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swanslieutenant · 3 years ago

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a place in time - chapter xiv

Summary: Emma’s an agent working to reunite missing people with their families when the biggest missing persons case of all time appears in front of her in a flash of bright, white light. Thousands of missing people from throughout history, including one particular pirate, appear on the shore of a lake in the middle of winter: none have aged a day since their disappearance and, with no memory of their missing time, must venture into a strange and uncertain future. Loosely based on the TV show “the 4400.”

Rating and Warnings: Teen.

Word count for this chapter: ~10K

Catch up: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12, ch13

Read on AO3

Note: thanks for sticking with me through this break! It’s been tough, but I hope this chapter is worth it! Thanks to everyone for sticking with me.

chapter xiv

After Killian’s request for a lawyer, the FBI have no choice but to stop his interrogation. Killian’s expression remains stony as the guards haul him to his feet and frog-march him out of the interview room, escorting him back to one of the isolation rooms to await the lawyer’s arrival.

Emma is still ensconced in the room with the one-way glass, the other FBI agents blocking her passage out. They make no effort to leave yet, until Mulan, who is visible through the narrow window, gestures towards the door.

With her permission, they leave the small room now, muttering amongst themselves about Killian and this entire situation – the murder, the video tape evidence, the ludicrousness of a pirate from the 1700s being interrogated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation in an old government building that is also home to hundreds of other time travellers.

Emma pointedly ignores their suspicions, though it makes her blood boil. She knows Killian, and these FBI agents know nothing of what is really going on here.

But she can’t dwell on that. Not now. Not when Killian needs her help to prove his innocence and to get him the hell out of here.

As the agents trickle out into the hallway at a snail’s pace, Emma has to do a funny little dance to sidestep them. Once free, she darts forward to catch up to Mulan, who is already halfway down the corridor, frowning at an open file folder as she walks.

“Mulan, hang on a second, I need to talk to you!”

Mulan glances over her shoulder with cool, expressionless eyes. She snaps the file folder shut, tucking it behind her back as she stands at attention to greet Emma.

“Yes, Agent Swan?”

“I heard what Killian said in there; I’ll have to call around for a lawyer.” Emma runs a hand through her tangled hair, wondering which of the lawyers she’s worked with in the past may be a good fit here – Hey, do you have any experience with proving the innocence of a centuries’ old pirate in a murder case where the FBI has a video proving he had access to the murder weapon? “Killian doesn’t know anyone here, so it may take me a few hours to get a hold of someone who is willing to help him –”

“That’s alright,” Mulan interrupts. “When I informed Sergeant Mills of his arrest, she told me she would be arranging for a lawyer through your organization in case he requested one. As far as I know, they’ve already been contacted and are on the way.”

“Oh.” Emma hadn’t even thought to contact Regina; of course, she’d already know about this and have something in place. “Okay, well, I’ll …” Emma trails off, suddenly unsure of what to do next, standing in this lonely hallway next to the FBI Commander in charge of investigating her returnee’s murder investigation. “I guess I’ll just …”

Mulan smiles at her, a sad pitiful smile, and her eyes remain firm and professional. “I know you feel that, as his agent, you have to do anything you can to help him right now, but there’s nothing to be done until the lawyer gets here. Go back to your office. When they get here, I’ll make sure you know.”

Emma hesitates, long enough for Mulan to frown and straighten her back. “Emma, I have a job to do here. A man has died, and all evidence points to murder. And now the prime suspect has evoked his right to a lawyer. We are going to follow the proper protocols to ensure justice is served. For all parties involved here. Now ... please.”

She gestures back towards the staircase that leads down and out of the building. Her outstretched arm blocks the hallway towards the isolation rooms and her stern expression lets Emma know there would be no lenience should she refuse.

But some of the fight has gone out of Emma now. Her adrenaline, triggered when Anna had called her and told her what had happened, has turned into an anxious shakiness, fueled by panic and lack of sleep. She would not say no to a tall glass of water and a moment to sit down and compose herself.

As much as she needs that, there’s something she needs to do beforehand. Mulan is right – Emma wants to help Killian, but she’s wrong that there’s nothing Emma can do.

Without another word and hoping her departing nod reassures the FBI Commander, Emma turns on her heel and speed-walks down the hallway. Once around the corner, her step quickens and she half-flies down the stairs. She rushes past the many FBI agents and guards crowding the downstairs lobby, and all but sprints across the courtyard, to the old brick building that houses the Collection Room in its basement.

No matter what the video tape of Killian shows, Emma knows what she saw when she was here earlier. She saw the list of restricted items, with Killian’s sword noted as being checked out in early February. She supposes it could’ve been returned in the meantime by whoever took it and then Killian went and stole it. But that just rings as so wrong to Emma that she dismisses that thought instantly. She knows Killian wouldn’t do this, and she needs to find proof.

Inside the dingy building, its strong odour of old fish as pungent as ever, Emma pushes open the door to the dimly lit Collection Room far more aggressively than she needs to, making the door swing wide open and crash into the wall behind it. The guard, the same one from Emma’s first trip here, drops his magazine in a dramatic fashion as she strides in.

“Jesus,” the guard mutters, leaning down to pick up his latest tabloid, this one illustrated with yet another tale of the returnees; Emma cringes at the thought of what they will say when they get wind of Killian’s arrest. “Knock, next time, will ya?”

“Sorry,” she replies, more out of reflex than anything, and she closes the door much more gently behind her. “Listen, I need to see some of your records from early February.”

The guard narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. “Is this about that dead returnee? Listen, I already gave the tapes over to the FBI, I don’t have anything else to –”

“No, it’s not the tapes. Last time I was here getting a few things, there was a list – a list of restricted items that were not allowed to be checked out. Killian’s sword – the returnee who has been charged with the murder – was on there. But it had been noted as being checked out, I’m sure of it.”

The guard appears more annoyed at the imposition to his time than eager to help her, but he does get to his feet, albeit with a dramatic sigh. He shuffles through a stack of loose papers at the counter, and frowns at her.

“You sure about that? I don’t remember any restricted items being checked out. And I’m the one they’d have to go through to get it.”

Emma tries not to huff in annoyance – of course she is sure – and she bites her tongue. “Can you check the list, please?”

He grumbles some more, and then withdraws a single piece of paper with a few lines of typed text and holds it out triumphantly to Emma.

“See, nothing on there.”

The thin piece of paper is heavy in her hands. She recognizes it as the same list as before: a number of weapons and other restricted items listed with the returnee’s code next to them. But where Killian’s sword had had a large APPROVED stamp beside it, along with a handwritten note detailing the date it was checked out, there is nothing now to indicate it is any different than anything else on the list.

No stamp, no note.

Nothing.

She looks back up the guard, who is watching her with a satisfied grin.

“See?”

“Okay,” Emma says, and she hands the list back to the guard. “Is this a copy, or something? Where is the one with the ‘approved’ stamp on it?”

“This is the only list,” he replies firmly. “We only have the one copy; easy to keep track of it that way. Nothing’s been checked out, agent.”

Emma narrows her eyes at him, her lie detector does not go off. She knows what she saw but this man is not lying. At least – he believes he’s not lying. And Emma is getting a sinking suspicion as to why – or rather, who may have changed his mind … or perhaps, even his memory.

