenty of room for a prominent Rudimentary Peni influence to show its head, too. Not sure that there's anything groundbreaking to be heard across Fill de la Merda, but it's all performed as if they were the first band to stumble onto this confluence of sounds; that genuine excitement pushes a track like "Autoproclama De L'esclavitut Total" into a burner. Nice quick-hit 7" that checks a lot of boxes for me, especially that little guitar solo on the title track. Yeah, it's comfort food in a sense, but who better to serve it than one of the preeminent labels in punk and hardcore worldwide?

#Alienator #Convulse #Delco MF's #Mark Van Fleet #refulgent sepulchre #Life Expectancy #iron lung records #Romance #Tarrega 91'#La Vida Es Un Mus

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mayquita · 6 years ago

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Call Me (21/?) - Chocolate, Pancakes, and... Something Else

It’s been 84 years... It seemed that this moment was never going to come and I still can't believe it, but yes, it's happening, a new chapter is here! I'm truly sorry I wasn't able to update before, but as I've already said on some other occasion, there have been a lot of circumstances that have prevented me from writing for one reason or another. My life is slowly returning to normal, and with that, it seems that my inspiration has also returned and I hope it stays with me for a long, long time.

I’d like to express my gratitude to @csmarchmadness , since this event has been the push that I needed to update this story so special for me.

Also, thanks to @captainsjedi for taking a look and to @chrissascorner for being my savior and helping me fix mistakes. Special mention to @onceuponaprincessworld for her feedback and for always being there. And, as always, thanks to @saraswans , for her advice, her constant support, her ideas and because without her this story wouldn't be the same.

Thank you so, so much everyone, for your eternal patience, for continuing to have faith in me and this story. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best to try to update soon.

A couple of notes about this chapter before starting reading. It begins the day after their first real date. There will be fluff, fluff and more fluff, and also sexy times... but... as I have already commented on other occasions, I'm not a smut writer, and, although this is probably the most smutty thing I've ever written, eh, no, nothing explicit will appear. At least I tried, right?

Summary: Emma loses her phone after a chase, but she finds a phone in a cafe just when she needs it most. Killian forgets his phone in a cafe when he is about to take a flight to Ireland. Killian makes a call to his own number hoping someone answers on the other end of the line. What will happen when Emma answers the call?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12Chapter 13 Chapter14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20

FF.net Ao3

Here we go...

Previously on Call Me... After Killian returns to Boston and after finishing the deal they had established to get to know each other better, they decide to have their first real date. Now is the time to find out what will happen after that first date...

Chapter 21 - Chocolate, Pancakes, and... Something Else

Monday, July 3, 2017

Ruby: Emma! Where are you? I can't believe you're still asleep.

Ruby: Come on, I'm dying here, I need to know!

Ruby: Or maybe you're busy right now...

Ruby: Tell me you're not alone in your bed.

Ruby: Any more qualities to add to Killian's list? Good kisser maybe?

Ruby: Emma, wake up!

Elsa: Omg! I just saw the picture! It's perfect! I'm very happy for you two. You deserve it. I'll call you later to get all the details of your date.

Emma dropped the phone on the mattress and stretched on the bed, a smile of satisfaction pulling at her lips, as the memory of her date with Killian popped up into her mind. She closed her eyes for a moment as she let herself be enveloped by the lingering sensations, her lips still tingling after tasting the first kisses shared with Killian, her heart still pounding because of her blossoming feelings...

The sound of someone knocking on the door brought her back to reality. Confused, Emma grabbed her phone again to check the time. Too early.

"Emma." Knock knock.

"Emma." Knock knock .

"Emma." Knock knock.

Seriously? Was the nerd imitating Sheldon Cooper? Again?

Despite his unexpected visit — or perhaps precisely because of that— a warm sensation began to hum beneath her skin in anticipation of seeing him again sooner than she had thought. After running her hands through her hair in a failed attempt to untangle it, she rushed to the door, not even bothering to put on her bra. He was her boyfriend now, wasn't he?

She didn't even have time to ask him about the reason for his visit. The moment she opened the door, she was invaded by his warmth, his arms wrapped around her body and his lips catching hers in a kiss maybe too passionate for those hours of the morning.

It only took her a few seconds to react, returning the kiss with enthusiasm while allowing herself to be carried away by the sensations. Even though they had kissed for the first time just a few hours ago, there was already an aura of mutual understanding and confidence in the way her lips molded to his or in the synchronism of their tongues dancing together, as if they had been practicing for much longer.

That didn't stop her body from betraying her in a certain way, because when Killian separated from her, she found it difficult to regain her composure, feeling a slight dizziness taking over her. Luckily, Killian didn't loosen his grip on her waist as she tried to catch her breath, blinking a couple of times to drag away the remnants of sleep and make sure that what she had just experienced had been real and not a figment of her imagination.

"Not that I'm complaining, because obviously I'm not, but what was this about?” Her intention had been to use a carefree tone, but she failed miserably, her words coming out in a shaky breath.

Killian's lips curled into a cocky smirk as he pointed his chin toward his raised hand. The bastard knew the effect he had on her. Even so, she forced herself to look away from his completely kissable lips and directed her eyes towards where he was pointing. Only then did she realize that he was holding a paper bag from which a delicious smell was coming off.

"I thought it was a good idea to bring breakfast on my way to work."

Emma ignored her stomach rumblings as she crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a suspicious look. "But my apartment is not on the way to the docks..."

Killian shrugged. "I guess it's one of the advantages of being your own boss, that allows you to bring breakfast to your girlfriend without worrying about being late."

A strange sensation settled in her heart when she heard him say that word aloud, but Emma preferred to teasing him a bit instead of paying attention to her body's reactions or the escalation of feelings taking over her. "Girlfriend, uh? We've only had one date, don't you think it's a bit pretentious to use that term?"

"Oh, but you're wrong, love. If we ignore the whole month of 'not dating'..." He managed to do the quoting sign with both hands even though he still was holding the paper bag "...Yesterday's would be our third date."

"Third date?"

"Aye, don't you remember our first virtual date, or the second one, the 'movie and popcorn' date?"

She did remember. And she also remembered her own words about a third date — I don't do pillage and plunder until the third date —. The pillage and plunder thing hadn't happened last night, by the way. Emma noticed how her cheeks began to burn as a chill ran down her spine when her treacherous mind started creating different scenarios to develop that activity, each more sinful than the one before.

"Whatever you say." Emma snapped, forcing herself to save those thoughts for another time. "I'm hungry, let's see what you've brought me."

She grabbed the bag and headed for the kitchen. If Killian realized her agitation he didn't mention it, he simply followed her lead. And if her hips swayed slightly in her way trusting that he wouldn't take his eyes off her and that at least her actions would have the same impact on him, well, no one had to know.

They enjoyed their first official breakfast as a couple as they had done before, food peppered with smiles, banter and knowing glances. To her relief, no awkwardness arose between them. On the contrary, she felt even more comfortable and secure with him at her side now that she no longer had to suppress her feelings, didn't have to pretend that she wasn't affected by the accidental touch of their hands, and could express her affection through longing glances or the brush of her lips against his.

There was a moment, when Killian placed a soft kiss on her cheek before getting up to pick up the leftovers and clean her countertop, in which Emma had to shake her head to get rid of a certain feeling of disbelief. She found it hard to believe that only a few hours had passed since their first real date. The comfort and domesticity that surrounded them caused a warm feeling to run through her veins and reach her heart making it swell.

He even waited for her to take a quick shower. The last scene that her eyes registered while she headed the bathroom, was the image of Killian settling on her couch as if he owned the place, making it even more necessary a shower that would allow her to get rid of those mixed feelings — delight and panic — that threatened with colliding.

The spray of warm water falling on her had its desired effect, managing to calm her agitated heart. The calm was short-lived, though. That effect went out the window at the moment she returned to her living room and met with the bright flash of a smile and a look of approval through his very blue eyes. God! She was in serious trouble with that man.

Fortunately, her phone came to her rescue once again, as, at that moment, she remembered the unanswered messages sent by Ruby and Elsa. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth in an attempt to suppress the grin that threatened to appear when an idea jumped in her head.

"I have to do something before leaving, come here." Emma waved her hand at Killian as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. He, of course, complied, giving her an inquisitive look as he stood beside her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She raised the hand that held the phone in front of them, as she snuggled up beside Killian. He, always so perceptive, seemed to understand what was her intention, since, without any instructions, he planted a loud kiss on her cheek just as she pressed the button, capturing the moment.

Good Morning ;)

After sending the brief message accompanying the selfie to her two friends, she grabbed her boyfriend's hand — Gods, she still didn't dare utter that word out loud, the term still strange to her — and they both headed for the exit.

Killian, always the gentleman, accompanied her to her car. Before she got into the vehicle though, he wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning down while kissing her softly. It was a brief kiss, just his lips brushing hers, but with the ability to take her breath away to the point that, feeling how he was beginning to break the kiss, she searched his lips again, reluctant to let him go just yet. She didn't care in the least that they were giving quite the show in the middle of the street. Again.

As Emma let herself be wrapped in the sensations, she wondered if that spiral of feeling inside her would ever calm down; if the warmth that spread all over her body would ever get cool; if the butterflies in her stomach would ever stop beating their wings. All of this was so new to her that she was a little overwhelmed by the escalation of feelings in such a short space of time; at the same time, she also feared that those feelings would end at some point, leaving her empty again.

"I would not complain if the breakfast thing becomes a kind of habit," Emma muttered once she managed to detach herself from his lips and look him in the eye.

"I'm afraid I cannot promise you that, love." One of the corners of his lips twisted slightly upward as he scratched behind his ear. "I have some routes scheduled early in the morning for the rest of the week." He added, looking at her sheepishly through his lashes.

Despite his cute apologetic expression, she felt a tug of disappointment in her stomach. Just as her lips moved in an attempt at an incipient pout, he went into action again, slowing the movement with a new kiss. "I'll make up for it, I promise. See you later?" He murmured, his breath caressing her lips and causing a warm sensation humming beneath her skin.

"Sure, just call me." She managed to utter through a goofy smile before finally entering the car.

Reluctant to lose sight of him, she checked from the rearview mirror as Killian walked away in search of his own vehicle. Only when he disappeared from her sight did she realize that she was still grinning like an idiot while she felt the heat on her cheeks. She forced herself to pull herself together, taking two deep breaths to calm her inner agitation and behave like a normal adult person, not like a girl with her first crush.

Just as she was about to start the car, Emma remembered that she hadn't checked her phone. In fact, several messages were waiting to be read. Although she tried to resist, since she was already late for work, she finally gave up, the curiosity to know the content of the texts was more powerful than her urgency to get to work on time. The messages she found did nothing to make her smile weaken, rather the opposite.

Ruby: Omg! He stayed??? He spent the night??

Ruby: Tell me something!

Ruby: Emma? Tell me we can add one more skill to the list.

Ruby: I want all the details! Well, maybe not everything.

Ruby: Who am I kidding? I want to know everything! Give me juicy information, please!

Although reluctant, Emma felt obliged to get her out of her mistake.

ES: We haven't slept together. Yet. He only brought me breakfast.

Ruby: He brought you breakfast? Well, ‘God in bed’ ability will have to wait then. Meanwhile, we can add a hopeless romantic, can't we?

A laugh bubbled up in her throat, but Emma didn't have time to answer Ruby, as her phone continued to buzz. This time it was Elsa who had sent her a message.

Elsa: Omg Emma! You both look so happy!! I can't wait to talk to either of you to know the details. I'm so happy for you... Seriously, call me when you have the chance!

ES: I'm heading to work now. I'll call you at lunchtime. Thanks for being there, Elsa.

Elsa: Of course. As I already told you, you can count on me. That's what friends are for, isn't it?

Elsa's last words sank deep into her heart, while Emma felt her eyes begin to sting. She still found it hard to believe that, despite the almost paralyzing fear of lowering the walls and risking exposing herself, that also resulted in a new blossoming sensation, with the ability to make her heart swell. She hoped that feeling of someone caring about her would never go away.

Dating Killian Jones turned out to be much more reassuring than Emma thought. The oppressive fear in her chest had been replaced by the steady flutter of her stomach every time she saw him. Or even if they were not together at that moment, any thought about him had pleasant physical effects on her. Surprisingly, it was as if, with the demolition of the last brick of the wall around her heart, instead of premonitory clouds, a promising sun would now have appeared in front of her.

If someone had told her long ago that Emma Swan, the lonely and guarded woman would at some point experience this continuous state of bliss, this feeling of floating while her heart burst with happiness, she would have laughed, shaking her head in disbelief.

There were days when she still found it hard to believe that this was her life now, her cheeks aching from so much smiling, stomach pain caused by laughter, the perpetual flutter in her stomach, the tingling under her skin. But it was a reality, Emma Swan was happy for the first time in her entire life.

Three weeks later, Emma was still in that kind of state and it didn't seem like it was going to vanish at any time soon, to her relief.

This new stage in their relationship had not brought great changes in their lives, at least compared to the weeks after his return to Boston (If she compared it to Emma's pre-phone loss the change was brutal, though). They continued to perform the same established routines, eat at Granny's, Fringe marathons, sailing, hang out with Belle and Will, and Sunday brunch including the BOWS club meetings.

There was a not so subtle difference, though. Now they had incorporated other types of activities much more pleasurable. That first Bridget Jones Style kiss had been no more than a prelude to the many that were to come. Intense sessions of making out in any of the two apartments were sprinkled with furtive kisses during visits to one or the other's office. Now there were sweet kisses, just a light brush of lips in contrast with the most passionate, those searing kisses with the ability to leave her breathless and make all her skin tingle craving for more.

Their level of intimacy had been limited only to those shared kisses so far, though. Three weeks later she had not yet had the chance to add " God in bed " to Killian's endless list of qualities. They had decided to take things slow. Well, Killian had made the request under the premise that they had all the time in the world, that he preferred not to rush to find the ideal moment, faithful to his decision to make all the advances in their relationship have a special, unique touch, just like their first kiss. Just like their whole relationship from the very first moment, actually.

She had agreed at first, but after several weeks with little or no progress at all in that regard except for some tentative caresses in the heat of the moment Emma had begun to grow impatient, the intense sessions of making out ended too abruptly for her liking, leaving her frustrated, flustered, breathless and exceptionally horny without the possibility of lightening the growing sexual tension dancing among them unless she took things into her own hands.

If this had happened with someone else —named Walsh —she would have started worrying. With Killian, the feeling was different, in spite of everything. At least that indicated his penetrating gaze full of desire, lust, and longing that he directed her non-stop, with the ability to make her melt or set her on fire inside. The way his body pressed against hers when they were wrapped in one of their many kissing sessions making it clear how affected he felt by their activities was also a sufficient indication that the desire was there, simmering inside. She just had to wait for it to surface.

The day he suggested dinner in his apartment for that very night, Emma wondered if the moment had finally arrived. She tried not to read too much in the way he had addressed her, purring the words as he undressed her with his gaze, but her body had betrayed her once more, a rush of liquid heat running to her very core.

Although she had tried to pretend in front of him, using a carefree tone while teasing him with his possible choice of menu for dinner, the truth was that nerves had begun to make an appearance, along with an old friend, a paralyzing fear. This would be the first time in a long time that she shared a bed with someone with feelings involved.

She wasn't a prude, sex was not a problem, or at least it was the least of her issues. This had happened with her several one-night stands over the years. These exchanges were usually something quick and easy, without complications. Both her partner and she knew what they wanted and went for it.

But she wasn't sure what to do with this growing amount of feelings bubbling under her skin. Her mind had only retained small vestiges of what it had been like to make love with Neal and back then she had been too young and inexperienced, at least at the beginning. She suspected that with Killian everything would be different for several reasons, but the main one was that she was already a grown woman, had gained enough experience and, above all, her feelings were now much more intense. That thought alone made her heart beat frantically in her chest while her head spun.

A sense of vulnerability and insecurity settled in her stomach, mixed with her almost irrepressible desire. After this huge step, she would not only have given her heart to Killian, also her body and her very soul. And that terrified the hell out of her. Old Emma would have run through the hills or turned the fact into just sex. This new Emma, however, after taking two deep breaths, forced herself to leave behind her insecurities and get the best out of this first night together. The prelude to the many that were to come, at least that was what she hoped.

Well, as long as her suspicions came true, of course. A thought crossed her mind just as she stood in front of her wardrobe choosing the outfit she would wear. Until now, showing a certain sense of selfishness, she had only taken into account her own feelings, but there were two people involved here, and the other person, Killian, also carried his own old demons. Maybe that was the reason, maybe he was also scared to offer her something that he hadn't offered since Milah.

Emma shook her head, blinking away all those thoughts and decided to let herself go. She would trust her instincts and Killian's reactions, without forcing anything. If tonight there was finally no sex between them, she could wait. She wasn't going anywhere.

Still, at the last moment, she decided to grab a backpack and put some toiletries and a change of clothes inside. It was Friday after all and, even if they didn't sleep together, at least they could continue with their Fringe marathon. Maybe she would fall asleep on the couch. It wouldn't be the first time. Would it be?

Friday, July 21, 2017

The sharp thud of the knife against the cutting board resounded in his kitchen, causing Killian to come out of his reverie and realize that he was perhaps exerting too much force in chopping the vegetables from the salad.

He should have known better. From the very beginning, everything about Emma had affected him in such a way to the point of feeling like a schoolboy sometimes and turning him into a bundle of nerves unable to control his emotions.