The thought sends a dark chill down her spine, along with the rational scoff that comes with it. But Emma has been through a lot the last several hours and learned a hell of a lot of what apparently can happen in this world. Changing memories or erasing important documents or hell, tampering with video evidence through magic – well, that’s as believable as time-travelling or women who can control the snow or fairies who can re-attach hands.

“Okay, fine.” She steps away from the counter, not even attempting to hide her annoyance. “Thanks, anyways.”

She trudges back towards her office in a foul mood, anger growing with each step. She should’ve expected this – after all, if Gold is somehow powerful and vindictive enough to transport people through time, of course he’d be able to conjure up a manufactured crime to keep his apparent mortal enemy trapped in his clutches.

Could this all be linked to the strange little box Killian stole from him all those years ago? Maybe Gold is going to try and make a deal with the pirate to get it back? Promise to get the charges dropped as long as Killian returns it to him? Or perhaps Gold has some other twisted version of vengeance in mind. Whatever is between them, Emma is clear that it’s hatred on both sides. Gold has wanted Killian locked up since day one, and the ice in Killian’s expression when he saw the man had spoken volumes about the bad blood between them.

But still. It’s hard to believe that, whatever Gold has against Killian, he would have set up this entire murder case. If he did this, he has literally killed an innocent returnee who is supposed to be under his protection as commander of this place.

The very thought of Gold’s manipulation and unknown motives make her anxiety grow and her stomach roil with nerves, and she shivers with unease as she arrives at her office. She flicks on the light and strides over to her desk as she always does when a strange sense of déjà vu overcomes her.

Perhaps it’s because it has only been a few hours since she was standing in this office with Killian, whereas it now feels like a different lifetime. Then, they’d sensed the danger Gold had posed to Killian, but it’s nothing like it is now. Now, Killian has been arrested for murder, framed by a man who, against all odds and logic, has been around since at least the 1740s too.

Emma’s head aches at the thought. She believes Killian, believes that Gold is the same man he knew then. But how the hell is it possible? Gold has been at Storybrooke for as long as Emma has worked here. He isn’t a returnee and Killian knows him from the 1700s, so how the hell did he get here?

Could the white light have brought him here too, years in advance of the others? Emma scoffs as soon as the thought crosses her mind. The chances of him transporting to the future by the same mechanism as thousands of other people, only to end up working at the same agency in charge of the rest of the time travellers and the very pirate he has a vendetta against – Emma’s not a gambler but she wouldn’t bet on those odds.

Not when those same odds would need to apply to Emma. Abandoned as an infant and cared for by Storybrooke, the same place where she is reunited with her long-lost parents. Or explain Anna’s experience with her sister, Robin’s with his wife.

No, there’s no way it could be chance alone. Gold either brought himself here, years ahead of everyone else, or hell, Emma can almost believe that Gold could be some sort of strange immortal, biding his time through the centuries until the rest of the returnees arrived, exactly when he wanted them to.

A few weeks ago, she’d have laughed herself silly at the thought of an immortal, evil man waiting for time travellers to arrive. Now … now it makes as much sense as anything else. A man able to survive centuries, seeking revenge on a pirate who stole from him – sure, Emma can almost believe that. It makes as much sense as anything else that’s happened over the last few months.

But why? Sure – this little box could be a part of it. Why, though, would he hunt Killian through time itself, when Gold could have found him in their own time? And why bring these people to her time – people with no connection to Killian, like Elsa and her parents and all the rest?

Emma drops down into her chair and lets out a sigh, shrugging out of her leather jacket and leaning back, staring at the ceiling. There’s so much she doesn’t understand, so many unanswered questions that it makes her head spin.

She stares around her office, feeling bleak and sorry for herself, for Killian, for this horrible situation. It’s upon her survey of her office that she realizes that, while everything appears to be as she left it last night, in its usual state of disarray and loose papers, something is … off.

Had this what she noticed when she came in?

A prickle of unease appears on the back of her neck and Emma tries to will herself to notice what it is that is so different. Her used coffee cup is where she left it, there is no change in the dust around the picture of Henry and herself on the corner of the desk, no loose pages on the floor or scattered on her desk, and her computer’s screen saver is still rotating between random scenery shots.

Her eyes fall on her desk drawer. It is closed, but from the way the lock is rotated, she can tell it is unlocked. Dread pools in her stomach; she knows for certain she had locked it before she left last night; confidentiality and security has been drilled into her head since she started working here at Storybrooke and Emma never leaves her desk drawer, full of private returnee files, unlocked.

But when she reaches for the handle and tugs on it, the drawer slides open easily under her grip. Emma mutters a swear under her breath, and flicks through the numerous file folders held in this drawer, until she come across the only one that she knows would be of any interest to anyone who dared to come and rifle through her things.

R1748KJ

Emma pulls it from the drawer and she flips through the documentation of his medical exams, a handful of notes regarding his current counselling schedule with Belle, copies of requests he’s made to Storybrooke staff for things like extra blankets and new clothes, and a printed copy of his exit request she had filled out only days ago, until she gets to her handwritten notes at the back of the file.

As a part of her duties as his agent, Emma has taken notes regarding his past and circumstances leading up to his disappearance. It’s standard procedure when they investigate missing persons cases, though usually the goal is the return of the individual to their previous life … something the Storybrooke agents had quickly come to realize was an exercise in futility.

After the first few familiar pages with nothing amiss, she realizes that two to three pages of her notes are gone from the file. She can’t remember what exact pieces of his past were noted on those pages, but whatever it was, the fact that it is missing is bad enough.

That bastard.

She drops Killian’s file onto her desk and slams the drawer shut, her computer screen shaking at the force.

Fury rages through her, both at Gold and herself. She had been naïve to think she could leave Killian here in Storybrooke for even one more night. She underestimated Gold and the lengths he would go to to keep Killian here in Storybrooke, in his grasp. Gold has had centuries to perfect his next steps, whereas Emma feels like a little lost lifeboat, adrift in a stormy sea, hoping to catch a lifeline.

As her computer screen finally stops rattling, leaving her office in a cold, empty silence, she rests her head down on her desk, overwhelmed and so, so angry. Her eyes are burning, tears of frustration leaking out. Emma is strong and likes to think she can handle a lot, but this … this is so unfair. All of this. This whole goddamn situation – the returnees, Killian, his arrest – all of it.

And apparently, her boss is the one who caused it all.

If Gold truly is the one behind all this, then he has ripped countless lives apart. Hers included. He’s torn people from their time, from their lives, from the people that they loved. And now he’s turned her world upside down again – murdered a returnee, framed Killian for it, and seemingly manipulated evidence with magic.

Emma sits up and rubs at her eyes. Rage still consumes her, but she straightens her back, the moment of self-pity over. Tears and worry won’t prove Killian’s innocence or find a way to stop Gold’s plan – hard work will.

She can’t help Killian with the lawyer yet, so Emma grabs his file again, and a blank pad of paper from her drawer. She can’t quite remember what was on the pages that are missing, and the context nearby isn’t helpful. The page before the first missing one details his enrollment in the Royal Navy and the death of his older brother, while the last pages are of Emma’s notes regarding the latest book he’d requested she get him, one about modern sailing that Emma had to check out of the public library near her house as Storybrooke’s supplies were limited.

She sits back and drops her pen in frustration. There is so much of Killian’s story detailed in her notes, she can’t fathom which part Gold wanted to know about. He knew him as a pirate – would it be something after they’d met? Or something from beforehand, to use as leverage over him? Some clue to the box, something Emma hadn’t even realized she’d documented?

Emma glares at the file, her mind a storm. An idea grips her then, and she grabs her desk phone, dialling the security office on the main floor.

“Security,” a man answers swiftly. “Is this an emergency?”

Yes, Emma wants to say, but she answers, “No. I need your help with something. Can you check the security cameras for me please? I think someone was in my office last night. Some things are … missing.”

“Really?” the man replies, more interested now, and Emma can hear the squeak of his chair as he scoots closer to his desk. “Which office are you in? Let me pull up the tapes.”

Emma informs him of her office number, and he types away on the computer for several long minutes.

“Sorry, agent,” the man says, frown apparent through the phone. “Looks like the cameras in the office building have been out since last night. I didn’t realize – maybe a power outage? I’ll have to get our I.T. guys on this as soon as possible.”

“Oh, really?” Emma says, unable to keep the venom from her voice.

Of course.

Once again, he’s one step ahead.

The man types furiously on his keyboard, before adding, “But, hey – you said some things are missing? Want me to send a security guard up there to take a look around?”

“No,” Emma says, already imaging the report – yes, I’m sure it was Commander Gold who came in here and stole the pages from the file of the returnee now accused of murder. “No, I’ll deal with it.” She pauses then, an idea blooming in her mind. “Hey – uh, how long do you think it will take for those cameras to come back?”

The man blows out hard. “Probably an hour or two. The I.T. team won’t be here until 9, and it’ll take them a bit to get organized –”

Emma’s pager beeps then, and all thoughts other than the lawyer is here go right out of her head.

“Oh, okay, great,” she says, cutting the man off mid-sentence. “Thanks. Good luck with it.”

She hangs up and grabs her pager from her belt in one motion; it is indeed a summons back to the interrogation room – the lawyer has arrived.

Emma shoves the file back into the drawer, locking the drawer and glaring at it for good measure, before she shoots to her feet. She grabs her jacket off the back of the chair, and she’s swinging it on, flicking her hair out of the collar as she opens the door, her mind already racing and – and walks right into Anna Arendelle, standing outside her office with her fist poised to knock.

Emma jumps back, her heart flying into her throat. “God, Anna, you scared the hell out of me.”

“Thank god you’re here.” Anna steps right into Emma’s office, hardly acknowledging that Emma almost knocked her right over, and her movement forces Emma to back up until she hits her desk.

“Anna –”

Ignoring her, Anna turns and beckons wildly back out her office door. Before Emma can open her mouth to protest, Anna’s sister Elsa steps into her office too, followed by, of all people, Will Scarlet.

“Come in, we need to close the door,” Anna says, ushering them further into the office. They obey; Elsa giving Emma and her office a cool, appraising look, while Will looks as shifty and uncomfortable as ever, hands stuffed into his pockets. They shuffle past Emma into her now very cramped office to stand behind her desk, the only spot there is any floor space left. As Anna swings the door closed, Emma herself is now squished between her desk and Anna, and she can feel her temper rising.

“Anna, what are you doing? I do not have time for –”

“It’s about Elsa’s magic,” Anna says, breathlessly. “We need to talk to you.”

Emma is unable to stop the annoyance and frustration from playing across her expression at Anna’s terrible timing. Elsa is mad too; her eyes flash with fury, and she leans around Will to glare at her sister.

“You told her? I thought you were bringing us here to get out of Storybrooke, and wanted to get us out of here without anyone knowing about it!”

“I had to tell her,” Anna pleads with her sister, her eyes wide and desperate. Emma takes a closer look at her then –Anna is often emotional these days, but she looks at the end of her rope – braids a mess, shirt collar rumpled, her eyes puffy and red, bloodshot with the remnant of tears. “Emma can help us. Right, Emma?”

And while Emma has empathy for Anna and whatever is going on for her and Elsa, she really doesn’t have time for this right now. She hesitates, long enough for her message to be clear.

As Anna’s face falls, Will scoffs, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. “See, she won’t help us get out of here. I told you that she’s the one who stopped me and Jones back when we first got here.”

“Great,” Elsa says, her voice dripping with anger, and she points an accusatory finger at her sister. “So, Will was right. This is a waste of our time. She’s just another agent keeping us here against our will.”

Emma tries not to prickle at Elsa’s tone, though it’s a challenge. As patiently as she can muster, she explains, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone about the … m-magic, if that’s what you’re worried about. I know what would happen if anyone learned about returnees’ and strange powers, or whatever the hell is going on here, and I would never be the one to expose that, okay? And,” she adds, at Anna’s desperate expression, “I will help you get out of here. I just – I just can’t do it right now.”

Elsa’s eyebrows raise in a challenging way, while Will mutters a dark sure under his breath. Emma disregards this, and she moves towards the door, but Anna steps forward, blocking her.

“No, Emma, wait –”

Emma breathes out hard, trying to control her temper, and glares at her fellow agent. “Anna, I don’t have time right now, I’ve got to go. There’s an emergency. I will try and help you guys figure out a way to release Elsa later, okay –”

“No,” she replies vehemently. “You don’t understand.” Anna glances towards Will and Elsa, biting her lip nervously. “We have a bigger problem. Elsa’s not the only one … who is special.”

That statement should stop Emma in her tracks, but at this point, she isn’t really listening; she’s already worrying about what will happen if she’s not there to meet Killian’s lawyer and if, God forbid, Gold is there instead. “Listen Anna, I just got a page and I have to go check on –”

As she is speaking, Emma presses her hand to her hip where she keeps her pager for emphasis, but her fingers brush only her belt. She glances down, but the pager is gone. She turns, wondering if she dropped it on her desk. Then her eyes grow wide.

Will, standing behind her desk, is holding up her pager with a wry grin. Emma gapes at him, and finally Anna’s words roll over her.

Elsa’s not the only one who is special.

Emma points to Will, to the pager in his hand. “How – how did you do that?”

Will shrugs, leaning over the desk to hand the pager back to her. “I always knew I was a good at nicking things. Seems I had a little something giving me an edge.”

Emma gapes, her fingers curling around the pager so tightly her knuckles turn white. “You … you have magic?”

Will raises his hands in the universal ‘don’t ask me’ reply, while Elsa sighs impatiently. She lifts her chin, surveying Emma up and down.

“There are a few more of us,” Elsa says, her voice cautious and cool. “We’ve … we’ve been trying to figure out what is going on for a while now.”

The prospect of more than Elsa and now Will having magic or powers or whatever makes Emma’s heart falter. She tries not to gape back at Elsa, her mind sputtering to understand. First an immortal man brings people from through time, or whatever the hell is going on with Gold, and now people are popping up with magical powers?

There is something far more sinister here than Emma can figure out right now. One part of her wants to throw her hands up in the air and tell them to find someone else to help. But another, stronger part of Emma knows she has to help them. She has already made one too many mistakes today. She should have gotten Killian out of here before Gold could get his hands on him, and she can’t make that mistake again, not with anyone else.

So, instead, she takes a deep breath, formulating a plan as she speaks. “Okay. Listen. I will help you all. I – I don’t know how yet, but I will. I just have to go help one of the other returnees right now, okay?” Emma turns to Anna, who is still looking miserable, but a bright edge has appeared in her eyes again. “Okay, Anna, I need you to gather everyone together. Everyone who is … special. Don’t draw attention to yourselves, but find a way to bring them to one of the conference rooms or something. Somewhere safe and secure. Get Graham and Robin to help too, we can trust them.”