All the bravado displayed when he had suggested the plan for the night had gone out the window when the implications of what would happen washed over him. " Bloody hell ", he muttered to himself as he dragged his hand down his face and rubbed at the scruff on his jaw. He was a grown man, how on earth was he so affected by the idea of spending the night with a woman?

He had the answer, of course. Maybe he had tried to fool himself with poor excuses that masked the real reason why after three weeks of dating they hadn't yet had sex. The explanation he had offered to Emma was true. But there was another deeper meaning hidden behind that excuse, he had his own reasons for postponing the act. Even though his intention to keep moving on was firm, he was still far from reaching his destination. The fact that by the time he had finally gotten back his phone he had hidden it in a drawer without even checking out its contents was an indication of it.

He wanted to offer Emma something unique, something special and unforgettable. But for that to happen he needed that during their first time together there would be no ghosts of the past hunting them, hovering around the bedroom. He wanted to offer himself completely to Emma, without fissures, without uncertainty. She deserved it. And that state hadn't been achieved until now, when he had realized that all his thoughts were consumed by Emma. Her image was the first that came to mind when he woke up in the morning, her memory the last before closing his eyes and surrendering to sleep.

The ghost of that bloke, Walsh, was also hovering over him. No way did he want to be compared to such a despicable guy and he did not want to risk Emma getting the wrong idea either.

These three weeks had been real agony, as if he had decided to impose himself a kind of punishment by engaging in a frustrating and tortuous path. The innumerable cold showers he had taken throughout these days had been nothing more than a small relief to his almost constant state of agitation.

He could feel in all the fibers of his being that he was ready to take the next step, but that did not stop his insecurities from surfacing since this would be the first time he would sleep with a woman since Milah with feelings involved.

Because the truth was undeniable, he harbored deep feelings for Emma. He still didn't dare to put a name to them but they swirled inside, struggling to come to the surface even if it was in the form of a caress, a longing glance or a promising kiss, without him being able to stop them.

Other kinds of worries also boiled inside him. Far were the first years after Milah's death, when he had tried to drown his sorrows in alcohol and sex. He had realized gradually that the answer was not there, so even though alcohol had been a companion on more occasions than necessary, the female company had been spaced out in time. There had been no woman in his bed for quite some time, the last one, just before traveling to Ireland in November of the previous year. The fear of not measuring up, of not being able to offer Emma what she deserved was real.

The sound of someone knocking on the door made him flinch and almost cutting himself in the process. He dropped the knife between curses and forced himself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly in an attempt to calm his growing nervousness before opening the door.

At the last moment, before facing Emma, he decided that, whatever happened tonight, enjoying Emma's company would be more than enough for him. But this time, if she, who always seemed to be one step ahead in that regard, decided to keep moving forward, he not only wouldn't slow down her progress but would gladly encourage her to continue exploring.

All his doubts and insecurities disappeared the moment his eyes fell on Emma. She presented herself to him as a goddess wearing a simple sundress, her golden hair combed in a braid that fell over her shoulder. Her cheeks were colored by a slight rosy hue and her green eyes glowed in a special way as her lips drew a tempting smile, in clear invitation to be kissed.

But what really captivated him, causing his heart to flutter was the fact that she was carrying a backpack slung over her shoulder, implying, without needing words, that she was more than willing to spend the night. With him. Preferably in his bed. And maybe the next day too, at least if he had anything to say about it.

"Hi," she greeted him before brushing his lips with hers. He watched in awe as she passed by him in the direction of the kitchen, dropping the backpack on the couch on her way and perching herself onto one of the stools located next to the kitchen island, as if she owned the place. As if she belonged there. Well, where would the lie be? A special part of his heart already belonged to her.

"Oh thank God!" She blurted, noticing the sandwiches on the counter, waiting to be grilled. "I thought for a moment that you were going to prepare some of those recipes of yours with fish involved."

Her expression of disgust with a wrinkled nose and an adorable pout caused a chuckle bubbling in his throat. He approached the counter, taking up the task of chopping the vegetables for the salad. "I was tempted, but I had the suspicion that wouldn't be the most appropriate choice if I wanted this not to become a one-time thing."

"So you decided to seduce me with food instead, didn't you?" She teased him as she arched one of her perfect eyebrows, her tongue peeking to moisten her already luscious lips.

He pretended to remain focused on the salad but couldn't help but cast a sidelong glance at her. "Is it working?" He asked dropping his voice to a husky whisper. "Just wait to see the dessert I've prepared just thinking of you."

In answer, she got up and pounced on him, taking him by surprise as she caught his lips with hers in a demanding kiss. He was definitely going to get cut before finishing the bloody salad.

Before he could react, she pulled away from him, sporting a naughty smirk as she returned to her position on the stool. "For me to decide I have to try it first, don't you think?" She murmured, licking her lips again as if to prove her point. Bloody hell, her performance was not helping in the least to control his agitation. He swallowed hard, while his blood ran hot to the south, all the cells of his body craving for her. He had to close his eyes for a second, trying to calm down enough to avoid having his way with her right there, in the middle of the kitchen.

He hastened to finish the salad, placing the bowl in her hands. "And that's the plan, love, that you taste all the delights I've prepared for you. And now, would you be so kind as to bring that to the table?"

"Are you sure you don't need help here?" She offered through a smile that seemed innocent enough, but he didn't trust that she wouldn't continue to tempt him if she stayed with him in the kitchen.

"I'll go up in a bit, when I finish the sandwiches." He assured her with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Everything else is already set on the rooftop."

Her eyes widened as a flash of approval crossed her gaze. "So dinner on the rooftop, eh? I like the way you think." She said, as she walked away in the direction of the spiral staircase, the swaying of her hips perhaps too suggestive for her own good.

When she disappeared from his sight, he clenched his jaw, directing his gaze to the ceiling in an attempt to summon enough self-control to finish the dinner without incident. The siren he had as a girlfriend was certainly making it difficult for him.

Killian arrived at the roof a few minutes later, holding the plates with the grilled cheese sandwiches. He found that Emma was already sitting in one of the garden chairs, while gazing appreciatively at everything around her.

She wore a peaceful expression, matching the quiet night that had already fallen on Boston. The place looked impressive, honestly. He congratulated himself for having achieved just what was he was looking for. The only source of light came from various candles and lanterns distributed along the balcony, creating an intimate atmosphere. A fresh, summery scent from the many plants in his private garden surrounded them. No sound, no outside glance could interrupt their dinner. There was just the two of them and the endless feelings dancing between them.

To his relief, dinner was a success. They seemed to have reached a non-verbal agreement to temporarily park the evident sexual tension emanating from them and instead they just enjoyed the delicious food while keeping a fluent conversation peppered with smiles and knowing glances. He still was surprised that they felt so comfortable in each other's company. Maybe the month of the pact, while they built their friendship without pressure, just getting to know each other, it had served its purpose so that now there was no awkwardness flitting between them.

When it was time for dessert, Killian insisted that Emma remain relaxed on the rooftop, but she rejected the idea immediately, alluding that she had to see with her own eyes if "that dessert of yours is so worth it."

He should have suspected that Emma would find a pleasurable way of waiting for the cakes to be baked. Actually, he couldn't blame Emma entirely, since from the moment he closed the oven door he turned around and they both met halfway, their lips fusing together.

Only when the timer started ringing, announcing that the dessert was ready, they managed to detach from each other, the intense chocolate aroma emanating from the oven reaching their nostrils at that time. Emma closed her eyes for a moment as she inhaled deeply, a soft sound sliding between her lips, as if she was already savoring the cake. When she opened her eyes again, she stared at him with a fire in her emerald gaze that immediately made his blood run hot.

He had to swallow hard, resisting the temptation to grab her and kiss her senselessly, to hell with the cakes. Later, he thought as he forced himself away from temptation and turned his attention to the oven. He had spent a lot of time elaborating the recipe and would be disappointed if the result wasn't what he expected, so he held his breath while unmolding the cakes, feeling the scrutiny of Emma's gaze on him.

"Oh my god, you've baked chocolate lava cakes, haven't you?" When Killian looked up he found that Emma's face had lit up, her lips drawing a giant smile. He couldn't help but smile too, marveling at Emma Swan's complexity. A minute before she was showing off all her power of seduction and the next minute she acted like a little girl receiving a birthday present.

Until now he had only witnessed some glimpses of the previous Emma, the lonely woman who protected her heart fiercely, erecting walls difficult to climb. But he had managed to see what was behind those walls almost from the beginning. The fact that, in a way, he was contributing to these walls disappearing, showing this wonderful woman, was a source of pride for him, although he also harbored some responsibility. But if he had to spend hours in the kitchen making a dessert for her to give him that bright smile and that sparkle in the eyes, so be it.

"There's only one way to find out." Killian winked at her as he offered her a teaspoon. She bit her bottom lip, looking around, as if deciding whether she stayed there or not. Then she grabbed the spoon and plate and hurried toward the stairs.

"Hurry up, I don't want it to cool and ruin the effect." Emma urged him, before climbing up and disappearing from sight. He, of course, followed her. He would always follow her.

The cake was delicious, that dessert was one of his specialties for a reason, after all. Emma seemed to think the same, at least that implied her expression, as she watched in awe how the liquid chocolate escaped through the crack formed by the spoon, reaching the plate. A soft moan slid between her lips as she closed her eyes savoring the chocolate, causing a chill to run down his spine. She was going to be the death of him even before they had the chance to move to his bedroom.

"One of these days I'm going to record you making those sounds while you eat. It's funny how they could be understood in a quite different way if someone doesn't know the context." The words escaped his lips before he had time to process them, but given Emma's reaction, he did not regret it at all.

Even in the gloom, he noticed how her cheeks flushed, but, far from looking embarrassed, she gave him a seductive look from under her lashes as she brought the empty spoon to her lips and licked the remains of the chocolate. Next, she simply shrugged, as she replied in a sensual tone, her low voice full of intention. "I can't help it, chocolate is one of my great pleasures, as you may have guessed. But I will try to keep quiet next time."

"Don't even think about it, Swan." He almost growled. If chocolate was one of Emma's great pleasures, one of his own was to watch her little gestures and sounds. He would never tire of continuing to discover all the pieces of the wonderful puzzle that she represented.

They managed to finish the dessert without any other interruption. When Emma offered to help him clear the table, he refused, alluding that she was the guest of honor and that she should take advantage of those moments to relax enjoying the magnificent night outside. Emma reluctantly agreed. Still, it was clear that she felt at ease, at least the way she settled into her seat indicated it.

Once the kitchen was cleaned, he returned to the upper floor, his skin tingling in anticipation of what was to come. The image he found reminded him immediately of the first time Emma had spent the night in his apartment, when he had found her the next day at that very spot.

She held the same position this time, leaning on the railing, her head slightly turned, allowing him to observe her profile, her gaze lost somewhere in the darkness of the night, her lips drawing a smile of contentment. She was breathtaking.

As on that occasion, he approached her and wrapped her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. Her back arched at the moment she felt his presence, while her hands moved to seek his arms and tighten the embrace.

"I love this balcony." Emma murmured as she rested her head against his chest. "I would be happy living here, even without a bed."

He was aware that she was just joking but the mere thought that this could come true in the near future caused a strange sensation in his heart, something like longing. He blinked away those thoughts, leaving them for another time and decided to play along.

"In fact, there's a pullout bed in the studio next to the rooftop, love."

"Uhm, tempting, but the bathroom is downstairs, too far away. A pity."

"Besides, while I've not been able to experience it until now, I suspect that winter in Boston is not the most suitable season to live in the open." Killian realized the meaning of his words when he noticed how Emma tensed slightly under his embrace. It was true, he hadn't yet spent any winter here, always traveling to Ireland during the colder months. A sense of uneasiness settled in his stomach due to the fact that in a few months he would have to leave the city again to travel and meet his family. But there was still time for worrying about that, they would cross that bridge when they both arrived. That was an agreement between her and him from the moment they started their relationship, to take advantage of the moment, not to let their future expectations dictate how they should live their present.

"Do you know one of the things I like the most about your rooftop?" Emma's soft voice brought him back to reality. She continued without waiting for an answer. "Privacy. Nobody can see or hear us."

"I guess we should take advantage of that, shouldn't we?" Killian muttered before beginning to sprinkle the exposed skin of her neck and collarbone with light kisses, his lips leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. Emma's response was immediate, to his delight. She turned around and, grabbing his shirt, she pulled him close, her lips capturing his in a searing kiss.

He was a goner from that moment on, too consumed by her kisses, her essence, the feeling of her warm body pressed against his. While trying to comply with her demanding lips, he lost track of time and space to the point that he wasn't even aware of moving into the studio and sitting on the couch with Emma straddling his lap.

They devoured each other as if there were no tomorrow, their hands were everywhere, her hips moving over him and exerting a delicious friction that was driving him crazy with need.

He wouldn't have minded giving in to passion right there, in the gloom of the studio, while the soft breeze of the night crept through the open door to the rooftop. But he had other plans that basically meant worshiping Emma's body for endless hours, under the shelter of his sheets, in his own bed.

Displaying an entire exercise of self-control, he managed to separate his lips from hers for a moment, searching her gaze while cupping her cheek with one hand. "Emma, love, we..." His voice trailed off when Emma ignored him, nipping his lower lip lightly instead as she moved her hips against his evident arousal. He couldn't help a growing groan from deep in his chest, but he tried again. "We need to move." He breathed against her swollen lips.

"I don't want to move." She mumbled, a shadow of disappointment crossed her gaze, as if she anticipated that her advances would be stopped once more. He realized at that moment that it might have been a mistake to wait these three weeks without giving her an honest explanation, which might have led to her getting the wrong idea. He needed to get her out of her mistake. "I need... I would prefer if we continue this in a more comfortable place."

She stared at him through narrowed eyes, her brow furrowed, as if she was trying to discern his true intentions. He decided to act to make it clear that he didn't have the faintest intention of leaving things that way. His hand slid down from the back of her head to the small of her back, looking for that part of her anatomy that he found so delectable, even covered by clothes. He pressed, drawing her close so that she could note how very interested he was in continuing.

She was a vision just like that, a moan escaping between her lips, a soft blush adorning her neck and cheeks, her heavy breathing causing her chest to move in a distracting way. But what fascinated him the most, was the fire in her eyes, he could lose himself in the intense green sea of her gaze. To his relief, she seemed to understand the message as her lips drew the ghost of a smile. "I'm pretty comfortable here."

"Aye, but we can get even more comfortable." He insisted, though his resolve weakened at times. He cradled her head with his other hand and tugged her lips to his to keep savoring her, something to which he had already become addicted. She moaned again against his lips, angling her head to allow him deeper.

After a few seconds —or maybe minutes, he wasn't sure, his mind too clouded with lust— it was Emma who decided to break the kiss, her eyes sparkling with a playful glow. "What happened to your idea of looking for something unique? Because I find the bed quite traditional and a bit boring, to be honest."

"That's because you haven't shared a bed with me yet, Swan. So, what do you say? Are you willing to find out if my bed and the activities we develop in it fulfill your expectations of originality?" He suggested lowering his tone to a sensual whisper.

He must have sounded convincing, at least that's what he assumed from the expression she wore, biting her lower lip as she arched one of her eyebrows. "Okay, take me to bed, Jones."

"I would gladly carry you, but I don't want to risk tripping while we go down the stairs."

She giggled, really giggled, before getting up and offering her hand, pulling him then and leading the way, as it used to happen lately. He, of course, obliged.

Once in the shelter of his bedroom, they took things more calmly, sharing languid kisses while their hands began their first tentative explorations on their bodies. Her mouth molded so perfectly to his that he could spend hours doing just that, savoring her soft lips, letting himself be intoxicated by her scent, feeling her teeth playfully nibble on his lower lip.

Emma grew impatient, since, after one last kiss, she turned around in his arms, offering him a sinful glance over her shoulder. "I may need help with the zipper." Her soft and seductive voice causing him to feel his pants getting tighter.

As the zipper of the dress descended, he got a glimpse of her underwear, making his desire to taste her creamy skin more urgent, the tingling of his fingers craving to touch and feel the warmth that emanated from her. Before turning around and facing him again, she let the dress slip down, pooling at her feet.

He breathed out on a shaky exhale when his eyes finally settled on her almost naked figure but he barely had time to extend his arm to caress her perfect curves, since Emma's lips were on his in an instant, as he reached for his t-shirt and pulled on it in a gesture not too subtle for him to take it off.

Once they stripped each other, their clothes scattered all over the room, he gently pushed her down and made her lie on the bed. He took a moment to appreciate her body, the corners of his lips rising slightly as the memory of a photograph came to mind.

"You're stunning, Swan." He leaned in, covering her body with his and leaving a trail of kisses from the line of her jaw to her neck. "Do you remember the picture you sent me with you in that bathtub?" He lifted his head, seeking her gaze. Emma did not answer, but her cheeks blushed even more, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She remembered, of course. "I haven't been able to get that image out of my head since then. Trying to imagine what would be hidden behind those bubbles has driven me crazy." His voice came in a raspy tone before he put back his mouth to better use.

"Have I exceeded your expectations?" She murmured, her warm breath caressing his lips.

"Indeed." He barely lifted his lips to mumble his answer and then returned to his task of kissing her senselessly.

She had other plans, though. Breaking the kiss, she cupped his cheek with one hand, locking her eyes with his. She had that expression on her face, her lips drawing the ghost of a grin, a challenging flash crossing her gaze. "And are you going to do something about it?"

"Aye." His whole body hummed in anticipation, while he was unable to hide the lust in his voice. "Would you allow me to touch you, Emma? To taste you?"

"Where?"

"Everywhere."

Her head nodded frantically giving him the permission he needed. From there, he became a man with a mission; his goal, to enhance every drop of pleasure Emma has.

For the next few minutes he devoted himself to touch, to taste, to explore and worship her body the way she deserved, using his hands, his teeth, his tongue and getting her to vibrate under his touch, the delicious sounds that escaped from her mouth causing his level of arousal to rise until it was almost painful, leaving him in need of an urgent release. The moment she came undone, uttering his name on a trembling exhale, he knew he had fulfilled his goal, a wave of satisfaction and pride washing over him.

But the night had not ended there, in fact, it had only just begun, at least that's what Emma's actions implied when she came down from her high, her breathing still heavy, her lips swollen, and a penetrating gaze with the ability to take his breath away. She pulled him towards her for a kiss, while her hands ran up and down his back.

He needed her, he needed to feel her on a deeper level or his desire would end up combusting him. She seemed to understand, helping him put on the proper protection, his movements somewhat clumsy at first, causing them to share a funny moment, easing the tension. "I'm sorry love, I may be a bit out of practice."

"That's not the way it seemed in your previous performance." She assured him through a grin. "Come here. Let's practice a bit more."

Only when he positioned himself between her legs did he realize that the delay of three weeks had been worth it, that they had managed to make nothing and nobody cloud their magical moment. His heart tightened in his chest at the thought that he should perhaps feel guilty for having developed such intense feelings and because now Emma was the one who occupied all his thoughts. But deep down, he knew that Milah would approve what was about to happen. She would have wanted him to be happy and, in fact, he was about to burst with happiness.

"Killian?" Emma's voice came to his ears with a slight hint of concern. A crease between her brows and an inquisitive look made him see that he had remained absorbed for too long. The time to take action had arrived.

She was all that mattered now. His lips drew a soothing smile in order to remove any trace of worry from her beautiful face. Only when she smiled back, cheering him up without words, did he lean in search of her lips at the same moment he slid inside her.

He stifled a moan as their bodies fused together, feeling her warmth envelop him, his heart beating frantically and threatening to come out of his chest. He wasn't used to such sensations running through his veins, all his muscles tensed, overwhelmed by the emotions. He buried his face in Emma's hair, needing a few seconds before beginning to move.

Once he was able to regain control over his body, he set a new goal, bringing Emma to ecstasy once more. It was then when they began to move in synchrony, enjoying the pleasure of skin against skin, their bodies molded to each other as if they had been created for that purpose.

He had been aware from the beginning that what would happen in his bed wouldn't be just sex, but it was one thing to think about it and quite another to feel it in all the fibers of his being causing a kind of vertigo, his head spinning to the certainty that they were making love, although the word was still too big to even think about.

Their movements were full of passion, her demanding lips never leaving his. He tried to comply with each kiss, but he wasn't satisfied with just tasting her mouth, his lips brushing any patch of skin that his movements allowed to reach, her neck, her collarbone, her chest, while he let himself be intoxicated by the indescribable feeling of having such a goddess beneath him.

She also showed that she knew what she wanted, her hands were everywhere, although she seemed to have a predilection for his back. The way she stroked that part of his anatomy was driving him crazy. She could go from a subtle touch with her fingertips to an almost painful trace with her nails.

At one point, when he felt the pull of the impending climax approaching, he grabbed her hand, moving it over her head and intertwining her fingers with his. It was like this, with their mouths fused together drowning out their respective moans, how they found sweet release. In that precise moment, when he was still panting, unable to move, the adrenaline rushing high in his veins, he had the absolute certainty that he would live to bring pleasure to this wonderful woman in every possible way.

"It's not that I'm complaining, because I clearly am not, but will you ever tell me the real reason why we've waited so long to have... to sleep together?"

His brain was unable at first to process Emma's words. They were huddled side by side in his bed, her head resting on his shoulder, while her fingers traced delicate patterns on his bare stomach, their lower limbs tangled together.

After their amorous activities, he had entered in such a state of bliss and relaxation that he felt almost like he was floating while his eyelids became heavy to the point where he was about to doze.

Emma's voice activated his senses again, but his mind was still a little clouded, so he took his time before answering. Indeed, there didn't seem to be any trace of complaint in her voice, rather curiosity. Killian took a deep breath letting out the air slowly and then he decided to offer her an honest answer. She didn't deserve less.

"I just wanted to be sure there weren't any demons from the past wandering around us, that's all." He placed a soft kiss on her hair, trusting that his answer was enough.

Emma slowed the movement of her fingers on his skin for a brief moment, while he held his breath, but, to his relief, then she continued with her traces, while she replied with a single word. "Good."

"Besides, I remembered that bloke, Walsh, and I didn't want you to draw the wrong conclusion." His words came out of his mouth without he could do anything to stop them. What was wrong with him, bringing another man to the conversation while he lay with a woman in his bed?

Emma lifted her head looking for his gaze. "Do you remember?"

"I remember everything you've told me, darling, even though I still didn’t know you in person or didn’t even know what you looked like."

How was it possible that Emma had that look of disbelief on her face? As if it were hard for her to believe that someone could have such an interest in her. It was evident that he must work more in that regard and that, like him, although Emma was doing an impressive job in her attempt to open up to others, she still had a long way to go. He was sure that they would accompany each other in their paths. At least he had no intention of leaving her side at any time soon, both physically and metaphorically speaking.

Her expression changed subtly, a soft smile pulling at her lips, but then her brows furrowed. "Don't ever even mention that asshole. You both are not comparable and I wasn’t really worried, not at least in that aspect."

"Good." He parroted her earlier response, his stomach fluttering at the passion she put in her words, even if it was to throw a scolding at him. Then he pulled her to him again, his fingers tangled in her curls, as she resumed her task of caressing him.

Soon, he felt the sleepiness begin to invade him again. He had already decided to surrender to it by embracing Emma in his arms, when something put him on alert again. Suddenly, Emma's weight on him disappeared, causing a wave of irrational panic to meddle him at the thought that she was leaving his bed.

Impulsively, he reached out his arm and captured her wrist, slowing her movement. "Stay." He hated the vulnerability in his voice, using a single word as a plea. "Stay." He repeated with a firmer tone. She stopped her progress but kept her back to him, so he thought frantically of some reason that would make her stay. "If you come back to bed I'll make you breakfast tomorrow, and you already know my cooking skills."

This time he did get a reaction from Emma. She turned her head, looking at him over her shoulder, her face showing an impenetrable expression. "Are you trying to seduce me with the food again?"

"Is it working?"

Only when her face split into a giant grin, was he able to let out the breath he had been holding.

"Always."

He offered her his hand and when she accepted, he pulled her towards him, both returning to their original positions. Sleep seemed to have abandoned him, though. He had already begun to resign himself to the fact that he would barely get to rest tonight, but having someone like Emma by his side, who needed to sleep? Indeed, the calm did not last long. Emma raised her head again, a mischievous smile adorning her features. "Just for the record, I wasn't going anywhere, I just needed to use the bathroom."

“Bad form love,” he muttered in a rough voice, as he pulled her closer, her golden curls brushing against his cheek, “taking advantage of a poor man desperate not to be alone. Should I punish you?"

“Is that…” she trailed off, a breathy moan slipping between her lips while his fingers slowly traveled along her spine, “... a promise?” A low groan blossomed deep in his chest, "you're going to be the death of me," he murmured before capturing her lips with his and surrendering to her once more.

Saturday, July 22, 2017

When Emma woke up the next morning the sun was already shining high in the sky, the soft morning light seeping through the window and illuminating the bedroom, causing Emma to remain reluctant to open her eyes just yet.

Her mind was still clouded by the vestiges of sleep, making her feel a little bewildered at first and with the need to snuggle, seeking refuge in the cool sheets in contact with her skin.

Gradually, as her mind cleared, she began to be aware of her surroundings. The moment her brain processed the fact that she didn't own such soft sheets, reality came in waves hitting her hard.

Of course, she was not in her bed, nor in her bedroom. A swirl of mixed feelings seized her as the memories of the previous night gathered in her head. She couldn't prevent a blush from crawling from her neck, making her cheeks burn, feeling somewhat embarrassed, something unusual in her with regard to such activities. Maybe the reason was that she wasn't used to waking up in the very bed in which they had carried out an intense, mind-blowing sex session just a few hours ago.

"Oh god." She covered her face with her hands while her stubborn mind insisted on repeating, again and again, the top moments of the night, making the blush of her cheeks increase, and also, a new wave of desire beginning to run through her veins.

She instinctively reached out her hand to the other side of the bed, finding it empty, something that did not surprise her, since Killian had previously informed her that he needed to get up early that Saturday morning. Still, a tug of disappointment settled in her stomach. But maybe it's better that way, she told herself. All this was so new to her that waking up with someone huddled by her side might have been like too much.

After letting out a deep breath, she stretched out on the bed, feeling her body slightly sore in the right places. An unstoppable smile of satisfaction bloomed on her face as she reached for her phone to check the time. The smile widened when, in addition to her phone, she found a handwritten note on the nightstand.

Good morning, my sleeping beauty. I apologize for having been forced to leave the bed so soon, but, as I had already told you, some clients wanted to watch the sunrise from the sea, so who am I to deny them such pleasure? Still, I'll be home in time to prepare the promised breakfast. Yours, Killian.

Two aspects caught her attention as she read the note. First, the deliberate use of possessives on two occasions and second, the word home and its implications. Maybe this wasn't her apartment, but he had made it clear that he was going back home, to her. She anticipated the arrival of panic, or the need to run away at the intensity of the feelings blossoming inside her, but, far from that, where before her heart would have tightened with fear, now it fluttered with anticipation. She really couldn't wait to see him and, above all, feel him again.

After placing the note on the table again she grabbed the phone. There was something important that she had to do. She opened the chat window with Ruby and started typing.

ES: We can now add 'God in bed' to Killian's list

The response of her friend was immediate.

Ruby: Yay! I knew it! Lucky girl, I envy you right now. I want all the details!

A chuckle bubbled in her throat at the shamelessness of her friend. In no way was she going to confess her intimacies, she might have opened up to others, but not to that extent. Even so, knowing that someone was out there interested in her caused a warm feeling to spread through her body.

ES: I'm not telling you anything, Ruby. Just suffice to say that I have every intention of continuing to practice throughout the weekend.

Ruby: Ouch, you're not funny. Anyway, enjoy the rest of the sex weekend. See you soon.

It was still early, at least for a Saturday morning. Emma deduced that Killian would still take a while to come back, so she needed to find a distraction while waiting for him. Although she was reluctant to leave the bed, she finally made the decision to crawl into the bathroom and take a shower.

The warm shower turned out to be a wise decision, the spray of water falling over her acting as a balm, although the water would also drag the vestiges of Killian's essence that still lingered on her skin. She was tempted for a moment to apply his shampoo, in order to keep his scent for a little longer, but finally decided to use her own, knowing in advance that Killian was quite fond of the vanilla scent, of her hair in general. Emma did not miss that he took advantage of the slightest opportunity to tangle his fingers in her curls, leave soft kisses on the top of her head or simply bring his nose close and inhale.

The shower had taken longer than she had thought at first since, when she came out, she perceived the unmistakable aroma of the bacon coming from the kitchen, causing her stomach to growl and her heart to skip a beat. Killian had arrived.

She hastened to towel off, untangle her hair, and get dressed, opting to wear only tiny panties and the famous Fringe t-shirt, which she had finally got two weeks ago.

Then she walked silently to the kitchen, finding Killian in front of the stove, his back to her, wearing only sweatpants and bare-chested. That meant he had changed clothes when he got home, which implied that, on his way to his bedroom, he would have passed in front of the bathroom door while she was inside, he just would have needed to open the door and... Stop! A flurry of heat flowed to Emma's core, as she bit her lower lip, holding back a groan. Breakfast. She needed to focus on breakfast and on her hungry stomach.

Still, that didn't stop her from slipping in quietly until she was just behind Killian. If he noticed her presence he didn't show it, since he continued with his task while humming in a low voice. Unable to resist any longer, she put her arms around him from behind, resting her head and her hair still damp on his back. A chill ran down her spine the moment her hands came into contact with his bare chest.

"Mmmm, something smells delicious."

Killian chuckled, the muscles of his chest moving under Emma's touch. "Wait to take a bite, they'll taste even better."

"I'm not talking about pancakes, I mean bacon." Without waiting for an answer, she approached the counter and grabbed a piece of bacon from the plate set there, bringing it to her mouth.

It was then when Killian's head turned, an arched eyebrow and an amusing expression on his face. "Bad form, love, stealing food while the other person is focused on getting the pancakes do not burn." He pointed at her with the spatula while winking. "I've always known there was a little pirate in you."

"Turn your head Jones, and do not get distracted." She faked a bossy tone, frowning as she made the gesture of turning around with her hand. "I'm still waiting for my promised breakfast, the bacon is just an advance." To prove her point, she bit the bacon again and licked her lips to savor it.

"So demanding, Swan."

"But you like it." She smirked at him as she perched on the kitchen island directly in front of him, from where she had the best access to continuing watching Killian. "I'm hungry, keep going."

He ignored her for a moment, his gaze scanning her body from top to bottom as if assessing whether to dash to capture his prey or not. Finally, his eyes traveled upwards, focusing on hers and directing her a penetrating gaze that shouted silently ‘later’. He licked his lips before tilting his head slightly. "As you wish." And then he turned around and resumed his task.

Emma enjoyed herself with the sight in front of her, with his broad shoulders, his narrow waist, the movement of his muscles as he worked, the way the sweatpants hung loosely from his hips... She suppressed the urge to send the breakfast and pancakes to hell and reach for those pants, now that she knew what was hidden under them. The mere idea made her mouth water and not just for the food.

Emma was unprepared for Killian to turn around unexpectedly holding a plate full of pancakes, "Your breakfast is ready, milady." He offered with an exaggerated bow. She realized at that moment that her mouth hung open, so she forced herself to press her lips together and focus her gaze on... the plate of pancakes. Too late. "See something you like, Swan?" The bastard smirked at her before approaching her with a predatory expression on his face.

Before Emma could react, he set the plate of pancakes on the counter, far enough away from her, and then reached for her.

"Good Morning." He murmured, his lips only inches from hers, circling her waist and pulling her to him.

"Hi," She managed to mumble, placing her arms around his neck, while a warm sensation spread all over her body, her stomach fluttering in anticipation. "I missed you this morning."

"Aye, love, me too." His lips came even closer to hers, without touching them. "Well, it's time to make up for the wait, isn't it?" Without waiting for her response, he finally offered her what she was craving, capturing her lips with his.

They continued like this for the next few minutes, the food completely forgotten, and instead, satiating their hunger for each other. His hands began to wander over her body, while he hummed in appreciation against her lips when he noticed that she had not bothered to put on the bra. "Even though I'm fond of that lovely t-shirt you wear, I'd rather see you without it." He growled while helping her to take it off with a fluid movement, leaving her bare torso to match him.

Even though her mind was clouded by desire, she found a glimmer of lucidity that she used to tease him. "So this is going to be the typical pre-breakfast sex session?" Killian ignored her, his scruff rubbing against the sensitive skin of her neck. Emma bit her lip in an attempt to suppress a moan and continued speaking in a seductive whisper. "You disappoint me, Jones. First, you go with the classic missionary position for our first time and now the cliché of sex in the kitchen. What happened to your idea of unique and special moments?" "I didn’t hear you complain about rounds two and three." He mumbled, hot puffs of air sending goosebumps down her skin. "But if you prefer, we can move our activities to a place that meets your standards of originality, like the rooftop, maybe?"

"Nah, maybe later. Come here, Jones, we still have several places to try in this apartment of yours." She drew him to herself pressing his chest against hers and enjoying the delicious friction of the hair of his torso against her delicate skin. Definitely, she could get used to this new way of enjoying Saturday mornings.

They spent the rest of the weekend in company with each other, much of that time in his apartment, exploring their bodies and discovering new forms of pleasure, their level of intimacy becoming even more intense. But they not only devoted themselves to enjoying fantastic sex, they also had time to get out of their particular bubble and socialize with their friends.

On Saturday afternoon Emma accompanied Killian to one of his practices to teach small kids to sail. Later, they met with Belle and Will to hang out for a while. When they returned to Killian's apartment hours later they resumed the task of continuing to enjoy each other.

On Sunday morning Emma did wake up with a warm body beside her on the bed. Contrary to what she had thought at first, feeling someone curled up next to her with a protective arm on her waist, far from appearing too much, caused her a feeling of contentment unknown until now, while she longed to wake up like this every morning— forever.

They had their usual brunch with Mary Margaret, David, and little Leo. This time, Graham and Merida, who had finally started dating, also joined them. She found this facet of socializing with other people more and more satisfying, something unexpected for her, but at least that was a sign that she was still on the right path of opening her heart completely.

They even had time to make a video call with Liam, Elsa, and the kids. This wasn't the first time she had participated in these calls since they had started dating. In addition, her level of affinity with Elsa had increased over the weeks and they chatted from time to time even if neither of the two Jones brothers were present. What differentiated this occasion from the previous ones was that she was dressed casually, with her hair pulled back in a loose bun, giving clear signs that she had spent the day—and the night— there. Elsa already knew of their plan in advance, of course, but Emma did not miss the look of appreciation that she directed at her.

Although Emma tried to extend her stay in Killian's apartment, on Sunday evening she resigned herself to returning to her own apartment. She needed a change of clothes and rest a whole night to go back to work the next day. Even so, when Killian accompanied her to the doorway, she still remained reluctant to leave. Killian was not going to make things easy for her, apparently.