“We can help gather people,” Elsa volunteers. She is still regarding Emma with an air of caution, but some of her frostiness has melted away now. She turns to Will, listing off a handful of names. Some Emma doesn’t know, others that make her stomach jolt with recognition.

Emma shakes her head, and pushes that to the side for now. Instead, she takes advantage of their distraction and tugs on Anna’s arm. She pulls her away ever so slightly, lowering her voice as she says, “Delete that video you have. The one you showed me the other day in the breakroom. And any others you have. Get the others to the conference room, and then let me know when they are all there okay.”

Anna nods, her expression firm and teeth gritted in determination. “Got it.”

“And whatever you do,” Emma adds, with a glance to Elsa and Will, now deep in discussion. “Do not let Gold know about this, okay? Something is – there’s something bad going on here. We can’t let too many people know about this. But especially not Gold.”

Anna seems to understand the gravity of that statement, and she nods once more. Now, with plan in place, Emma ushers the trio out of her office. She walks with the others out to the barracks, but when they divert to the cafeteria, Emma pauses before heading upstairs.

“Anna, wait.” The other agent turns, and Emma takes a deep breath to steady herself. “Can you find my – my parents? Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan. Bring them to the conference room too.”

Anna nods, and drops her voice to a whisper. “Do they – are they special too?”

“No,” Emma says, and she realizes she never even thought about that. “Well, maybe. I don’t know. But find them anyway, okay?”

Anna agrees, and Emma turns away. She all but teleports up to the fourth floor, and as she rounds the corner, there is a trio of women standing in the middle of the hallway, opposite the interrogation room where Killian had been earlier.

Mulan, as composed as ever, is explaining something to the other two, one of whom is Regina Mills. Even for this early hour, she is completely put together, not a strand of styled black hair out of place. The third woman is a stranger, similarly well-dressed, in a perfectly pressed black pantsuit and scarlet red blouse. A sleek black leather briefcase is clutched in her left hand, with elegantly coifed curls framing her heart-shaped face.

“Ah, there she is,” Regina says, once she notices Emma’s approach. “This is Emma Swan, Jones’ agent though our department. Agent Swan, allow me to introduce Jones’ lawyer. Cora Hart.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Cora says, in a cool, expressionless tone that makes Emma think she could literally care less about meeting her. But if this is Killian’s lawyer, then Emma is going to be as nice as possible to her – she may be the only ally Killian and Emma have right now.

She smiles warmly and reaches out to shake Cora’s hand. “Thank you so much for coming. Killian will be so happy to see you. I know – I know this will have been overwhelming to him.”

“It certainly must,” Cora replies, and she slips her hand free of Emma’s, a dismissal as quick as her greeting as she looks back to Mulan. “Which room is he in, Commander?”

“He’s in one of the isolation rooms still, but we’ll go get him and bring him to an interview room. If you’ll excuse me.”

Mulan departs, and Cora fiddles with the watch at her wrist. “It’s only 7:30,” she says, with a wrinkle of her nose in disgust. “To wrench a man from his bed in the middle of the night and interrogate him on only a few hours sleep. How barbaric.”

“I agree,” Emma says instantly. Regina gives her an odd look, but Cora ignores her completely. “I can introduce you to him,” Emma adds, the thought coming out of her lips before she even considers what she is saying. But it’s been a horrible few hours, and she hasn’t realized how much she wishes she could speak with Killian about it.

To reassure him that she will get him out of this. To ensure he knows that, whatever happens, she knows he is innocent and that he won’t face these charges alone. And hell, if she’s being honest with herself, Emma wants to talk to him to reassure herself that she isn’t alone in this either. She wishes fiercely that she could have his steadying presence at her side right now – in the face of the realization of Gold’s true identity to the news of Will and Elsa and the others.

Perhaps he’d know something about the others with magic? Killian hasn’t been fazed by the concept of magic – maybe he’d know if Gold had something to do with this too.

“Then, once I’ve introduced you to him, if you don’t mind,” she adds, emboldened. “Maybe I could have a few minutes to talk to him before you get started? He must be so … anxious about all of this, it’s all so strange and different than what he is used to.”

“That would be highly inappropriate at this time, Agent Swan,” Cora says coolly, looking at Emma like she is seeing her for the first time, eyes narrowed and cold. “Now if you’ll please excuse me. I take it one of these spare rooms is available for me to prepare for a few minutes while they fetch Jones?”

Regina had been staring at Emma like she has lost her mind, but she quickly snaps out of it and nods at Cora. “Yes, this one here is free.”

Regina guides Cora into a room, and when she has closed the door behind her, Regina turns and marches right up to Emma.

“What the hell was that about? A few minutes to talk with him? This is an active investigation, Emma, we have the FBI here, for god’s sake –”

“I know,” Emma says, bristling. “I just thought – Killian doesn’t know what’s happening. A friendly face may have helped him out. Plus, Regina – I know Killian didn’t do this. We – he was with me last evening, and we were talking about him getting out of Storybrooke. He would never jeopardize that by doing something like this. If I could just talk to him, to help –”

Regina holds up her hand. “No, Emma. I don’t – I don’t know what has gotten into you lately, but that is absolutely not appropriate.” She glances at her wristwatch then, and levels a cool glare upon Emma. “I have a meeting with Commander Gold in my office in ten minutes. But I expect to see you there at 9:30, promptly, to discuss your recent … behaviour. Is that understood?”

Emma blinks at her, but then manages a nod, hoping she hasn’t just cost herself her job. Regina shakes her head with dismay and walks away, leaving Emma standing in the middle of the now empty hallway.

Well, hell. That didn’t go very well.

But, if Emma is about to get fired, she knows exactly what she needs to do now. The security guard told her the cameras wouldn’t be fixed for two hours at least, and Gold will be busy with Regina for the next little bit. She knows he took the pages from Killian’s file, and his meddling with the security cameras may well have given Emma the chance she needs to find some evidence that would prove his involvement, once and for all.

xxxxxx

Killian has had a hell of a night.

After Emma Swan left him in his room yesterday, following the revelation of who exactly her commander truly is, Killian had laid back on his small bed and stared at the ceiling, stewing and brooding. All of this: the scarred remnants of his wrist, his banishment to this time, this chaos and torture and heartbreak – all because of Gold.

He was the last man on earth Killian would have ever expected to see here in this time and the last he ever wanted to see again in any time. Gold had been disguising himself as a merchant when Killian met him first, a man who had fled England as a result of a deal gone awry, hoarding his riches in his manor side estate.

It had been a disguise Killian hadn’t seen through at the time, but he knows better now. Gold was no wealthy merchant, no more than he is the commander of this facility. He was a demon hiding in plain sight, a twisted little imp, a monster.

A monster who has wrought nothing but chaos and pain.

Killian had been consumed by his dark storm of thoughts for a long while, his scarred left-hand aching with a fierce phantom pain, until around dinner time a sharp knock on his door had startled him. He’d opened the door, somewhat suspicious at whoever would venture to see him, and to his surprise, it had been Mary Margaret and David, Emma’s parents.

They had asked him to join them for dinner, her mother looking nervous but smiling tentatively at him when he agreed, while her father’s usual narrow-eyed expression of distrust had remained.