"Are you sure you have to leave? Can I tempt you again with breakfast or something more special?" He practically purred his words, his warm breath caressing her lips.

Her resolve weakened at times, but she held her ground. "I have to rest, and something tells me that if I stayed I wouldn't get the rest I need. My boyfriend is quite insatiable, you know?"

Killian tilted his head, his eyes darting to her lips. "It's funny, because my girlfriend is also quite insatiable. I think they would like each other, wouldn't they?"

Emma hummed in agreement. "Maybe you're right."

"Anyway, I think that boyfriend of yours is a lucky guy." Emma lost herself for a moment in the intensity of his gaze charged with something akin to reverence. After letting out a deep breath, she brushed his lips with her own and walked away before falling into temptation.

"I am the lucky one, believe me." It was the last thing she said before turning and starting to walk down the corridor.

"Text me when you get home, please."

Emma turned her head slightly towards him and nodded silently. When she resumed her way she did it with a wide smile on her face and a sense of happiness spreading through her body.

I just got home.

Good;) By the way, how am I supposed to sleep now? Your vanilla perfume is everywhere, Swan.

Change the sheets?

Over my dead body!

How dramatic...

But you like it.

Maybe...

Sweet dreams.

I'm sure yours —if you get to sleep—will be sweet, indeed, sprinkled with a little bit of vanilla.

You're a bloody siren.

But you like it.

I do.

Even though the screen had gone blank, Emma stared at the phone for a few seconds, feeling the weight of the device on her hands. She sometimes had to shake her head at the feeling that this little device, or rather its predecessor, the one she had lost, had been the cause of her finding Killian. A sense of vertigo seized her as she thought what would have happened had she not lost the phone, had she not entered that cafe, and stolen Killian's phone by accident... Her life now would continue to be the miserable life she was used to. Instead, now she had a promising future ahead of her, something unthinkable until now.

Her brows furrowed when another thought, also related to the phone, crossed her mind. Even though it had been two weeks since he had retrieved his phone, he hadn't made any intention of using it again. He never carried it with him and wasn't in sight in his apartment either.

It was something strange in a way, since that phone had been the cause of bringing them together in the first place and was also quite more expensive than the one he had acquired at the airport. Her heart tightened in her chest as she wondered what would be the reason, sensing that there was a deep meaning behind it. Emma had the suspicion that the motive was not in the device itself, but rather in its content.

Before going to sleep, she took a mental note, she would ask Killian when she had the chance. He had helped her on so many levels to come out of her shell that the least she could do was help him to move on and overcome his past once and for all.

So, there was one more part planned initially for this chapter, but I then thought that, since it has been a fluffy one, that final angsty section wouldn't fit here, so I decided to leave it for the next chapter...

Thanks for reading, I'd like to know what you all think. :)

@rouhn @couldnthandleit @teamhook @malec4everr @ijustwantyoucaskett-always@kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @suwya

#cs ff #cs au #cs march madness #captain swan #call me #mayquita writes #my cs writings #cs ff au #captain swan ff

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snidgetsafan · 6 years ago

Text

The Curse of the Black Roger: Chapter 7

Rating: T

Summary:

“You should start believing in ghost stories, Miss Swan – because you’re in one.”

When young Princess Emma found a pirate necklace on the baby rescued from the sea, she never expected years later to be swept into an adventure worthy of her favorite novels.

And she certainly never expected someone like the legendary Captain Hook.

A “Pirates of the Carribean” AU

Notes: Here is my offering for the CSSNS! Thanks to @amorecolorfulmoniker, whose pic set inspired this fic. Thanks to my betas, @gingerchangeling and @shireness-says who acted as a sounding board, a crying shoulder and grammar enforcers where needed. Thanks also to @slow-smiles, who created amazing two pic sets for this fic! (1 and 2) And thank you to @wingedlioness for making the amazing header!

This chapter was also done for @csmarchmadness. Thanks for organizing this event, which not only kicked my butt into finishing this chapter, but which is also providing us with wonderful fic!

On AO3

Previous chapters: Prologue, Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6

Emma sat curled up against the headboard on her bunk, trying to stay calm and stave off the panic that she could feel rising. She had woken up as the first rays of dawn had bathed her room in red light, only to find a stranger seated at the foot of her bed, startling her into instant alertness.

Dr. Almasi, as he had introduced himself, had checked her for any injury before declaring her in perfect health. Despite her unease, his movements had been efficient and to the point, if a little brusque, as he had examined her in silence. Hirudinas, the court doctor, had always taken care to treat her carefully and ceremoniously, mindful of her rank, chattering on and on about the weather and the latest gossip in court. Almasi hadn’t taken the same precautions; after all, as far as he knew, she was just a maid. Surprisingly, Emma had found she quite liked it.

Before departing, the doctor had told her she could find breakfast in the galley if she so wished. When Emma had reminded him she was a prisoner and couldn’t really roam the ship, Almasi had turned around and asked her in his cultured, accented voice with no hint of any mockery, “Well, why not? There is nowhere you could escape to, Miss Swan, so it makes no sense to confine you to your cabin.”

And with those matter-of-fact words, the doctor had gone, leaving the door wide open as if to make his point. Emma, however, had hurried to close it as soon as she had heard his footsteps fade in the corridor. With the door open, she was free to go, true. But others were also free to come in. And she didn’t want to see anyone – not yet, at least.

Especially not Hook.

At that thought, Emma had felt a chill go down her spine as the events of the night before came back to haunt her. Every time she tried to rationalize what had happened, images of Hook transforming flashed before her eyes in excruciating detail. The noise Gill’s head had made as he had torn it off his neck wouldn’t leave her mind either. Tears came to Emma’s eyes as she realized in what dire straits she now found herself. Her situation somehow kept getting worse and worse, ever since she had put on that damned medallion.

Which is why she had to calm herself and think , the princess thought determinedly. For the first time in her life, she couldn’t rely on anyone but herself. She had been trained all her life in diplomacy; this situation wasn’t that different, was it? It was just that the stakes were a little… higher than the usual diplomatic blunders she had to look out for.

Just her life; that was all.

She had to concentrate on the facts. What did she know? The pirates had kidnapped her because they needed the last coin and someone to sacrifice to break their curse. She was thus important, and this gave her leverage. Apart from the previous night, when they had terrorized her, they also ensured her well-being: she was fed, clothed, had her own cabin and no one had touched her. Whether this was due to some obscure pirate code article, or for some other reason, this also indicated they would not resort to violence. More power to her.

Now, how to use that power.

~~~~~

An hour later, with the sun well over the horizon and her stomach rumbling, Emma found herself at the bottom of the ladder leading to the deck, her insides knotting with nerves. She had no idea where the galley was, and she didn’t want to explore the dark corridors on her own. Which left the deck, bathed in sunlight, but full of undead pirates. With some luck, she’d be able to ask the doctor where the galley was, or even maybe the pirate with the red hat – Smee, was it?

She could hear the normal noises you would expect to hear on a ship trickling down from the open trapdoor – orders being shouted, creaking wood, the sails flapping in the wind. The princess took a moment to gather herself, her heart beating erratically in her chest. Emma had no desire to interact with any of the pirates, and not only because they turned into monsters at night. No, it had more to do with the fact that they wanted to sacrifice her in a dark magic ritual .

Emma took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself down. They needed her, she told herself again. So until they arrived at their destination, she was as safe as she could be while on a pirate ship. Which, granted, probably didn’t mean much. But in order to find a way out of her predicament, she had to use the time she had to gather as much information as possible. The princess started to slowly, carefully climb up the ladder, not knowing what to expect as she peeked her head above the opening and looked around her,.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d think she were on any regular ship, with sailors attending to their tasks to make sure they arrived safely at their destination. But this was not a normal ship; even if the macabre scene she had seen the previous night was not permanently imprinted on her eyelids every time she closed her eyes, the black planks, sails, and ropes of the ship would tell her something was amiss. And if she raised her eyes to the top of the mainmast, the skull and bones flag floating from its peak would remove all her illusions about this being a normal ship.

Seeing that no one was paying her any attention, focused as they were on their work, Emma gingerly climbed the rest of the way and stood near some barrels, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. From her vantage point near the stern, she could see that there were half a dozen men on deck. She recognized Smee’s red knit hat near the bow, and she thought that the tall bald man pulling on a rope across her might be Fagan, the man who had almost hit her when she had come aboard.

Emma stood in the shadow of the quarterdeck, not far from the steps leading up to it for a few minutes. She didn’t dare turn around or go up the stairs, not wanting to face the ship’s captain yet, despite the stare she could feel burning on the back of her head. She didn’t know how, but she knew it was Hook. Emma didn’t want to think about how she knew that. She instead watched the crew working, trying to reconcile the mundane scene in front of her with the nightmare she had stepped into the previous night. As she was watching a slim pirate swinging on the rigging, apparently checking the various pulleys near the mainmast, a familiar gravelly voice interrupted her contemplation.

“So, the princess deigns to grace us with her presence.”

Emma whipped her head towards Gill, fear taking hold of her again. They knew . However, instead of the gloating or angry expression she had expected to see him sporting, she was surprised to see an uncomfortable one that deepened at the alarm he saw on her face. To her bewilderment, the brash, vindictive pirate she had come to know and despise shuffled his feet, looking anywhere but at her, his eyes focusing somewhere behind her before he opened his mouth.

“Look, lovely… It was brought to my attention that my behavior towards you last night was apparently ‘highly inappropriate’ and on ‘the edge of being cruel’,” he began, reciting words that were clearly not his own. “So… yeah. I guess I’m sorry, and I won’t do it again.”

Emma stared at him, completely baffled, her mouth agape. What on earth had just happened? While it was clear that his words had been a repetition of what someone had said to him, his promise had sounded sincere, even if he didn’t seem that contrite.

Gill finally looked directly at Emma when some time had passed with no answer seemingly forthcoming from her. Scowling at her shocked expression, he barked, “What? Do you want me to drop to my knees to beg for your forgiveness as well? Well dream on, sugar, that’s never happening.”

Strangely, his coarse words allowed Emma to find her mental footing again. An antagonistic Gill was easier to deal with than a contrite Gill. She was used to the pirate being hostile; seeing him this sheepish made her… nervous.

“Oh please no. That’s the last thing I need to see,” Emma told him, wrinkling her nose at the mental picture of the pirate kneeling in front of her.

“Good,” Gill said, again looking anywhere but at her.

“Good,” Emma repeated, doing the same, focusing on the barrels next to her as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

The two stood side by side, the silence becoming more and more uncomfortable as the seconds passed, until Emma’s stomach rumbled loudly. For once thankful for the noise, she turned towards the pirate, drawing on all her etiquette training to ask him as politely as she could, “Could you direct me towards the galley, please?”

Gill grunted, and with a jerk of his head, invited her to follow him as he headed towards the trap door. Wordlessly, he led her down the ladder, turning right instead of left. After a few seconds, the stocky man stopped in front of a doorway, gesturing for her to precede him into the room.

Emma stepped inside carefully, looking around for other pirates. She was glad to see the galley empty, the only movement coming from the pots swaying gently on their hooks as waves rocked the ship. The walls, floor and ceiling were the same black as the rest of the ship, lending a very gloomy atmosphere to the windowless room. The only light came from a couple of lanterns swinging over the big table set in the middle of the galley. Curiously, Emma couldn’t help thinking that even though the walls of her cabin were also dark, the sunlight had revealed chestnut reflections in them this morning which had only brightened as the light had increased. Here, however, they were as black as night, seeming to absorb the light despite being made of the same wood.

Fitting, really , Emma thought as Gill brushed past her, heading to what seemed to be the larder. He got out a dish with some meat on it with one hand and grabbed a few pieces of bread in the other before putting them down, gesturing for her to take a seat on the long bench that ran the length of the table.

With a murmured thank you , Emma sat down, struggling shortly with her skirts, and started to eat. She stopped chewing when she saw the pirate reach for a piece of bread, which he started to munch. Feeling her gaze on him, Gill raised his eyes.

“What?” he asked.

“I thought you weren’t able to eat because of the curse?”

“Nah, we can eat. It’s just that it does nothing for us. We can’t taste it, and it doesn’t sate our hunger,” the pirate answered before taking another bite.

“Then… why eat?” Emma asked, completely flabbergasted.

Gill shrugged, shredding his bread thoughtfully with his hands. “Not everyone does. It’s just… old habits die hard.”

And it helps you feel human , Emma realized, reading between the lines. Emma couldn’t imagine being hungry for days, let alone for hundreds of years. This was worse than Tantalus’ punishment; they could eat, unlike him, but still their suffering did not end. They were truly without hope. Despite her resentment towards Gill, Emma couldn’t help but feel compassion for him. She wouldn’t wish this fate on her worst enemy. Choosing not to voice her thoughts, she instead said, “So that’s why there’s so much food, and how you were able to whip up yesterday’s dinner.”

The pirate snorted, looking at her with an amused smile. This was the first time Emma had seen him without any hint of hostility in his expression, and he looked softer, almost kind. “Well, you can thank the lads who raided the castle. At the prospect of getting the last coin and breaking the curse, they got a little… over enthusiastic in your kitchens. Morons forgot that fresh meat doesn’t hold long enough to get to Black Rock, and neither do fresh vegetables. McCullough was actually relieved when the captain ordered him to cook you a meal, he kept whining about throwing away that much food.”

Emma smiled wanly, continuing to eat as Gill spoke, filing away the information that their trip would be at least several days. Granny must be furious they touched her kitchen , she thought, her smile widening. Imagining the matron cursing the pirates out when she realized her larders had been raided entertained Emma as footsteps sounded in the corridor.

The princess’ shoulders stiffened, making her realize with surprise that at some point during her conversation with Gill, she had relaxed. Half-expecting to see Hook, Emma turned towards the door, but she had never seen the man who stepped in the doorway. His blue eyes, set in a weathered face, were framed by deep laugh lines, and his thick red beard covered the bottom of his face and part of his neck. He looked at Gill briefly before focusing on her, his accent making his voice surprisingly melodious.

“Everything alright, love? Gill here treatin’ you right?”

What is it with these pirates and calling me everything but my name? Emma thought, miffed. Out loud, she answered the newcomer briefly, choosing to be prudent and not make any waves. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Did he apologize? Did you apologize, you stupid lout?” he pressed, his accent getting thicker as he addressed Gill, looking at him in disapproval. Gill huffed, grumbling about bossy bastards as he started munching on his bread.

“Yes, he did,” Emma answered for him, looking between the two men curiously. She was missing something, some piece of information.

“He did? Good. What he did last night was completely inappropriate, lass, despite his grudge. Which is totally unjustified in the first place,” he finished, looking pointedly at his crewmate. His wording made Emma realize that she had been right, and Gill’s apology had not been spontaneous. The ginger pirate seemed to have quite the sway over his crewmate.

“Did you want something, Mr. Evans, or would you like to continue berating me?” Gill barked without much bite. He looked almost… fond? Honestly, they sounded like an old couple, Emma thought, observing their bickering.

“Eh, you know you love me,” Evans replied, smirking at Gill.

“I often wonder why,” the seated pirate grumbled.

Oh , Emma realized. They were a couple. Looking down at her plate, Emma wondered why Evans loved Gill . Guess Papa was right, and love does make us blind , she thought bemusedly, not understanding how anyone could love a man so brash. Although that glimpse she had gotten earlier of a softer man...

“Of course you do,” Evans said, before turning towards Emma. “If you’re finished eating, lass, the captain is waiting for you.”

Oh boy, here we go.

~~~~~

The captain’s quarters looked different in the daylight. While still dim because of the dark walls, the portholes lining one side of the cabin let the morning light pour into the room, dispelling the shadows that had seemed so overwhelming the night before.

Hook sat at his desk, clad in black from head to toe. As soon as Evans ushered Emma in the room, the captain stood up, his hand going to his belt buckle. Now that he stood in broad daylight, she could see that his hair was not completely black, and that his beard held ginger hues, breaking his monochromatic look. Emma stayed near the door once it had closed, leaving the table between the pirate and herself.

“Swan,” Hook greeted, smiling at her thinly. “Did you sleep well?”

Her frosty look must have been answer enough, as his smile faded quickly and he cleared his throat.

“Right,” he said scratching behind his ear. The movement attracted Emma’s gaze to his palm. She could still vividly remember the previous night when she had thrust her knife into his hand, the blade slicing through flesh and tendons before sinking into the tabletop. Looking down quickly, she could see the stab mark in the table, but, try as she might, she could see no trace of a mark on Hook’s hand, even now that it was resting again on his belt buckle.

“If you’re looking for a reminder of when you… nailed me to the table, Swan, you won’t find anything,” Hook said, raising his eyebrow and licking his lips slowly when Emma looked back at his face.

The princess shifted on her feet, troubled by his salacious expression before she processed his words. “I didn’t nail you to the table, I used a knife,” she told him, frowning. What was he talking about?

The pirate blinked, looking out of his depth for a second before he cleared his throat again.

“Anyway, no mark, as you can see,” he rallied, showing her his hand first palm up, then palm down while taking a step forward. His tanned skin indeed seemed unmarred. If not for the gash in the table, she could have thought that she had dreamt the whole scene.

Emma looked at his hand until he dropped it to the table, leaning forward. “I think there might have been a slight misunderstanding between us last night, lass,” Hook told her, trying to catch her gaze.

“I don’t see what there is to misunderstand about needing a blood sacrifice to end your curse,” Emma snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “The fact you intend to kill me leaves nothing to interpretation.” Only how you intend to do it , she thought, a shiver running down her spine.

“That’s where the misunderstanding is, Swan. We’re not going to kill you,” Hook told her, before gesturing to a chair with his hook. “Sit down, love, so that I can explain.”

“Oh please, don’t try to placate me! Dark magic always requires a high price, there is no way I’ll walk out of this ritual unharmed,” Emma snapped, choosing to remain standing. What kind of idiot does he take me for?

“You said you can tell when people lie to you. Well, Swan, have I told you a lie?”

Emma pursed her lips, frustrated that she could not say that he had. But it made no sense – he hadn’t lied either the previous night, and he had told her… Had he though? Or had her imagination run away from her, fueled by her fear? The princess raised her head, locking gazes with the pirate captain. With a short, jerky shake of her head, she indicated that no, he hadn’t lied to her.

“See? Then sit ,” he commanded, the former request turning into an order as he took a chair, looking up at her expectantly.

Not looking away from his face, Emma pulled over a chair from across from where he sat before plopping down on it. If there was a time to draw on all her diplomacy training, then this was it. The princess took a deep breath, which helped to center her. “I’m sitting. Now explain.”

“The blood sacrifice we’re asking of you is in no way life-threatening,” Hook began, “Blood magic does not require the death of the offering; hell, it doesn’t always mean the spilling of blood at all. In this particular ritual, all we need is a very small quantity of blood.”

“Then if you need so little, why bring me with you? Couldn’t you have taken it from me in Misthaven and released me?” Emma asked, ashamed to hear a whine in her voice.

“Because the ritual is very particular and demands blood freshly spilled.”

For the first time in their conversation, Emma could feel he was not entirely honest. He’s holding something back , she thought. “You’re not telling me everything. What are you trying to hide?”

Hook sighed, although he didn’t seem particularly upset with her. “Quite perceptive, aren’t you? Aye, you’re right, there is something else. The blood must be willingly given. We can’t take it by force.”

“Seriously?” Emma asked incredulously. “What is this curse? Why not use someone from your crew?”

“Because we all have already given our blood. Yours is the last ingredient we need to break the curse. Well, that and the last coin,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Emma asked abruptly. Hook was giving her incredible leverage. He was far from an idiot, so why was he being so straightforward?

“Because we need your help, Swan,” Hook said, “And to deceive you to get it would be bad form.”

“So kidnapping me is not bad form, but lying to me is. You have twisted standards, you know that, right?”

A shadow crossed Hook’s face before he leant forward, his voice low. “Understand something, Swan. For three hundred years we have searched for a cure for this curse. Now that we’re so near our goal, we are getting desperate to be free, and we’re not afraid to take a few shortcuts.”

“And what shortcuts will you take to gain my compliance?”

Hook chuckled, “Oh, I have no illusions about ‘gaining your compliance,’ lass, I know you’re too strong-headed for that. No, what I’m trying to earn is your cooperation .”

“And how do you intend to earn it?”

“By answering your questions. No trickery, no deception.”

Emma leant back in her chair, considering the pirate and his words. All her assumptions were being turned on their heads since she had stepped foot on this ship. Since she was stuck in this situation until she could find a way to escape, she might as well get as much information as she could.

“Alright then. First question: let’s say I help you break the curse. Will you take me back unharmed to Misthaven?”

“Well, I’m not sure it would be a good idea for us to sail right into the bay, but I’ll get you home safe – or as close to home as I can.”

He was sincere. He did seem to have some sort of ‘good form,’ as he put it.

“Right. Next question. How did you end up cursed? Did you get punished for stealing from the wrong person?”

“In a way, yes, although not in the way you think. What you must know is that this ship was not always a pirate ship, and this crew were not always pirates. We used to belong to the Braesal Navy.”

“Wait– Braesal? But that kingdom disappeared hundreds of years ago!”

“Aye, it did.”

“But that would make you…”

“More than three hundred years old, aye. But this is not the first time I’ve told you.”

He was right: he had told her just a few minutes ago, but she had swept the fact to the side, focusing instead on the curse and her apparent imminent death. Emma watched the pirate carefully. He didn’t look three hundred years old. In fact, he barely looked a handful of years older than her. But then, Emma remembered what he had looked like the night before, emerging from the hatch into the moonlight. She could believe that Hook was three hundred years old. A three hundred year old corpse, to be precise.

Suppressing a shiver as she remembered the previous night, Emma nodded at Hook, conceding his point. “Okay, but what does Braesal have to do with the curse? I thought you said it was from Agrabah?”

“As I was trying to tell you, we used to be in the Navy,” Hook began, “The Roger was called the Jewel of the Realm then, and my brother Liam was its captain. Our admiral, the King’s brother, ordered Liam to retrieve a chest, promising its contents would help end the war that was suffocating our kingdom. So we did,” the captain said, chuckling bitterly while playing with the tip of his hook. “But the weasel had lied. He wanted the chest because of a legend that said whoever owned it became immortal. He wanted to use it to overthrow his brother, you see. We tried to stop him, but for our efforts Liam was killed, and the prince had me imprisoned. After he took a little souvenir, that is,” he smiled sarcastically, waving his hook in the air, chilling Emma once she understood he meant his hand. “The crew freed me with the help of a palace guard, and we took the chest back as our severance pay, as well as the Jewel .”

Emma listened to him intently. She had studied the fall of the Braesal kingdom when she had been a child. She remembered that the last king, Brendan, had orchestrated a coup against his older brother. The Mad King, as he had been known, had reigned for three short years before being captured by the joint forces of Misthaven and Camelot when they had taken the capital. He had died a few months later, murdered by one of his former officers.

“So that tells me how you became a pirate, not how you were cursed. If owning the chest made you cursed, then how come the King was not? I’m pretty sure a king transforming into a skeleton at night would have been quite hard to miss.”

“Turns out the the prince’s Agrabhese wasn’t quite up to par. Owning the chest was not sufficient to be cursed. You had to take coins from it for the magic to take.”

“So he didn’t?”

“No. I guess planning to murder your brother to take his throne must be quite time-consuming, luckily for us.”

Emma privately agreed. Thank the gods Brendan hadn’t gained immortality. If someone power-hungry enough to kill his own flesh and blood had become invincible, what would the world look like today?

“So you and your crew took the coins.”

“Aye, we did. After all, what better way to take our revenge on the King than by spending his precious gold to wage war against him?”

Emma blinked. What did he mean, wage war? Then she remembered that the reason Camelot and Misthaven had been able to invade Braesal had been that the latter’s navy had been so weakened by pirate attacks that the two allies had been able to navigate straight into the capital’s harbor. But surely he didn’t mean...

“You took part in the Pirate War?” she asked in disbelief.

“If by taking part you mean engineering it, then aye,” Hook told her, raising an eyebrow at her tone.

“You engineered– you were in the Pirate War ,” she said, completely in awe and forgetting her situation for a minute. She remembered reading accounts of the conflict, the naval battles, the boardings, the battles to the death. And he had been in them . But then, if he had spent the coins...

“If you spent all the coins, then how come no one else was cursed?” Emma asked, secretly wondering how come she hadn’t been cursed.

“Only people who take coins directly from the chest are cursed,” Hook answered, staring at her with amusement, “so don’t worry yourself, you’re quite safe.”

“I know I’m safe, I’d have noticed turning into a monster at night,” Emma snapped, miffed that he’d somehow divined her thoughts. But then something he’d said a couple of times finally registered. “Wait – if you need the blood of the original thieves… what do you need me for? I’ve never taken anything from that chest.”

“Well… you haven’t, Swan. But do you remember that palace guard I mentioned earlier?”

Emma blinked, baffled by the non-sequitur. “Er… yes?”

“Well, after he helped us escape from the castle, we took him onboard the Roger. Pirate life didn’t suit him, and he had a young lass waiting for him, so after a few days he went home, but not without a little parting gift from the chest,” Hook explained, getting the coin out of a pocket in his waistcoat. “When we knew what we had to do to break the curse, we realized one of the “thieves” was missing, and we figured it had to be him. However, when we came back to the village we had dropped him off at, he was long gone, chased by the war. We searched for him, but only managed to find his wife, who told us he had disappeared one day, and that she had never seen him again.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with me,” Emma interrupted. Why was he telling her all this?

“Because while we never heard from McEala again, he’d had a son with his wife before disappearing. And that son had two sons, who had children of their own. And so on and so on, until we get to you, love. You are the last descendant of Ian McEala, Swan.”

Oh. Oh no. Emma realized with horror that their plan hinged on her actually being McEala’s great-great-grandchild. Which she definitely was not; as a royal, her bloodline had been carefully traced back five hundred years, ever since her family acceded to the throne. And there was definitely no Braesal guard among her ancestry.

“But how can you be sure I’m the one you’re looking for?” she asked, a little desperately.

“Well, for one, you had the coin,” Hook started to list, “second, we always kept an eye on the McEala family’s whereabouts, even when searching for the other coins. We lost them about ten years ago, though, when the ship they were on exploded.”

Emma felt a shiver go down her spine. “You were actually there, I didn’t imagine it,” she blurted out, leaning back in her chair. “It was you, you attacked the ship!”

Hook’s gaze grew dark at her words. “We certainly did not,” he bit out. “While we were approaching to board to get your father, the ship exploded. We don’t know what happened, though we suspect an idiot blew up the powder reserve. We would have come nearer, but then another ship approached, and we couldn’t stay without being discovered. We thought the McEala line was extinct, until the other night, when you told us your name.”

“But my name is Swan,” Emma protested, “and you said your guard was called McEala.”

“Ah, but my dear, don’t you know what Eala means in old Braelish?” Hook asked with a smirk. Emma looked at him, thinking hard, before she realized. Henry’s blanket, embroidered with swans, prompting her to name him after them. It had been decorated thus because...

“Aye, it means swan, love,” the pirate finished her thought, seeing the realization on her face.

Emma suddenly felt overwhelmed. Only a couple of hours ago, she had thought that her life had been in a downward spiral ever since she had put the medallion on – was that only two days ago? But she was coming to realize that events had been set in motion more than ten years ago, when she had taken the necklace from Henry’s blanket. And now here she was, prisoner on a pirate ship whose captain believed her capable of breaking their curse. But she couldn’t, she realized with growing alarm.

“Swan? Swan!” Hook’s voice came from afar, bringing her back to reality. The touch of his hand on her shoulder snapped her back to her senses as she jumped up and away from him. How had she not noticed him getting up and walking around the table? she thought wildly as she backed away until one of the sturdy chairs was between them.

Hook watched her warily, his hand now resting on the back of the chair she had been sitting on. Emma was thankful to note that he made no move towards her, as her heart slowed down to a normal rhythm.

“Are you alright, lass?” the captain asked, his blue eyes fixed on her face. It was eerie, now that he had moved out of the direct sunlight, how his hair and beard appeared once again black, his blue eyes the only spots of color on his whole being. They seemed to glow as Hook waited for her answer, his features cast in sharp contrast as he tilted his head, his eyebrow slowly rising as her silence lengthened.

Watching him, Emma couldn’t ignore how striking he looked; she shivered, for a reason she did not want to acknowledge. It was getting cold, that was all. Hook however straightened, his brow furrowing in consternation as he took a step forward, stopping when he saw Emma stiffen.

“You don’t have to worry, Swan. I know we didn’t meet under the best circumstances,” he began, causing Emma to raise her eyebrow in disbelief. That was quite the understatement, after all. “But I promise you we’ll take you home once we’re free of this curse. And the blood giving ceremony is not that dreadful, it’s just that you’ll have to give twice more than we did because you’re not the original – no, that’s not what I meant!” the captain backtracked, hearing her gasp and seeing the look of horror on her face as Emma felt her heart jump in her chest. “The ceremony requires three drops, so you’d only have to give six. Word of honor, Swan, that’s all we ask of you.”

Emma turned her head towards the window, biting her lip in thought. All he had said had rung true, but since boarding his ship all her beliefs and assumptions had been proven wrong. What was to say her lie detector wasn’t going awry too?

The princess also found she couldn’t stop challenging Hook. Apart from the fact he had kidnapped her, he had given her no reason to doubt him; she had her own room, had been fed twice now, and he had never lied to her. He did seem to be in earnest; he just wanted to be free from the curse which had plagued him and his crew for three centuries. Maybe that was the problem; he was making it too easy to trust him.

Emma also realized that out of the two of them, she was the deceiving one. But what was she supposed to do? Tell Hook the truth? At best she would be held for ransom, and at worst she’d be made to walk the plank. She had no choice, she had to continue this charade, at least for the moment.

As she had been thinking, Emma had been unconsciously rubbing her arms. She realized she had been doing so when Hook cleared his throat, sounding closer than she expected. As she whipped her head back towards him, she saw that he had sneaked up on her once again. Although, instead of standing close to her, he was standing at an arm’s length – literally, in this case, as his right arm was stretched out towards her, his coat hanging from his hand.

The princess looked at the pirate in surprise, not understanding. She also noted how he kept not only his distance, but his hooked arm away from her, trying to appear as harmless as possible. He wasn’t very successful, but Emma appreciated the effort nonetheless.

“You seemed cold,” Hook merely said in response to her questioning look, shaking the coat gently, encouraging her to take it.

Emma took it gratefully, preferring to hide her thoughts behind this excuse. Plus, it was getting cooler in the cabin, especially for someone who had been used to the sweltering heat of a Misthaven summer, and who was only wearing a light dress.

“Thank you,” she said softly, putting the heavy coat over her shoulders, getting surrounded in the captain’s smell. Strangely enough, she could feel no warmth coming from the garment, even though he must have had taken it off his own body not more than a minute before.

“You’re welcome,” he answered just as softly, looking at her with an odd expression for an instant, before blinking quickly and taking a step back. “Although you’ll be needing warmer clothes as we travel up north, lass. There are some in the hold, I’ll take you there.”

–--

Emma ducked her head as she entered the hold, Hook’s lantern casting dancing shadows as it swung from his namesake. With yet another shiver, this reminded Emma of the ghastly lights that the harbor fire had cast on the castle walls. Was her family okay? How many casualties had there been? She hoped David and her father were safe, and that they were with Henry. Gods, she even had time to wish for Cassidy to be okay before Hook interrupted her thoughts.

“If you turn left behind that crate, lass, you’ll find where we stashed the clothes,” he guided her, pointing over her shoulder to a large crate full of dinnerware.

Emma followed his instructions, advancing slowly as the heavy coat swished against her legs. The light fell on three chests full of garments, both masculine and feminine. Some of the dresses seemed familiar to her, especially that light blue one at the back. It looked like…

“Wait, did those clothes comes from m– the castle?” she snapped, turning towards Hook, who was leaning against the pile of crates on which he had put the lantern.

The captain smirked, spreading his arms. ”Pirate, love, of course they did. What, do you expect me to carry a whole wardrobe around in case I need to clothe a pretty lass?”

The princess rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore his last comment as she turned back towards the clothes. She was mad, that blue dress was one of her favorites. Emma quickly realized that she had to be careful in her choice of clothes. Not only had he mentioned them going North (something she would dwell on later in the privacy of her cabin), but she was supposed to be a maid. What would Hook think if she went for her usual fabrics and cuts? She didn’t want to take any risks.

Searching through the chests, she saw from the corner of her eye a fourth one, apart from the others, full of women’s clothes which seemed to come from the servants quarters. Before she could take two steps towards it, Hook stopped her.

“Not this one, lass, that’s part of Allen’s bounty.”

“What does a pirate want with women’s clothes?” Emma blurted out, completely baffled. “Wait, I don’t want to know,” she hurriedly added after a second’s thought. She wasn’t sure she could take another shock today, she thought, resolutely ignoring images of dancing skeletons wearing lacy dresses and bonnets.

Hook chuckled, however, mirth dancing in his eyes at her reaction. “It’s nothing like that, lass. His descendant is getting married in two days’ time, and he’s taken that chest to complete her trousseau .”

Emma nodded before turning back towards the chests, wanting to hide her face from the captain. Just when she thought the pirate couldn’t surprise her anymore, he managed to find a new way to do so. They had families? Did they know about the curse, or that they were pirates? Emma wondered as she rifled through a chest, finally finding an outfit simple enough for her persona, and warm enough for colder temperatures. A couple more minutes provided her with a cloak, and even with clean stockings. Search as she might, however, but she couldn’t find any shoes. After her trek to the ship, and the last two days, her slippers were the worse for wear, and were definitely too slippery to walk on the damp planks of the deck.

As always Hook seemed to be able to read her mind, as a pair of boots landed near her, his voice ringing in the empty hold. “I think these might be your size, you’d better check though.”

After close inspection of the boots, Emma privately agreed, but the pirate was right, she needed to try them on. Sitting down on a closed crate, she leant down to remove her slippers before suddenly looking at Hook, who was watching her with a smile on his face. “Do you mind?” she snapped. He had already seen her in her nightgown, she certainly wasn’t about to let him see her bare legs.

The captain raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he made a show of turning his back to her. Emma hurried to try on the boots. While she felt a slight pinch at the level of her toes, they were fine, and would adjust to her feet with a little time; after all, it’s not like she could call the court cobbler to make her a new custom pair. She would have to make do.

––-

A couple of hours later, Emma sat in her cabin, dressed in her new breeches and shirt, fiddling with the laces of her vest as she remembered the last words she had shared with Hook. After they had come back to her cabin, just before she’d stepped through the threshold, the pirate captain had caught her arm, turning the princess to face him.

“Swan… Emma,” he had begun, watching her earnestly, “I know all of this is a lot to take in, and that you have no reason to help us but… can we count on your cooperation?”