They had tucked into dinner – something Killian had learned to be called ‘cheeseburgers.’ He’d picked at the meal, preferring the wilted salad to the salty meat and rubbery cheese. Mary Margaret was quite cheery, almost questionably so, and David had kept mostly silent throughout the meal. It was only after Killian asked them, point-blank, why they had asked him to dinner, that Mary Margaret had confessed Emma had asked them to. She’d told them something strange was going on, but no further details. Just that Emma seemed worried about it.

At that, Killian had felt an enormous wave of guilt crash over him. Emma’s parents, who had lost nearly three decades of their daughter’s life, spending time with him, the pirate who had ruined their chances of getting out of Storybrooke sooner. Just to make sure it was one less worry for Emma. She could have asked them to jump into the Atlantic Ocean, and Killian knew they’d have done it without a second thought. Anything that would bring her closer to them.

It would’ve been too easy to lay all the blame at Gold’s feet for their broken relationship, but Killian knows better. If he hadn’t stolen the object from the madman and hidden it so that he could never find it, then none of this would have happened. Gold would have been a faded memory by now, the other returnees never would have vanished at his hand, and Emma … well, if he follows that thread of logic, then Killian himself is one of the reasons Emma grew up without her parents. His thoughtless theft and Gold’s subsequent never-ending hunt for vengeance has torn hundreds of families apart, throughout time, including Emma’s.

Perhaps Gold isn’t the only monster here.

Following the dinner, which he had felt grow more uncomfortable and awkward as his anger towards Gold and remorse at his own actions consumed him, Killian returned to his room. He’d stared at the ceiling again, falling into an even darker spiral than before.

It had twisted into dreams and nightmares – of a dark manor house, lit only by moonlight. Of a woman, with dark curls and bright blue eyes. Of his ship, tall rigging and white sails against the cool blue sky. Of a cursed box, making his crew violent and at each other’s throats over the simplest things. Of an island, gnarled jungle vines twisting and threading above and blocking out the hot sun. Of pain, the worst pain in his life, blood pooling at his feet.

Then, he’d been roughly roused from his bed, the hands of multiple guards slamming him to the ground so fiercely his entire right side was bruised. Cold handcuffs were slid around his wrists as he was told he was under arrest, that his former roommate was dead.

And now, here he is – sitting in a cold, nearly empty room with a murder charge hanging over his head.

He should’ve known Gold would never have allowed Killian to leave here.

At least this is a different room than the one the FBI Commander had interviewed him in. That one had had those horrid fluorescent lights, while this room has a duller light and no mirror on the wall. They’ve also removed the handcuffs from him now, which he is thankful for as cold metal had rubbed painfully against his wrist.

He’s been in this room now for several minutes now, having been retrieved from the isolation room he’s come to be very familiar with. Apparently, his attorney, whoever that may be, has arrived, and is on their way to meet him.

He knows of lawyers from his own time, though he’d never have been afforded one back then for an accusation like this. He wonders what they do to murderers in this time. This world is far less brutal than his own, but he isn’t sure the punishment for murder will have changed too much. Back then, he’d have been hanging from the gallows already should an accusation like this have befallen him. Here, their system appears to be built on honor and evidence and justice, though Killian is rather sure they haven’t ever faced an opponent like Gold before, a monster who can create false evidence out of thin air.

The room’s door swings open then, and his head snaps up as a tall woman waltzes into the room. She is older than Killian by about two decades; a handsome woman, with brown curls and sharp eyes.

“The man of the hour,” she says in a silky voice, setting a briefcase down on the steel table between them. “My name is Cora Hart. I am an attorney with my firm, Hart and Miller, and Regina Mills, the sergeant here, has asked me to represent you.”

“I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Killian drawls, as she takes a seat across from him, “but given my current circumstances …”

“Understandable,” she replies. Her voice is a smooth, reassuring tone, though Killian can’t help but detect an edge of slipperiness within her words. She withdraws a stack of papers from her briefcase and slides them across the table towards Killian. “Well, Mr. Jones, to get us started –”

“Captain,” he corrects, and she flashes him an insincere smile.

“Of course. Captain. Now, I am not sure your familiarity with the law, but if you would like to hire me as your lawyer, everything you and I discuss will be under attorney-client privilege. I will work for your best interests in fighting these charges. All I ask in return from you is your utmost cooperation, and the truth of what has occurred here, however badly a light it may paint you in.”

“No worry for that,” Killian replies, unable to keep the venom from his tone. “Because I am completely innocent.”

Cora’s smile doesn’t waver. “The FBI have evidence that would suggest otherwise.”

“She told me all the evidence,” Killian says, with a wave of his hand. “It’s irrelevant. I didn’t do it. I know who did, and they are framing me.”

“Who? The FBI?”

“No, not the bloody FBI.”

“Then who?”

He leans across the table and deposits his most charming smile upon her. “I’m not telling you anything. I want to talk to Emma Swan.”

Cora’s eyes flash, a crack appearing in her cool façade. “That is not possible.”

“I thought you were supposed to work for my best interests,” he replies, raising his chin in a challenge. “And talking to Emma right now is absolutely in my best interest.”

“You can believe me or not, Captain Jones. Your best interest is my only goal here, and any discussion of this case with Agent Swan is not in your best interest. At least, not at this time,” she amends, perhaps at the expression on his face. “I need to understand your case first. Agent Swan works for this government and could be called as a witness to testify against you. Until I know whether speaking with her would benefit our case, I cannot allow anything like that to proceed.”

Killian crosses his arms over his chest, surveying her. “You work for this government too.”

“Actually, I work for you,” Cora says, and she nudges the papers towards him again and sets down a thin black writing instrument, something Killian has learned is called a pen. “As soon as you sign these, that is.”

He glances at the papers, weighing his options. He hadn’t seen Emma earlier, though he’d heard her loud voice, speaking with the FBI Commander outside the interrogation room. Her words had been muffled but something about her tone had prompted him to ask for an attorney.

She wanted him to have a lawyer, and here one is, sitting in front of him, offering him her services to help fight these charges. And he supposes, she hadn’t outright denied him the possibility of speaking to Emma.

Perhaps this is in his best interest.

He pulls the paperwork closer and examines the first few pages. It’s all jargon to him, and he flips to the last page, where his printed name stands next to an empty, dotted line – awaiting his signature.

Killian hesitates for a moment more, wary of everything in this world, but eventually picks up the black pen.

After all – what else does he have to lose?

He signs his name on the dotted line, a flourish to the final s of his surname. The ink has barely dried before Cora has taken the papers back, disappearing them into her briefcase.

“Wonderful. Now, let’s discuss who exactly you think is responsible for the murder of Nathaniel Jekyll.”

xxxxxx

Emma feels a bit like a ping pong ball this morning, bouncing between the barracks, the main office building, and the dingy building with the Collection Room. As she makes the trip back to the office block, her feet starting to hurt from all her jaunts, Emma can see a line of cars at the main gates – Storybrooke employees arriving for their daily shifts, all held up by the FBI screening.

That works to her advantage; with the FBI slowing everything down at the main gates, only a few people have made it into the office yet. Emma nods pleasantly at the few agents who do pass her, before ducking into a side hallway and hurrying up to the sixth floor, to Gold’s expansive office.

The hallway leading to his office is completely abandoned, and no video cameras means no one will know she was here. Emma checks the time – 7:45 a.m. Regina’s meeting was set to begin several minutes ago, and as she turns the doorknob, she hopes with all her heart Gold didn’t re-schedule it last minute.