“I…” Emma had stuttered, flustered at being so close to him.

Before she could gather her wits enough to answer him, he had plowed on, eager to persuade her. “With the coin in your possession, you are the last piece to free us from this curse, so that we can live our lives. I know it’s a lot to ask, but we… I need you, Swan.”

Emma hadn’t needed her lie detector to know he was telling the truth; his eyes had been imploring, passionate in their plea. How could she say no to him?

So she hadn’t. She’d nodded, and had been rewarded by a smile – a true smile, nothing smirky about it – and a squeeze of her arm, before he’d let her go inside her cabin.

And now here she was, consumed by nerves and something that felt a lot like guilt. Even though she was still afraid of the Black Roger’ s crew, she couldn’t help but pity them now that she knew about their plight. And to think they’d endured it for three centuries... she thought with horror. Through her few interactions with them that day, she’d seen a human side to them: the obvious affection between Gill and Evans, Allen’s family…

As for the captain of the ship, she didn’t know how she felt about him. Each time she thought about the previous night, his monstrous transformation, that picture was now replaced in her mind by his earnest eyes and brilliant smile of relief when she had accepted to help.

And that was exactly what was causing her feeling of guilt. Because ultimately, the captain’s hopes would be dashed. She wasn’t the one he needed; that was Henry. And that fact would quickly come to light when they performed the ceremony, and nothing happened.

Although… Hook had said that the curse needed the blood of those that had stolen the coins… And wasn’t that what she’d done? She had stolen the medallion from Henry, so maybe the curse had somehow transferred to her? Despite not being a direct descendant of McEala, maybe she could still break the curse, and free Hook and his crew.

She wanted to help them – and she hoped that she could, because she didn’t dare imagine the consequences if she failed.

Tag list (tell me if you want to be added!): @hollyethecurious, @shireness-says, @gingerchangeling, @slow-smiles, @wingedlioness, @branlovesouat, @snowbellewells, @kmomof4

#cssns #cs march madness #cs ff #cs fic #captain swan #snidget writes #tcotbr

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bromfieldhall · 6 years ago

Text

101 Days of Captain Swan - Day 50 - CS Fanfic

Read from the beginning on FF.Net or AO3 or

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49,

For @deathbycaptainswan and Guest

My thanks to @csmarchmadness for getting me to write something after nearly two years! Hope you all like it.

011:"May I have this dance?"

“Stop fidgeting, little brother, or do you wish everyone in the room to suspect that this is your first time attending a royal ball?”

“Do not call me little brother,” Killian countered irritably. “And I’m not a bloody child, Liam – I don’t fidget, especially at the prospect of some dancing, royal or not.”

In blatant contradiction of his claim, Killian tugged his pristine white vest down a little then adjusted his blue naval jacket. Twice.

“Maybe it’s the prospect of seeing your mystery woman again that has you preening yourself then?” his brother suggested in obvious amusement.

Killian’s head snapped around at that remark and Liam was quite certain that if looks could kill, he would be well and truly dead.

“I knew I would regret telling you,” the younger man muttered in annoyance. He looked away and scanned the near to full ballroom. “Not that it matters. The lady is clearly not coming.”

Liam frowned at his brother’s pessimism and placed a hand on his shoulder, causing the younger man to turn back to him.

“Come now, the Princess has yet to be announced and they’ll only do that when everyone has arrived. So until then, there is still hope. Right, brother?”

Killian gazed at him a moment then finally smiled a little and gave a curt nod.

“Aye. I suppose you’re right.”

“And if she doesn’t come, well then, there are many other women here who are very pleasing to the eye, are there not?” the older man continued helpfully.

Killian’s mouth tightened at that, but he kept his smile in place. How could he possibly explain to Liam that he had no interest in looking at anyone other than her when he couldn’t even explain it to himself?

When they’d docked that morning, he’d had no idea that his world would be turned upside down a mere few hours later.

Having finally scraped together enough money for commissions in the navy, he and Liam had worked tirelessly through the ranks. And now, here they were, on their first assignment as captain and lieutenant respectively. They had put into port to replenish supplies and had discovered that the princess of the realm was having a ball to celebrate her twenty first birthday. Naturally, Liam had taken the opportunity to attend the palace and offer a token of respect in the name of their King. Diplomacy was always one of his strong points and he knew it might pave the way for any alliances in the future should their own realm ever need it.

The princess had been with her parents when he’d been granted an audience that morning and presented the gift of fine perfume blended from sweetly fragrant flowers found only in their realm. She’d been so delighted with it, that she had invited him and his officers to her ball that evening.

Unfortunately, his news hadn’t been met with much enthusiasm from his brother. Killian had protested at what he saw as wasting time with ‘frivolities’ when they should be continuing with their mission.

With Liam being stubborn in his decision, however, he’d pulled rank and Killian had been forced to concede. Unhappy with his lot, he’d requested some time ashore through gritted teeth and had stalked off the moment his brother had nodded his assent.

The town had been a surprisingly bustling place, certainly larger than he’d expected. There was many a pedlar selling their wares, but there had been one in particular, set a little apart from the others, that had really caught his eye.

Flowers had adorned the seller’s stall, those clearly being the main source of income, and to the side there was a small table upon which sat a neatly laid out selection of books.

Eagerly, he’d walked over, only to feel a dart of disappointment when he’d seen that they’d made up a makeshift library of sorts. With a long voyage ahead of him, he’d hoped that he could have purchased a book to keep him entertained during the rare times he was off duty.

Still, as he’d perused the titles, he’d found himself drawn to one with a piratical theme in spite of himself.

“Do you want to borrow that?”

He’d looked up at the softly spoken question and felt his heart miss a beat at the vision before him. Simply dressed though she was, the young woman’s beauty was beyond compare. Long golden hair, softly curving lips, high cheekbones and green eyes that, he’d belatedly realised, gazed expectantly back at him as she’d waited for a reply.

“Uh...no...thank you,” he’d stuttered awkwardly and shut the book with a snap before placing it back on the table.

“Are you sure?” she’d pressed in faint amusement. “You’ve been reading it for the past ten minutes. Surely you must want to know how it ends?”

“Aye, Milady, I do,” he’d admitted with a rueful smile - and a fair blush if the heat he’d felt in his cheeks was anything to go by. “But I’m sailing on the early tide in the morning and our voyage is a long one. Much longer than the time you’d allow for me to borrow that book, I’d wager.”

“Oh, what a pity,” she’d stated, moving a couple of steps closer to him, a faint frown marring her features.

“That I won’t know how it ends – or that I’m sailing tomorrow?” he’d countered without thinking.

She’d raised a brow at his bluntness and he’d almost taken the words back in a stuttering apology. He’d never been so forward with a lady before - but it seemed that he hadn’t offended as he’d feared because she’d suddenly let out a delighted laugh.

“I think before I answer that, I should at least know your name.”

He’d given it gladly and now, as he stood in the ballroom, thinking back over the rest of the afternoon, the realisation that she’d never actually revealed her own was more frustrating than ever.

Frowning a little, he refused a glass of wine that a passing servant paused to offer and glanced around the crowded hall, searching out the woman he was dearly hoping to see again. It’d only been when he’d spoken of his encounter to Liam that it’d hit him how skillfully she’d managed to avoid answering anything remotely personal about herself.

“Sensible woman,” his brother had teased with a chuckle.

Now, as Killian scanned the faces of the ever growing throng of people, he couldn’t help wonder if maybe Liam was right. Increasingly it was becoming clear that, enchanted though he had been of her, her failure to appear meant that she obviously hadn’t been quite so enamoured of him.

Her lack of revealing anything about herself should have been a clue, he realised grimly.

And yet...it was she that had made a point of asking what he was doing that evening.

He knew he hadn’t imagined her look of disappointment, fleeting though it was, when he’d admitted that he had a prior engagement at the ball.

“Personally I think it a waste of time,” he’d told her, even more annoyed than before that duty dictated he attend when he’d rather have tried to arrange to meet with her again.

“The ball or the princess?” she’d queried wryly, a gleam of sudden amusement dancing in her eyes as she’d echoed his earlier retort.

He should have asked for her name then. Instead, he’d muttered an aggrieved, “Both. I do not like to dance and have no desire in pandering to a lady I have not even met, royalty and diplomacy be hanged!”

A silence had met his outburst but when he’d looked back up at her, much to his chagrin, she’d been openly grinning at him. Consternation had turned to delight though, when she’d revealed that the entire town had been invited too.

“So you’ll be there tonight?” he’d clarified, the evening taking on a more appealing light,

“Only if you promise to dance with me,” she’d replied, that mischievous glint back in her eyes.

Despite his assertion of not liking it only moments earlier, he’d agreed at once, fairly certain that he could have been persuaded to do just about anything as far as the lady in front of him was concerned.

And yet here he was and she...she was nowhere to be seen.

The noisy chatter of the crowd suddenly faded to silence around him and Killian’s stomach fell as he realised what that meant.

The princess had arrived.

His brother shifted at his side and he gave him a cursory glance. A small smile conveyed Liam’s commiseration and Killian looked away. The disappointment was acute. So much so that he barely even registered the lofty announcement of, “Princess Emma of Misthaven,” that rang out around the ballroom.

Head bowed, he inwardly cursed his own idiocy for having believed that they’d shared some kind of instant connection. A mutual flare of feeling that couldn’t be denied. What the hell had he been thinking? This wasn’t some fairytale, this was real life. His life. That simple fact alone should have been enough to remind him that it was never going to end in his favour.

He was so caught up in his own personal torment that it took him a few seconds to register the sharp, urgent nudge to his side where Liam had elbowed him none too lightly.

“Killian,” he growled out the corner of his mouth in low warning.

His head snapped up and he shot his brother a glare.

“What the…,” he began angrily.

“May I have this dance, Lieutenant?” cut in a warm female voice suddenly.

Abruptly, all his anger evaporated as he swallowed hard and turned his head to behold the vision in front of him. Heart pounding, his mouth fell open in surprise.

It was her.

And she was a princess?

He blinked.

Liam cleared his throat...loudly.

Emma’s hopeful smile began to waver…

Finally gathering his wits, he quickly stepped forward and gave a courteous bow then took her proffered hand. A hand that he’d kissed so fervently not four hours ago when he’d taken his leave of her to go back to the ship. His lips began to tingle just at the thought of it and he’d known by the flush on her face that she’d been just as affected by the normally perfunctory gesture as he.

“It would be my honour, Your Royal Highness,” he accepted formally.

As he escorted her out into the middle of the room, the other guests moved out of their way, allowing them space. Killian didn’t even notice. His entire focus was on the beauty that he held in his arms. In her stunning red ballgown and with her long, blonde hair swept up into a smooth chignon, she simply took his breath away.

The first strains of violins filled the air and they began to move.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I was this afternoon,” she apologised softly after they’d danced in silence for far longer than she’d liked. After his initial surprise, he’d schooled his features into a polite deference as was the norm when it came to her rank and she had no clue as to whether he was angry, happy or simply uncaring about her deception. She needed to know. “It was nice just being me for a short while and you were so easy to talk to, Killian. Easier than it’s ever been with anyone else and I thought that you...that we…,” she broke off and shrugged helplessly before adding, “I didn’t want that to change just because of a title.” She stared at him, trying to find a flicker of some emotion that would tell her either way a little of what he was feeling. “Has it?” she asked barely above a whisper.

Seeing the uncertainty that lurked in her eyes as she looked up at him, he frowned slightly. It dawned on him then that she’d misconstrued his dazed silence as some kind of detriment to herself. In truth, he’d been finding hard to find the words to convey how he was feeling. She was here, with him, that was all that mattered. And crazy though it was, because they barely knew each other, from what he’d gleaned from her hesitant words, she must have felt that same connection from the very first as he had.

He pulled her a little closer, not enough to be disrespectful to her position but enough that she knew that nothing had changed.

“How can I possibly in good conscience condemn you for not telling the whole truth when I am guilty of the exact same thing myself?” he told her in a wry tone.

“You?” she queried, her eyes widening a little in surprise.

“Aye, me,” he confirmed with a nod. “You may remember that I told you that I didn’t like to dance,” he continued, mirth threading his low tone as he suddenly grinned down at her, “Well, I find that dancing with you makes a complete liar out of me.”

Emma stared at him a moment then let out a delighted laugh.

“So this evening hasn’t been as much of a chore as you thought it was going to be then?”

“Not even remotely,” he assured her as the music, and their dance, came to an end.

“Will you save me a second dance, Lieutenant?” she asked as he straightened from the customary bow that finalised all dances.

“Aye, Your Highness,” he replied with a nod. “Gladly.”

As it turned out, Killian ‘saved’ her a further four dances in total and when the night came to an end, Emma asked him to accompany her to the library before he left.

“I have something for you,” she told him, running her finger along the spines of a row of books, searching out a particular volume. “Here!” Turning to him with a triumphant grin, she held out a small, familiar looking novel to him. “I thought you might want to finish it.”

Killian reached for the book, his heart skipping a beat as his fingers brushed lightly against hers. Glancing at the title, he saw that it was the one he’d been reading that afternoon. Touched at her thoughtfulness, he looked up at her with a soft smile and took an involuntary step closer to where she stood.

“Thank you, Your Highness, I shall treasure it always.”

“Emma,” she corrected him, also moving closer, “You can call me, Emma, and it wasn’t a gift, Killian, I expect you to return it to me after your voyage.” Another step brought her almost toe to toe with him and she reached out to clasp his free hand before adding a little breathlessly, “In person.”

This time his heart started to race. There was no mistaking what she was telling him and even if he were unsure, just one look into her eyes told him more than any words ever could exactly how she felt.

“Are you...sure that you’re willing to wait that long?” he asked huskily.

“I am. I will,” she promised then leaned toward him, face upturned, mouth slightly parted in mute invitation.

Without hesitation, he bent to place his lips on hers. Gently at first, their kiss soon deepened, the book falling from his hand as he drew her into his arms pulling her flush against him. They were both breathing heavily by the time they parted, the strength of their passion evident in the flush of their cheeks and the way they swayed together, foreheads touching.

Killian forced himself to let her go and take a step back. He had to leave, though it pained him to do so. How could it be that he’d fallen in love with this woman so quickly? Because he knew without a shadow of a doubt, that he had.

Irrevocably.

Completely.

“I have to go,” he told her regretfully before stooping to pick up the book.

She nodded, tears shimmering in her eyes.

“Stay safe, Killian.”

Unable to go without one last kiss, he grasped her hand and tugged her towards him gently. It was lingering and sweet and when he pulled back he assured her intently, “I will come back to you, Emma, and not just because of this book.”

He turned and left then. One more moment in her presence and he was afraid that he wouldn’t have it in him to leave at all.

Liam was waiting for him at the palace gates and together they took a carriage to the docks. They rode in silence, although Killian felt his brother’s curious gaze upon him more than once, but it wasn’t until they were back aboard ship that he finally asked him about Emma.

“Do you love her?” Liam queried once he’d finished speaking.

“Aye, I do,” Killian answered with a certainty that made his brother smile.

“Let us make sure that you return that book in a timely fashion then,” Liam stated with purpose.

Eight months later, Killian exited the private chambers of the King and Queen of Misthaven with the treasured book in one hand, his other resting lightly upon the hilt of his sword. Dressed entirely in black, he was no longer a part of the navy to which he’d once so longed to belong.

Their mission had been a spectacular failure, one that had nearly cost Liam his life. Thankfully, Killian had realised that the magical plant they were supposed to bring home to their King was, in fact, deadly. One of their crew members had accidentally cut themselves on it only moments before Liam had reached out to grab some himself.

As he saw the black toxin spreading rapidly through the man’s veins, he’d ran and knocked Liam down before the same thing could happen to him. It had been a near miss and when the brothers had spoken of it afterwards, they’d both agreed that they could not continue to be loyal to a man that would use such an evil poison against his enemies.

That very day they’d commandeered the ‘Jewel of the Realm’, spoken to their crew and had tossed aside their uniforms forever. Any man that didn’t wish to join them were put ashore at the next port and then they’d began the journey back to Misthaven.

Once there, they’d immediately sent word to the castle, requesting an urgent audience with the King and Queen. Free agents now that they were, they’d offered to serve as privateers to the realm and pledge allegiance to Misthaven.

The royals had agreed and asked them to return the next day to sign appropriate papers. The brothers had bowed reverently, then Queen Snow had addressed Killian directly.

“I suspect there is also another reason for your visit today, Mr Jones,” she remarked, gazing pointedly at the book he held and then back to his lightly reddening face.

“Aye, Your Majesty,” he confessed, plucking self consciously at his shirt and standing up a little straighter. “I would like permission to speak with your daughter. She kindly leant me her book and asked that I return it. Personally.”

“Emma has spoken of it to me frequently over the past few months,” she revealed in wry amusement. “I believe she is quite desperate to see her book again and know that it is safe, so you’d better make haste to the gardens. She was heading towards the blue arbor near the great oak when I saw her last.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he replied, bowing low again before shooting a triumphant grin at Liam then turning and almost running out of the room.

She hadn’t forgotten him...

The sun burned bright in the sky as he hurried out into the gardens. He saw a tall oak tree in the distance and headed purposefully in its direction. As he got closer, he could see Emma sitting with her back to him, a soft breeze gently lifting the tendrils of her golden locks as she stared out across the rolling hills that lay beyond the palace walls. Grass underfoot deadened the sound of his footsteps and he was able to approach unannounced. A few feet from the arbor he stopped and simply stared at her for a moment, drinking in the sight of the woman that was so dear to his heart.