The knob hardly moves; locked, then. A good sign he isn’t here, and though it should be a bad sign for her plan, a locked office has never stopped Emma before. In her previous line of work, when her old boss Leroy had hired her for any and all jobs, she’d picked up many a skill and it just so happens that lockpicking is one of them.

She pulls out a few bobbipins from her hair, thankful for her past self who shoved them into her curls haphazardly this morning. She crouches down and fiddles as quietly and quickly as she can with the lock. Luckily, or perhaps an oversight on Gold’s behalf, the door is just a standard issue office door and the lock springs open after a few moments. Emma slithers into the office, and pulls the door firmly shut behind her.

There is no sign of Gold, and Emma lets out a sigh of relief. A cool, grey morning light illuminates the room with long shadows, casting an eerie sheen over the place. Emma had been in here earlier, when Gold called her up to ask if she’d seen anything odd with any of the returnees, though she’d hardly noticed the luxury of this place then.

Whereas Emma’s office is nothing more than a fancy cupboard with cardstock ceiling tiles and thin plaster walls, Gold’s office is made up of maple panelling and thick velvet curtains, with a wall of bookcases opposite an oak desk and leather chair. A pristine leather couch is near the bookcases, with a circular, hand-crafted table and chairs in the centre of the room.

Emma moves silently through the room towards the desk, her shoes sinking into the thick rug with each step. Gold’s desk is neat and orderly, and Emma shuffles through a pile of loose documents as gently and non-disruptively as she can manage. They are mostly pages of Storybrooke policies and procedures, media releases, and printed email threads detailing the departure details – nothing of any importance, really.

There are a few returnee files with scrawled notes and printed summaries of their stay so far on the other corner, but there are no names she recognizes. The desk drawers are empty of anything other than office supplies and more policy documents too, and there is no sign of the missing paperwork from Killian’s file anywhere on Gold’s desk.

But that would be too easy.

Emma abandons the desk and moves instead to the table and four chairs. Two white china teacups sit on carved coasters, an empty glass canteen of water between them. A wire trash bin is at the table’s base, not yet been picked up by housekeeping.

Perhaps it’s the morning light catching in the water canteen and shining directly onto the trash bin, but for whatever reason, a crumbled ball of paper amidst discarded sticky notes and tissues catches her eye. Emma bends down, plucks the paper out from the trash, smoothing out the wrinkles, anticipation rising.

To her disappointment, rather than revealing Gold’s evil master plan for Killian and the rest of the returnees, the crumpled piece is essentially an empty page. Save for one word, scrawled in a cursive, sloping script in the bottom corner.

Baelfire.

Emma frowns, squinting at the word to make it out in the dim light. The word means nothing to her at first impression. At the same time, something is making goosebumps rise on the back of her neck. She runs her finger over the word, which had been written with such a forceful hand she can feel the imprint of the pen strokes, trying to place the unease growing in her gut.

Perhaps it’s not the word itself that makes her skin tingle. Emma can’t be sure, but the handwriting of the name looks similar to the writing she remembers being next to the sword on the restricted items list.

Gold’s handwriting, she surmises. Of course.

It’s just a scrap of paper, but it may be her only piece of evidence at this time. Against her instincts of leaving everything where she found it, Emma folds the paper into a neat square and slides it into the back pocket of her jeans.

Emma faces the opposite wall, where the large bookcases stand. They are full of heavy law and ethical tomes, covered with a layer of dust that is at least several weeks thick. Between two of the bookcases is a large, elaborate painting of a manor house. The painting is a good three feet wide and nearly as tall as the bookcases. It probably cost a fortune, and the manor house itself in the painting is like luxuriousness incarnate. Drawn to be built of rich black wood, three storeys tall, with a white porch wrapping around the house itself. The house is shadowed by tall trees and bushes, a horse-drawn carriage ambling up the green lane towards the house.

Unlike the bookcases, with their layer of dust, the painting is clean and pristine. Surely housekeeping wouldn’t ignore the books and only dust the painting?

Emma frowns and peers closer, squinting in the low light. There are a few fingerprints scattered around the edge of the frame, as if … as if someone had taken the painting off the wall.

Heart hammering, she reaches forward and hooks her fingers around the edge of the painting. She tugs forward, and it swings out from the wall like a door, so easily she stumbles back a few steps.

Behind the painting is a steel vault door, a five-spoked handle in the centre. Emma stares at it, momentarily so taken aback she can’t even process what she is seeing.

She tugs on the spokes, but Emma already knows Gold would never be so careless to leave this open. It doesn’t budge at all, and Emma lets out a frustrated huff.

She leans against the heavy vault door, letting her hand rest over the combination lock beside the spokes. She twists it absently, trying to feel any internal movements. But instead, the lock warms under her touch, the metal heating her palm so suddenly that she snaps her hand back. To her utter surprise, the dark steel is warming to a bright orange where she had touched it, in the imprint of her fingers.

A loud click echoes then throughout the room, and Emma blinks rapidly as the steel fades back to its regular cool steel. She can feel her heart hammering in her chest, and she tentatively tries the rotating handle again.

This time, it turns far too easily.

Somehow, someway, she has unlocked the safe.

Swallowing down the rising tide of anxiety and deciding then and there that whatever just happened is a problem for another day, Emma twists the handle again and swings the heavy door open.

The vault has a small light inside to illuminate its contents, switched on by the act of opening the door. The vault itself contains a multi-layered circular shelf that is nearly as tall as she is. It reminds Emma of a Lazy Susan from an old foster mother’s house, where the best cookies and treats were always hidden away out of sight by the rotating turntable.

This, however, has nothing as innocent as children’s cookies on it.

On every square inch of the shelves are glass containers, of every size and shape. Within them, are objects – hundreds of objects.

Some are random, like things Emma would see on a cluttered side table at home. A pretty flower paperweight, a half-burnt candle, an old dollar bill. Others are more elaborate: a diamond bracelet that twinkles in the faint light, a stained-glass flower vase, even an old brass oil lamp that looks straight out of the Disney movie Aladdin.

But more startling than the objects themselves is that each glass container has a small cue card affixed to it with identifying information – the name of each returnee and the date they disappeared, written in the same cursive as the small scrap of paper in Emma’s back pocket.

Emma peers further into the vault, standing on her tiptoes. There’s not only the one turntable full of these objects, but at least a half dozen more, built onto a larger turntable that rotates itself within the vault. Hundreds of objects are held in this vault, like some sort of twisted museum display. Feeling entranced, Emma reaches out a hesitant hand, turning the tables gently to see more and more of the objects.

A small sewing kit, loose purple thread still hanging out of the half-closed clasp – Aurora Perrault, 1959.

A bent, stainless-steel fork – Ariel Andersen, 2010.

A wrinkled Jack of Hearts playing card, hand illustrated with smudged ink – William Scarlet, 1865.

Emma’s stomach twists with disgust, nausea roiling over her, and she covers her mouth with her hands, not sure if she’s going to scream or throw up. These are the returnees’ items, some random and meaningless, others priceless – objects stolen from lives, from across different place and times.

She doesn’t understand why these objects are here, but their presence, in a hidden safe in Commander Gold’s office, makes her feel light-headed and overwhelmed.

Emma is unable to stop herself. Mesmerized, Emma looks at turntable after turntable, recognizing several more names as she goes.

A porcelain rabbit figurine, with a chipped ear and faded paint – Alice Lewis, 1885.

Forest green gloves, embroidered with gold and purple whorls – Elsa Arendelle, 2008.

A velvety pink headscarf – Marian Locksley, 2006

As she swivels to the next turntable, Emma’s heart stops. In containers next to each other are a peridot engagement ring on a shiny gold band and a letter-opener in the design of a sword, with a gleaming hilt and blade.

Mary Margaret Blanchard, 1983.

David Nolan, 1983.

This time even her hand over her mouth isn’t enough to stop a small cry escaping her lips. She stares at the ring and the letter-opener, at her parents’ names written in Gold’s cursive handwriting.

These items – an object from each returnee, her parents’ things … what the actual hell is Gold up to?

Emma almost picks up the container with her mother’s ring but draws her hand back. Who knows what Gold has rigged up in here. She leans back from the safe then, taking a breath to steady the roiling horror threatening to overwhelm her.

She came here to try and find the missing pages from Killian’s file, but this … this is so much more. This is proof Gold has something to do with all the returnees being here.

Emma pulls at the turntables again, intending to reset them to where she found them, when another container catches her eye. On the turntable next to the one containing her mother’s ring and her father’s letter opener, is a container with a curved, silver ship’s hook.

Killian Jones, 1748.

Seeing the stolen objects of the many returnees she’s interacted with over the past months had made her shocked. Seeing her mother’s ring and father’s letter opener had made her horrified. But seeing a silver hook, from the pirate ship – Killian’s home – in that creepy glass container makes Emma angry.

What the actual hell is going on here?

As she gapes at the hook, Emma’s pager lets out a loud beep then, startling her so badly she jumps, making the glass containers rattle.

It’s a note from Anna; I’ve got everyone. Can you come and meet us? Conference Room 35.

Emma slides it back onto her belt, and with a final look at the hook, ring, and letter-opener, she twists the turntables back to where she found them. She pulls the heavy safe door shut, swinging the painting back over it and ensures everything else is in its proper place, before she turns on her heel and slides out of Gold’s office, as sneakily as she’d entered it.

Her mind is racing and still trapped in the vault with the objects, even as her feet guide her to meet Anna and the others. She still feels sick to her stomach, but a steadfast resolve has also taken hold of her. Whatever that vault is, whatever the reason is for Gold to have all those objects, whatever this has to do with the returnees, Emma is going to figure it out.

#cs ff #cs mc ff #captain swan #cs fic #a place in time #sorry its been forever #but i hope people like this one!#thanks to anyone still reading and sticking with me!

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snowbellewells · 1 year ago

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@kmomof4 Good heavens, Krystal!!! 😭 What exactly are you trying to do to me?!? I’m seriously just in your prologue, and I was tearing up and almost bawling, not once, not twice, but three different times!!

You wrote Killian’s guilt and inner turmoil of loving his brother’s wife so well that my heart was breaking for him - even before the horrible, heartrending event happened. You have always been a brilliant writer - better than you give yourself credit for, I think - but you get more masterful with every story you put out, and this is very definite proof of that. 😍😍😍

I did love the joy and happiness and affection that was clearly present in Emma and Liam’s union. It was beautiful to see, even if just for a little while. And I loved the playful comraderie between the three of them, family and best friends, even with the pained turmoil Killian was hiding away. Emma was right about his loyalty and honor; he would have hidden it forever and never said a word, and would have preferred that to the pain losing Liam brought to the both of them. I loved their easy conversation and how well they understood each other as in-laws and friends, as evidenced in their evening walk…and then it was just shattered so completely. 😭

The abruptness, the quick finality and the unfairness of Liam’s loss so soon. And then her not even having the comfort of his child with her! 💔 It seems like more than Emma, and all of them really, should have to bear. You did such an intensely vivid and powerful telling of that scene though. From Killian’s hearing Emma scream, to the sight of his brother already gone, to Emma stumbling across the room and begging him to wake Liam - wow! I couldn’t breathe or look away until that scene was finished, even as I wanted for it not to be happening. And then Emma’s strength, even though her pain is clear, and Killian’s struggling to do his duty and wanting to be there for Emma but not being able to without revealing his secret. You’ve evoked all of it so well, but it was just tearing me up in the best and most dramatic of ways. I have been accused more than once 😏 of liking the hurt and angst, and I guess that’s true, because this was SO GOOD. I guess, if the hurt is this painful, then the comfort when it comes will be all the more satisfying? 🤷🏼‍♀️

Sheesh! I know I am not saying enough- and I’m not sure I am doing all the feels you produced any sort of justice, but what a start!!!

And the. Emma comes to see him, wants to know why he is staying away, and he can’t tell her!! And then he’s going to leave!! You are breaking my heart! But you know I’ll be back for more! 💔😉💔

A Scoundrel… Or a Gentleman?

Ohhhhhh, I’m so happy to FINALLY be posting this fic!!! Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton’s story, When He Was Wicked, I wrote the prologue - 8k words - last September, then took a six month break before sitting down and getting the rest of the thing written. I so hope I did the story justice and that you enjoy and let me know what you think!!

And now thanks to whom thanks are due!!! @jrob64 is a LITERAL SAINT for everything she did to make this fic better. She is an outstanding beta and a dear friend, but I seriously tried her patience going back over and back over and back over AGAIN trying to make this just right. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, my friend, for EVERYTHING!!!

To @hollyethecurious for all the historical info that she shared with me and asking the questions that needed to be asked and answered before the fic was ready for posting. Her support was absolutely invaluable. Thank you, babe!!!

To @motherkatereloyshipper for her work on the Prologue artwork shown below. It is soooo beautiful, I could stare at it for hours!!! Thank you so much, darlin!!! Please give her lots of love!!!

The fic is complete with a total of 9chs. I’ll be updating twice a week- Wednesdays and Saturdays.

Summary: Killian Jones has been in love with Emma Nolan since the day he met her - the day before she married his brother Earl Liam Jones. That was six years ago, and Liam has been gone now for four years. Emma and Killian have both arrived in London for the season - her to seek a husband so she can hopefully bear children, him to finally take up his duties as the earl, including finding a wife. Will they succeed in their respective desires?

*spoiler alert- of course they will. It’ll just take them a little while to get there…*

Rating: M (smut in later chs)

Words: almost 8400 words of approx 59,5k

Tags: Regency Romance, Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton’s Story, Smut in Later Chapters

On ao3 if that’s your preference.

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@Jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615 @donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings @booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @pirateprincessofpizza @djlbg @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie @soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite @jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779 @kymbersmith-90 @bluewildcatfanatic

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Prologue

There is a moment in every man’s life in which his future becomes clear. A turning point of sorts. The moment when he becomes a man, when he leaves the irresponsibility and temerity of youth behind and turns his eyes to the future. A future that he’d never bothered to think about before. Unfortunately, that moment came for Killian Jones when he first laid eyes on Emma Nolan at a supper celebrating the imminent marriage between herself and Killian’s brother, Earl Liam Jones.