“I’ve brought your book back, Your Highness,” he finally said, unable to conceal the slight unsteadiness of his voice.

He saw her stiffen then she turned and stood up abruptly, staring at him with such hope and such dawning joy. Such...love.

“Emma,” she reminded him softly, a solitary tear tracking slowly down her cheek, “You can call me, Emma.”

“Emma,” he murmured huskily and then she was in his arms.

He didn’t know who had moved first, he didn’t care. They hugged each other tightly, then shared kiss after kiss after kiss, whispering words of love and promises of a future together.

They were married two months later and the Best Man was pleased to note that during the ceremony, his little brother didn’t fidget once.

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#cs march madness #101 days of cs #cs ff #cs fluff #cs romance

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lizacstuff · 6 years ago

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FanFic: The Mysterious Case of the Missing Pirate - Chapter 8/9

Summary: On the day after Killian and Emma return from their journey to the past, he seemingly vanishes without a trace. Can Emma find him before it’s too late? A Captain Swan canon divergence. Key words: stranded, blizzard, snowed in, cabin in the woods, mild smut (you get the drift)

READ FROM THE BEGINNING on AO3 or FF.Net

Rating: M

Note: It has taken several years, but here is the penultimate chapter to this story. HUGE thanks to @csmarchmadness for running such a great event and giving me a great excuse to finish this! The final chapter will be up this month.

This chapter on AO3 or FF.Net

Chapter 8

David glanced towards Granny’s trying to see what might be keeping Robin and Regina, but between the dark of night and the falling snow, which was no longer Regina’s signature purple and was once again a more natural pristine white, he couldn’t see a thing. He considered walking over himself, but the tension had been understandably thick between those two all day and he knew they probably had a lot to talk about; it was not a conversation he was eager to interrupt.

David turned back to Belle and Gold, about to comment on the length of time the other two had been gone, only to witness Gold ushering his wife quickly down the street. They were almost at the edge of the snow-less bubble Regina had created when David’s voice boomed behind them. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Gold stopped and turned with an obsequious smile. “My wife is cold; I’m taking her back in the shop.”

“That’s fine. Belle can leave if she likes.” David’s voice was every bit that of the authoritative royal. “But you’re staying here.”

“I’m afraid I can’t oblige you. With a crazed person on the loose, I must stay with her.”

“No,” David replied flatly and then he looked at Belle who appeared taken aback by his firm refusal. David relented and adopted a more moderate tone. “We think the person creating this storm is a young woman who was trapped in your husband’s vault. Surely you must see how valuable his assistance is?”

Belle, who was gripping her husband’s arm, turned to David and asked in innocent tones, “If Rumple says he doesn’t know, then what more do you want from us?”

David eyed her shrewdly, could any person really be in this much denial about the person she married? However, when he spoke, it was with gentle understanding. “Belle, don’t you see what’s going on here? We think that a magical urn came back through the portal with Hook and Emma last night, from your husband’s vault. We think a young woman was in that urn. A woman who is angry enough that she’s creating this storm and knocked out Hook because she thought he was the one who put her there. There’s already well over a foot of snow on the ground. If we don’t find her, and this storm keeps going, I don’t know what’ll happen; my guess is we’ll all be buried alive. We have to find a way to stop it before that happens. Your husband was missing all day, he clearly knows more than he’s saying. Are you okay risking the life of every soul in Storybrooke because you’re cold? If you need to warm up, I suggest you join Robin and Regina at Granny’s for a coffee while your husband stays out here with me.”

Belle’s eyes were saucer-like by the time David finished speaking, she turned to Rumple, trembling either from the cold or from David’s words. “I’m fine, I can stay. If you can help...” she let her voice trail off in an unasked question.

The man sighed and turned to David. “Have you considered that perhaps my presence will be more of a hindrance, than a help?”

David narrowed his eyes at him. “Many times, but why don’t you explain yourself.”

xXx

“Wait, Regina!” Robin yelled as he stepped out from behind Regina.

“What?” Regina looked back to Robin, a fireball perched on her hand at the ready. “She just froze Granny’s! I might not love her lasagna, but it’s an institution in Storybrooke.”

“I know, but look at her. She’s scared.” Robin stepped forward and held his hands up as a sign of peace. “Hi, my name is Robin; this is Regina, what’s your name?”

“Don’t come any closer!” The woman barked. As per Hook’s description, she was a young, very beautiful, and very angry looking blonde woman.

“Okay, no problem,” Robin complied and stepped back, however he didn’t lose eye contact with her. “Listen, if you promise not to freeze anything else, my friend, Regina here, will put away her fireball and we can have a conversation.” He looked back and gave Regina a pleading look. Regina didn’t seem pleased about it, but she did lower her hand, though the fire still burned in her palm.

Robin looked back to the woman. “There, see, no one has to get hurt. Now, why don’t we calmly discuss whatever it is that has you afraid?”

“Why do you think I’m afraid?” snapped the woman with bravado. However, Robin hadn’t made a great leap. There was a tremor to her voice and the look in her eyes radiated fear. If he hadn’t seen her turn Granny’s to ice, he would have had a hard time believing she was responsible for creating the storm or hurting Hook.

“Because you don’t seem like someone who would purposely hurt innocent people.”

“Maybe I am!” she said defensively, but she looked unsettled by what he’d said.

“If so you’re doing a good job. You’ve brought the town to a standstill and I hear you knocked out and almost froze the savior’s boyfriend.” Regina spoke matter-of-factly, but allowed the fireball in her palm to extinguish. “The savior is not someone you want to make an enemy of…”

“Did I hurt him?” The woman swallowed roughly.

“Yes,” Robin replied truthfully. “He was unconscious and almost died from being out in the cold, but we think he’s going to recover.”

“I thought he was the one who trapped me, but...”

“You now realize that’s not true,” Robin finished for her, the pieces starting to come together, albeit slowly. “Okay, let’s start from the beginning. Do you have any idea where you are or how you got here?”

The woman immediately looked defensive again and her posture stiffened. It was clear she didn’t have an answer to the questions. Sensing her unease, Regina’s hand once again filled with fire and she adopted a fighting stance.

“Please! Both of you!” Robin Hood put his hands up once again in an effort to defuse the rising tension. He gave Regina a pointed look before turning to the woman and trying to appear as kind and nonthreatening as he could. “Worry not; we think we know how you got here. We recently had...” his eyes slid to Regina once again before he referenced the unpleasantness with her sister, “an incident with a wicked witch and she opened a portal to the past of another realm. We think you must have come through the portal while it was open. We mean you no harm, but you have to stop freezing things if you want us to help you.”

“I... I don’t know if I can!” The woman’s voice was rough, and it was apparent she was having just as bad of a day as the rest of them.

“Well, now we’re getting somewhere. Why don’t we talk?” Robin smiled at her. “Would you like something to eat or drink? Perhaps some tea or coffee?”

The fire died out in Regina’s hand and she rubbed her palm against her coat. One might assume that her eyes would be glued to the interloper in blue, but they weren’t. She was watching Robin, feeling in awe of how he was handling the situation. He was so calm and so kind. It wasn’t necessarily surprising, it was after all how he’d treated her when they first met and that thought pulled at her heart. He was such a good man. She’d finally found a good man to love and it had all been ripped away. She felt the anger build once again and threaten to boil over. Instead of letting that happen, she took several deep breaths and calmed herself. Nothing was helped by dwelling on her personal situation, particularly not the current crisis, so she forced herself to turn her attention back to the woman in blue.

Robin had ducked behind Granny’s counter to pour a cup of coffee for the woman. When he handed it to her, he asked, “Now why don’t we start by you telling us your name?”

The woman took a sip of the hot liquid and then with wide eyes she looked at Robin. “I am Queen Elsa of Arendelle.”

xXx

“What?” Emma felt her heart-rate increase at both his question and the way his gaze was drilling through her.

“Would you like me to repeat the question?” Killian asked when she didn’t elaborate. He studied her intently in the firelight, his head canted to one side quizzically. When she still didn’t speak, he repeated, “In the Enchanted Forest if I hadn’t already been in the Captain’s Quarters, what would have happened between you and him?”

“Me and who?” Emma asked obtusely.

“Him.” Killian tried to sound neutral; however, the word came out with a slightly injured sounding huff.

“You mean you?”

“I mean him.”

“You do know that was you?” Emma narrowed her eyes as she watched him and tried not to feel amused at the expression on his face. It was clear that he was serious about this, but there was a surreal aspect to the conversation for her that she couldn’t help but find funny.

“It was not me,” Killian replied slowly, “the sentient being sitting across from you right now. I was the person already there, when you brought him home.”

“He brought me home,” she clarified.

“A-ha!” Killian said as if he’d scored a point in a game he didn’t want to win.

“He, who also happens to be you, brought me home,” Emma repeated and then bit her lip to keep from smiling. She was only moderately successful. Truth was she was finding this side to him to be very cute, not that she’d admit it to him necessarily. She hadn’t often been the object of jealousy, and while as a modern woman she didn’t find it a romantic notion necessarily, it was heartening that he cared enough to let it bother him. Besides, the situation was so crazy that laughter really was the best way to cope.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded and crossed his arms protectively in front of him.

“You. You’re jealous of yourself!” she replied pointedly.

He shrugged and looked slightly peeved. “I don’t get jealous.”

“All evidence to the contrary.” She nudged his thigh with her foot in a playful manner. When he looked back to her through the dim light, she smirked teasingly at him. “First off, can we agree that even though he wasn’t you,” she pointed at him, “he was absolutely you?”

“That,” he shook his head, but finally allowed a small smile, “is nonsensical, besides, he... I... was a different person then. I’m not him anymore. You didn’t even know him.”

“Maybe,” Emma replied with a smile, not allowing the circular nature of the conversation to daunt her. “But I liked him.”

“Yes, that was apparent.” Killian replied with a grimace.

“You’re missing the point. I liked him. I liked you, that part of you.”

“Yes, it was obvious.”

Her sigh held both amusement and frustration, however when she spoke it was with care. “Is this because I kissed him? You know that was to distract him so he didn’t see you.”

“A distraction you were enjoying quite a bit.”

At that rejoinder, Emma made a decision. She tossed back the comforter and then crawled from her end of the couch to his. His eyes went wide, and his heart rate increased at her unexpected approach. Straddling his body, she planted a bare knee on either side of his flannel-clad thighs. Her own too-large flannel pajama tops were hanging haphazardly off to the side, exposing a tempting view of her bare shoulder as she rested her hands on the blanket that still covered his shoulders. Her hair framed her face in a messy tangle making her appear untamed and, definitely, tantalizing.

He felt his groin tighten involuntarily. He was supposed to be getting answers, not getting aroused. He hugged his arms even tighter across his chest and let his gaze fall to the side and whispered, “What are you doing?”

“I never thought I’d see the day when you were insecure.” Emma studied him quizzically, wishing he would make eye contact.

He shrugged noncommittally, so she continued. “You know it’s not like we were together when any of this happened...” Her voice was gentle, but her meaning was clear, it wasn’t necessarily any of his business who she went home with. However, she squeezed his shoulders to lessen the sting of her words. To be fair this was a rather convoluted situation, what with him being both parties of a potential time-travelling love triangle.

“I know… that’s not what... I mean... no, I know we weren’t together.” Killian finally uncrossed his arms and gestured with his hook. Emma felt a shiver zip along her skin where the cold metal brushed inadvertently against her bare thigh. “It’s just... I’ve been interested in pursuing you since we met.” He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “And while you’ve clearly been charmed by me…” Even though he still wasn’t looking at her, Emma rolled her eyes at that with almost theatrical flair. “You’ve resisted my allure. With him, you willingly went back to his cabin on the first night you met him. The first night. That’s why I’m inquisitive about what you were planning to do if I hadn’t been present.”

Emma brought her hands to his cheeks, idly stroking his scruff with her thumbs before tilting his head so he had to look at her. “Okay. First, we were on a mission, you and me.” She let her left hand fall from his cheek so she could gesture between the two of them for emphasis. “I did what I had to do for us, again, that’s you and me, and our mission to succeed.”

Her left hand moved back up to his shoulder, but this time she slipped it underneath the blanket. With a soft touch, she caressed over the smooth skin of his shoulder and then pressed tenderly down his arm over his bicep and along his forearm. She felt his muscles grow taut under her touch and it seemed as if his breathing had become slightly more erratic. When she reached his hand, she ran her palm over the rough skin of his knuckles and then laced her fingers with his. The tingles she felt from the contact with his bare skin and just his nearness were consuming. Mesmerized, she stared at the sight of their fingers twined together.

He squeezed her hand tenderly and then, his voice hoarse, asked, “Was there a second thing?”

What was she doing again? This proximity to him was making her lose her train of thought. Maybe she should go back to the other end of the couch. However, when she looked back to his eyes, his pupils blown wide in the firelight, she found he was watching her with an intent, but nervous expression, so she took a deep breath and then shook her head to clear it. After everything he’d done for her, namely jumping down the portal after her, she owed him an answer.

“Right…” she cleared her throat and resolved to not get distracted by him until she had said her piece. “Yes, there was.” This time she squeezed his hand before she continued. “Second… it was not the first night I met him.” He was about to protest but Emma moved her right hand to his lips to silence him gently with her index finger. She felt something deep in her chest well up, almost making it hard to breathe. How had she pretended for so long that she didn’t have feelings for this man? Looking back over their time spent together, suddenly everything became crystal clear.

“It wasn’t the first time I met him… because I met him in the Enchanted Forest right before we climbed a beanstalk together. I was attracted to him immediately, but he was a fairy tale pirate, working for the other side, hell-bent on revenge and he could see right through me, which scared the hell out of me. And then when things began to change, when we, he and I, were on the same side, when he became a friend... a very good friend... and a trusted ally, things got complicated. The attraction was always there, but I had issues, I still have issues, and there were curses and danger… “

Emma stopped abruptly and swallowed hard over the lump that had begun to form in her throat. She also took the opportunity to take a deep breath, Killian’s hook had found its way to her waist, holding her steady, and his eyes hadn’t left hers, but some of the uncertainty in them had waned. She squeezed his hand one more time, before she continued, “And then you did begin to pursue me and you made it clear you had feelings for me. So there was no way to act on that attraction, that chemistry, that pull without it having deep and lasting emotional ramifications for both of us, and that... was terrifying and complicated and something I absolutely wasn’t ready for. But in the Enchanted Forest, there you were, still you in so many ways, but you without all of our baggage. It was you with no repercussions. You didn’t know me; you didn’t have feelings for me. So, yes, I enjoyed it. I enjoyed him. Because he was you. I got to flirt with you, without it hurting you. And nothing would have happened, he was minutes away from passing out. I would have kept him occupied until he was out cold and then met back up with you. And no, I didn’t want to sleep with him, it didn’t cross my mind, because the first time I’m with you, I want it to be you.”

Killian looked absolutely gobsmacked. All slack jaw and slightly parted lips. He tried to swallow, but he found his mouth was dry and his heart was pounding in his chest. He had never heard Emma string so many sentences together at once; she was usually a woman of few words. The room was silent except for the wind howling outside and the fire crackling beside them. However, the way his blood was thrumming through his veins, it occurred to him that she could probably hear it from her position perched over his lap. He should say something, but when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. A man, who had survived and thrived on always having something to say, had finally been rendered speechless.

Sensing that she might have overpowered him with her unplanned and unrehearsed recital but feeling empowered after finally admitting how far back her feelings for him stretched, Emma let go of his hand and snaked her right arm around his neck. At the same time, she let her left hand slide from his cheek to his neck and then gave into temptation and traced an enticing path down and over his chest. Her nails lightly scraped across the furled hair until they hit metal. A smile curled her lips as she lightly fingered the charms that hung from his necklace and then gave them a gentle tug towards her. With only inches separating them, the new proximity only heightened the frisson of sexual energy that snapped between them.

Her eyes flicked down and she watched his tongue dart out and wet his lips. She felt the desire, the unmistakable naked desire, which she’d been trying to ignore, tamp down or banish since the day she met him, roar back to life. With a lick of her own lips, she whispered, “Does that answer your question?” before her lips crashed into his.

The instant the kiss connected them; Killian came alive. While he’d spent the last few minutes in stunned silence, listening, watching her and trying to process everything she’d said, now his body responded instinctually. His hand hit the couch behind them; reflexively trying to keep their balance, even as his hook arm pulled her tighter to him. The second Emma felt him respond, she used her position above him to change the angle and deepen the kiss.

Heat. The entire day had been about the cold, but now all she felt was heat. Delicious heat. The kind that raced like lava through her veins and ignited something primal in her soul. It was as if they were melting together, combining as one. She wanted to be closer to him, craved it. Craved him. Keeping a tight hold on his necklace with one hand, the fingers of the other slid through his hair, avoiding his earlier injury, until she gently gripped a handful of silky black strands, anchoring him to her. Their lips continued to work deliciously against one another in soft, but hungry, open-mouthed kisses, and the first time their tongues met in a warm tangle, her moan broke the silence.

The second he heard it, the pirate in him took control. With a movement only someone with great strength and dexterity could accomplish, he tightened his hook arm around her and then both scooted them down and flipped them so that a moment later Emma found herself flat on her back on the sofa, an amorous Killian on top of her.

He had broken the kiss to switch their position, but now his lips once again found hers. His tongue pillaged her mouth, fervently kissing and licking and sucking as he tried to elicit another moan from her. The lustful sound on Emma’s lips only served to fuel his passion. He wanted to make her feel, to give her pleasure, he wanted for her to desire him as much as he desired her. And to him, that moan was a sign he was succeeding.

As she settled beneath him, his solid mass delightfully weighed her down. The wool blanket that had covered his shoulders slipped unceremoniously to the floor, and her arms wrapped around his bare back. She felt giddy. This was it. This was happening. They were happening. Her hands traveled over the surprisingly smooth skin of his back and she was enthralled by the way his muscles tensed and released under her touch.

Without warning, his lips left hers and instead trailed soft kisses across her cheek until he was sucking on her earlobe. And that did it. Louder than before, Emma moaned, but this time it came out in tandem with his name. His mouth instantly curved into a self-satisfied grin and he pulled back to look at her. He paused only long enough to wag his eyebrows at her suggestively, before he dove back in, his mouth finding her neck.

However, something she’d seen in the split second he’d hovered above her gave her pause. In the firelight, the flush of his cheeks had glowed brightly, maybe too bright, and there had been a light sheen of perspiration on his forehead.

“Wait,” Emma gasped as Killian nipped and licked his way down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake that made her moan again. Somehow, most likely by a simple flick of his deft fingers, the top button of her oversized flannel pajama tops had come undone and he was pulling the collar open, pressing warm, wet kisses all along the gentle ridge of her collar bone. When a second button came loose from its hole, and Killian’s mouth started trailing lower, she once again spoke her entreaty, “Wait.”

This time he obeyed, and looked up at her, a question in his eyes.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” she asked breathlessly.

“Up?” As he said the word, his eyes lit up with an oddly appealing combination of amusement and desire. Once again, he wagged his eyebrows, but he also shifted his hips over hers and with deliberation pressed his arousal against her soft center.

She audibly gasped.

“Does that answer your question?” he asked in a low rumble, mimicking the last words she’d said before kissing him.

Emma fought the desire that coursed through her. Even though he’d immediately shifted his hips away from her as soon as his point was made, that brief contact had been like an electric shock that had started at her center and reverberated through every nerve ending in her body. She knew she wanted him. She knew he wanted her. And after that display of his she knew they were both aroused to the breaking point. However, she also knew it had been a very physically traumatic day for him.

Emma shifted to the outside of the cushion, making room so that he could release his weight onto the sofa instead of hovering over her.

With an expression that bordered perilously close to full on pout, he settled next to her, letting his head fall to the pillow. “What’s wrong, love? Is this not what you want?”

Immediately, her hand found his cheek and she caressed it with a wide circle of her thumb. “Of course I want it, but I’m worried about you. You almost died today and just now you looked a little…”

“What? How do I appear to you?”

“You looked a little flushed and,” her hand soothed across his brow, “you have a bit of perspiration on your forehead. How do you feel?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, she interrupted. He was clearly about to issue reassurances by rote and that’s not what she wanted to hear. “Honestly, Killian. Tell me how you really feel.”

“I’m fine. Your magic pain pills erased my headache, the medicinal soup gave me back my vigor and you in my arms healed my soul.”

She smirked at him in order to hide the fact that his words made her heart pitter patter in her chest. “Good, I’m glad to hear it, but maybe we should hold off until later, another time when you’re stronger, when-“

“When we’re being attacked by whatever is creating this bloody storm? Or perhaps we should wait until we get sucked into another time portal, or until Regina decides to make good on whatever threat upset you last night.”

“Killian…”

“No, Emma, if you’re not ready then end of story, we arrest our current development, but if your solitary concern is my health then,” instead of finishing his thought he looked suggestively at her.

The way he was looking at her caused a melting sensation that started in her chest, and then ran like molten liquid to her toes. She didn’t answer him verbally; however, she did feel herself drifting even closer to him, her torso leaning into his as if pulled by a magnet, her bare leg shifting in between his flannel-clad ones, making it clear it was not her desire to stop. It reminded her of how they’d fit together so flawlessly earlier that afternoon, and that reminded her of why they had needed to fit together, for the body-to-body warming, and ultimately why she was concerned. Her desire was not the important thing. The important thing was that he almost just DIED. She could still see him lying cold and lifeless on the floor of the barn and the thought sent a cold stab of pain right through her. “But... are you sure... you look-”

“Love, if I look peaked, no illness is the cause. It’s because of you.”

“Me?” Concerned, Emma shifted back from him slightly, though there was really no place to go and stay on the couch. She propped herself on her elbow as if she might be planning to get up.

“Yes,” he affirmed, however he didn’t let her move away; instead he anchored his leg around her hip, just as he’d done when he woke to find her naked against him that afternoon. He snaked his hook arm around her, the metal pressing firmly, but not uncomfortably, into the excess fabric of her pajama tops gathered at her lower back. “Regardless of whatever injuries I might have sustained earlier, having the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on, on top of me, kissing me senseless, is going to cause a physical reaction.”

“Is that right?” she asked in a faux serious tone and then shifted back and away from him on the narrow couch.

As he felt her slip away from him, he sagged against the back of the couch and reluctantly released her from his grip. He pressed his eyes closed, and then felt her weight shift next to him and he knew she was rising from the couch. It appeared he’d failed to convince her of his robust health. After a deep breath, and unable to keep a dejected note out of his voice, he said, “it’s okay, love.”

“Oh, it‘s going to be much better than okay, love,” she mimicked cheerfully.

At her tone, he slowly opened one eye. What he saw made his other eye pop open and she immediately had his full and undivided attention. She was leaning on one elbow, smiling cheekily down at him, the black scrap of fabric that comprised her bikini underwear hanging from her index finger.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Apparently, she had not been getting up when he’d felt her shift next to him. She had something else in mind.

“Cat got your tongue, Captain?” This time it was her turn to wag her eyebrows at him. With a flick of her wrist she flung her underwear over the couch and then she reached for his hook.

“Whaddaya doing?” he asked almost incoherently. Still not entirely believing what was happening.

“The hook has to go,” she replied frankly as she began unscrewing it and then set about loosening the brace, so she could remove it as well. Second time today, she was becoming an expert. “You wearing it while we… you know… is definitely advanced difficulty. Not a good idea for our first time.”

His jaw dropped as he watched her work. Once she’d removed the hook and brace, she turned away from him and carefully sat them on the raised hearth of the fireplace. When she twisted back around, she found that he was no longer looking quite so stunned. In fact, he appeared fully recovered as evidenced by the fact that the deft fingers of his right hand were swiftly flicking open the rest of the buttons on her pajama tops. As he finished, he looked up at her, his eyes dark, his expression held both hunger and a shy question, as if he was silently asking if what he’d done was okay. She now knew it was possible to look like both an eager puppy and a seductive pirate at the exact same time.

“So helpful, Killian,” she murmured flirtatiously and shrugged out of the garment before flinging the yellow and blue fabric over the couch. Now wearing only her tank top, she leaned over and kissed him. A firm, wet kiss that was a promise and an answer to the question she’d seen in his eyes.

As soon as their lips met, he tugged her to him, a feeling of joy bubbling from within. She was kissing him. Emma Swan was in his arms, disrobing and kissing him. He pulled his lips from hers for a split second to change the angle and was about to go in for more, when she pulled back once again and broke the kiss.

“But two can play that game,” she whispered with an almost predatory smile as she surreptitiously slipped her hand under the comforter and surprised him by tugging on the waistband of his matching crown pajama bottoms.

Killian eyes went wide and he let out a startled grunt at her bold maneuver. However, he instantly cooperated by lifted his hips so she could work on removing the offending garment. He sucked in air and closed his eyes briefly as her hand brushed his erection. However, she didn’t linger; she was on a mission. Next, her fingers ignited a trail of fire down his bare legs as she pushed the fabric down his hips, past his thighs until finally she was able to pull them off completely. Almost triumphantly, she pulled the pajamas out from under the comforter and held them up a moment, pausing to wink at Killian before she flung them over the couch to join the rest of their discarded clothes. Wanting to be helpful, he reached down and peeled off the white-athletic socks he’d borrowed from David’s bag and handed them to her, looking pleased with himself. She reached down and peeled off her own socks, before launching all of them in the air.

Once socks were discarded, she leaned into kiss him again. Their open mouths moved against one another with heated intensity, tongues sliding and sparring erotically, the passion that was always just under the surface when they were together igniting into a blaze in an instant. As they molded together, he fiddled with the hem of her tank top. Hands roamed everywhere. Hers sliding down his chest, around his back, over his shoulders, she wanted to touch him everywhere, to learn how he felt and where he liked to be touched. His hand found its way around her waist and under her tank top, his palm flat against the silky smooth skin of her back. He slid it between them and up under her tank top until he was cupping her breast. When he brushed over her nipple, she whimpered and he smiled against her mouth.

Without warning, she pushed back from him. For a second he blinked, feeling bereft from the loss of contact and worried he had done something wrong, until he realized she was only making space in order to rip her tank top over her head and launch it over the couch in one movement. As soon as she’d done it he grinned wickedly at her, it had been the last barrier between them. They paused a moment, both panting, eyes roaming over the other, taking their fill in a way neither had dared that afternoon.

Her gaze drifted back to his face only to find him transfixed by her breasts for the second time that day. She chuckled and reached for his chin to tilt it back upwards. “I knew when I took off my shirt; you were going to forget about me.”

He met her eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Never,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire, need coursing through him. “You are so beautiful, Emma.”

Emma blushed prettily, but then in a soft almost shy voice answered, “So are you.”

“I know,” he replied in his usual manner of cocky assurance, but a moment later his eyes drifted to his left arm and he murmured a little less confidently, “Most of me, anyway.”

Emma knit her brows in confusion until she followed his gaze to where his left hand should have been. She immediately shook her head defiantly, “All of you.” To punctuate her statement she reached for his left arm and brought the scarred skin of his severed forearm to her lips.

He watched her in mesmerized silence. Once again wondering if this was really happening. They were together and naked, she was pressing a kiss to his damaged skin; he knew it was her way of letting him know that she accepted all of him. If he was honest, what she thought of him and what she would think of his disfigurement once he was stripped bare of braces and hooks and fake hands and leather armor was something that had followed him, a very real fear of rejection niggling at the back of his brain periodically over the course of their relationship.

In awe, he almost didn’t notice that her mouth had left the site of his injury and she was now trailing kisses up his bicep. Almost. Because of course he noticed, there was no realistic way he would ever not notice the warm, wet trail her lips were leaving against his skin. His pulsed raced and a thrill shot through him; he shivered involuntarily at the sensation.

Immediately, Emma pulled back so she could meet his gaze, concern furrowing the brow over her lust-filled eyes. Clearly, she had felt the shiver. “The cold or me?”

“All you, love.” Giving her no time to respond he hooked his left arm around her torso, lifting her body weight in one fluid motion, and sweeping her under him, so she was once again lying flat on her back. Killian now hovered over her, his left elbow braced against the outer edge of the couch. She let out a sound between a shriek and a giggle at his unexpected movement and the noise inspired him to run his fingers lightly along her side, trying to get her to make the sound again. It had been so playful and carefree; he’d never heard anything quite like it from her before and he was pretty sure he would be quite content to spend the rest of his life trying to find ways to get her to make that noise again.

The tickling caused her to squirm under him, which caused her to retaliate and retaliate she did. Her fingers began to move over his side and it wasn’t long before she hit a spot that both caused him to laugh and to lose his balance, weight dropping so his body was entirely pressed against her. It was much like they’d been this afternoon except for this time there was no bikini underwear or pillowcases separating them.

Killian groaned at the deliciously intimate contact as she opened her thighs and wrapped her legs around him. “This is better,” she sighed as he shifted over her, his cock sliding against her center.

“Better than what?” he panted, barely restraining himself from entering her right then and there. However, he’d waited so long for this he wasn’t about to ruin it by putting his own pleasure before hers.

“Than this afternoon when we were… naked… but you were out cold.”

“I’m glad you prefer me conscious,” he replied as he started kissing his way down her neck. “But you know you need never stand on ceremony with me.”

As he moved lower, she let her head fall back to the pillow as she sank back and enjoyed his ministrations. However, somewhere in the back recesses of her mind it registered that it was still cold, so she reached down and pulled the comforter up and over his back as his lips moved lower. There was no reason they couldn’t be cozy inside the covers and stay protected from the chill in the cabin. The only heat, and light, was still only coming from the fireplace and the stove.

He trailed slow kisses down to her shoulder and then across her collarbone, leaving no section of sensitive skin untended. Finally, his mouth found her breasts. He began licking, sucking and laving until Emma was moaning and writhing, her hands kneading his shoulders, but it wasn’t enough. Not early enough. She ran her palms across his back and up to his shoulders. Fingering the black locks at the nape of his neck, she gently slid her fingers through his hair, and gently tugged, trying to get him to look up at her.

Flushed and panting, when she finally succeeded at getting him to look at her, she brought one hand in front of his face and made the ‘come here’ gesture with her index finger.

Killian smiled wolfishly at her, but shook his head in refusal. He winked at her and then his face was back between her breasts, but this time he started kissing a line down her stomach. She sucked in a breath, and for a moment Emma lost her train of thought, lost the ability to think at all, the sensation of his tongue and lips on her skin creating a haze of pleasure and anticipation.

When he buried his head between her legs, Emma moaned so loudly it was as if a siren had pierced the silence of the old farmhouse. Killian chuckled against her thigh and redoubled his efforts.

Under the spell of his talented tongue and lips and teeth, Emma felt herself winding tight, pleasure coiling and spooling in her belly and thighs. Her mind went blank as she succumbed to the pleasure, not thinking just feeling.

When she let out another moan, she startled herself back to the moment. For a second, it all felt surreal, the day felt surreal, and she wondered if this were all nothing more than an erotic dream. She managed to lift the comforter and glance down. The sight of his head between her thighs sent another jolt of pleasure through her; oh, it was real all right. He was real. She was so close, and in that moment, she wanted him more than she could remember ever wanting anything in her life.

She once again slid her fingers gently into the hair at the top of his head and tugged. When he looked up she once again curled her index finger at him. “Now,” it came out in a breathless pant, but it also came out with great confidence.

“But I’m not fini-“

Cutting him off, she shook her head. “I. Need. You. Inside me. Now.” Her speech was disjointed as she panted for breath, but her intent was clear. In the dim light of the room, he could see the raw desire reflected in her eyes.

With no more invitation needed, he was on top of her, his cock straining against her hip, his eyes locking with hers, both sets of pupils blown wide. Up close, he was once again awed by the desire he saw there, but that wasn’t all he perceived. She was looking up at him with lust, hunger and something else... love perhaps? That thought made his heart clench tight in his chest; oh, how much his heart wanted it to be love. Even though he still lacked the confidence to presume that he’d won her heart, without a doubt, he knew the look held affection, the most tender affection. “Emma...” he said her name reverently, as if a prayer and an oath all in one.

She brought one hand up to trace the side of his face. In the firelight, his expression was open and loving and she could not believe someone was looking at her this way. No one had ever looked at her this way. Everything he felt for her was writ large across his face and the intensity was overwhelming. Swallowing roughly, she closed the inches between them and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Considering what they’d just been doing and what they were about to do it was almost comically innocent, but it was also sweet, tender, and full of promise. She squeezed her eyes shut as one tear leaked through her lids and rolled down her face.

When she leaned back, his eyes searched her face. Seeing the wet trail across her cheek, he asked, “You okay?”

She nodded and then smiled up at him. Truly and radiantly smiled and she answered his question by pushing her hips upwards against his and wrapping her legs around him. Her hands moved lower until they were gliding over his backside, with gentle pressure she squeezed his ass and urged him forward.

Killian grunted as he tried to restrain himself from ramming into her. He’d waited for this for so long, dreamed about it since the moment he’d met her, been tormented by it during their year apart and then thought this level of intimacy was out of reach once he’d found her. However, he did manage to restrain himself. Instead, he moved slowly, his cock instinctively finding the warm, wet path as he leisurely slid into her.

Emma sighed as he began to fill her, it was just as good as she’d imagined. Not that she’d fantasized about this... too much. Some. Okay, a lot, she’d fantasized about this a lot. After the earlier efforts of his talented tongue, she was already hyper-aroused, and she knew it wouldn’t take much to have her tumbling over the edge.

Heat pooled in her belly once again, as the drag of his cock against her inner walls created delicious friction as he slowly entered her. She took the opportunity to savor the feel of his weight on her, savored the way the hair of his chest brushed against her erect nipples, and remembered how it had felt when that had happened mere hours ago, but they’d been in a much different situation. She couldn’t enjoy it then, but she could certainly enjoy it now. With abandon, she arched her back, pressing her breasts more firmly into his chest. Now she could succumb to the pleasure. At this movement, Killian changed his angle over her, which put delicious pressure on her clit and she exploded.

Emma crashed over the edge just as Killian was fully seated in her, pleasure pulsing from her center, throbbing around his cock and rolling through her in waves. Killian gritted his teeth to keep her from pulling him over the edge with her.

Killian watched in awe as she unraveled underneath him, his cock still buried at deep as he could go. When Emma came back to earth and opened her eyes, he chuckled, waiting patiently, “I knew I was good, but I didn’t realize I was that good.”

Emma smiled up at him lazily. “Shut up and do it again.”

“As you wish,” he replied and began to move inside her. They found a rhythm almost immediately, as if they’d always been meant for this. A team through and through, as if the connection they’d forged as adversaries, then allies, and then friends and then as more translated perfectly to this primal dance as their bodies joined and became one.

TBC

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfiction #cs march madness #csmarchmadness #the mysterious case of the missing pirate #my fic #cs mm 18 #one more chapter to go

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