After years of chasing anything in a skirt, Killian grimaced at the irony. In all that time, he’d never allowed his heart to become entangled with his many, many romantic exploits. Allowing himself to be chased until he conquered, his reputation as a rake and a scoundrel was well deserved. He’d even stopped attending church, although he assuaged the pricking of his conscience by telling himself the derelict stones of Kilmartin Abbey on the Kilmartin estate up in Scotland… no originality among his ancestors there, who were so proud of the title when it was newly bestowed about 300 years ago, they attached it to everything they possibly could... Anyway, the Abbey couldn’t withstand a direct strike of lightning, which would surely happen if Killian Jones ever showed his face inside.

Killian Jones

Worst of Sinners

He would have had it printed on calling cards if he didn’t think it would actually kill his mother. The only semblance of honor he’d maintained in his heart over all these years was the fact that the only times he’d slept with married women was if their husbands were tossers, and they’d produced at least two male offspring. Three, if one was sickly. He’d also never seduced a virgin, but even that wasn’t enough to redeem him now. Because this was the one thing that truly blackened his soul beyond all redemption.

He coveted his brother’s wife.

And had since that fateful moment two years ago. The day he met Emma Nolan. Now Emma Nolan Jones. Lady Kilmartin. Countess Kilmartin. Wife of his brother, the Earl of Kilmartin.

He could torture himself for days, thinking of every iteration of Emma Nolan Jones, but it would never change the simple fact. He couldn’t have her. She’d never be his.

Now, looking around the room where he, Emma, and Liam were enjoying some after-dinner conversation, he had to rise and cross the room to the decanter, pouring himself a drink to avoid the thoroughly besotted eyes Liam and Emma were making at each other.

“What shall we do for our second anniversary?” Emma asked, sitting down at the pianoforte, her long delicate fingers tickling the keys. Killian swallowed a low groan.

“Anything you want, darling,” Liam answered. He smiled gently at his wife as he opened the evening edition of the Times. She turned her attention to Killian.

“What do you think?”

“About what?” he asked, turning to her, a charming, lopsided smile on his face. No one took him seriously when he smiled like that, which was exactly the point. She pressed her lips into a thin line and Killian relented slightly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening.”

“What should we do for our anniversary?”

If she’d thrust her own hand into his chest and squeezed his heart to dust, it probably would have hurt less. He shrugged indifferently. He was, after all, an expert at hiding what he really felt.

“It’s not my anniversary.”

Emma rolled her eyes, the corner of her lips lifting in amusement. It probably wasn’t a good thing that Killian spent far too much time studying the lips of his brother’s wife.

“I’m aware,” she huffed. “I was asking if you had any ideas for us.”

Killian lifted one brow quizzically. “Why would you ask me, when I have absolutely no experience in the realm of marriage or the anniversary celebration of such?”

The amusement left her face and was replaced with irritation and no small amount of sympathy. Emma rose and moved toward him.

Oh, God, he thought. Please no. There’s nothing worse than when she…

She placed her hand on his arm.

“You won’t always be unmarried, you know,” she said gently.

She shouldn’t be touching him. She couldn’t be touching him. His next words were with the singular purpose of getting her away from him.

“Am I to become your project then?” he bit out. “‘Killian can’t possibly be happy living his life of debauchery and aimlessness, so I must see him married,’” he mocked. “I am not interested in marriage, thank you very much.”

She removed her hand from his arm and backed up, her brow furrowed, her mouth a small o of hurt. Thank heaven, it bloody worked, he thought, even as the guilt surged.

“We care about you, Killian, and we want to see you happy.”

And there it was. We. Not I. We. They were a unit. Liam and Emma. Lord and Lady Kilmartin. She may not have meant it that way, but that was what he heard. As if he’d ever forget it.

“I care about you, too.” His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper and he shot pleading eyes toward his brother who finally gave up all pretense of reading.

“Emma,” he chastised lightly. “Killian is a grown man. Let him find his happiness when he’s ready. In his own time.”

Emma shot her husband a disgruntled look. Killian had to bite back a bark laugh. He knew Emma almost as well as he knew his brother, and he recognized the root of her irritation was at being thwarted in her attempt to arrange the people in her life to her satisfaction. Liam smirked at him and picked his paper back up as she returned to the pianoforte and sat down, her visage contemplative. It suddenly lit up and Killian’s heart rate increased with it.

“I should introduce you to…”

“Emma.” It was only a single word, but Liam’s voice held a note of reprimand in it. Leave him alone.

Emma deflated and Killian could have kissed his brother. He may have only thought he was saving Killian from Emma’s nagging, but if he had to suffer the woman he was in love with trying to find him a match - a match he was wholly uninterested in - it might be the final straw of his sanity. Truly.

“We should all go for a walk,” she said suddenly. Killian looked out the windows where darkness had finally descended over London.

“Isn’t it a little late?” he asked.

“Not with two strong escorts,” she cheeked.

“I’ve an appointment in an hour,” Liam said. He winced and rubbed his temple. “And I’ve got a headache. I think I’ll lay down for a bit before leaving.” He looked at Killian then. “But you should go.”

Absolute proof that Liam hadn’t a clue about his brother’s true feelings for Emma.

“Parliament?” Emma asked. Liam nodded and rose. “Do you want me to wake you when we return?”

“I’ll ask my valet to do it, darling,” he said, dropping a gentle kiss to her lips. Killian averted his eyes. He’d never begrudge his brother and his beloved their happiness, but he certainly wasn’t going to watch them bask in the clear love between them.

“I’ll just be a moment,” Emma assured him once Liam left, a soft smile on her face, her forest green eyes glowing. Perhaps it should disturb him how certain he was of the color of Emma’s eyes when she wasn’t even in the room, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He dreamed in shades of green these days. Emma green, the color should be called. He poured himself another drink and slammed it back, trying to steel himself for their impending constitutional.

He knew he shouldn’t be accompanying her. He knew he shouldn’t ever be alone with her. But when she smiled, he was helpless to resist her. It may leave him wracked with equal parts guilt and desire later, but he couldn’t deny himself any amount of time in her presence. Because that’s all there would ever be. He’d never act upon his desires. Never betray his brother in that way or sully Emma’s reputation. There’d never be a kiss, meaningful glances or touches, whispered words of love and affection, or moans of passion.

All he’d ever have was her friendship, her smile, and her company. And besotted fool that he was, he’d be happy with it.

She came back down wrapped in a soft yellow cloak and he held his elbow out for her to take. Resigned to his fate, he escorted the love of his life out of the house and to the street below. Lucky him.

~*~*~

As Emma and Killian walked along the street, Emma couldn’t help but think what a dear man her brother-in-law was. Oh, he’d be certain to scoff and list all the reasons his soul was as black as they came (none of which, she was afraid, were exaggerated) if she expressed those sentiments out loud, but she knew him nearly as well as she knew her husband, and Killian Jones possessed a heart of honor and had a capacity to love that was unequaled among the men of her acquaintance. And if she didn’t find him a wife soon, she’d go mad.

“Killian,” she began, turning to look at him.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupted. “Didn’t Liam just suggest that you let me find my happiness in my own time?”

Emma’s jaw dropped in shock. “How did you know what I was going to say?”

“You’re a bit of an open book, my dear,” he said, looking at her and booping her on the nose. Emma huffed indignantly as they continued their walk.

It was funny. When she met Liam, she fell head over heels in love more quickly than she ever imagined possible. He understood her in a way that she’d never experienced before. Of course, she loved her family immensely, but as the youngest of six siblings, she often felt lost in the shuffle. Killian was the only sibling Liam had, and removing herself from the hubbub of London and her large family felt like a breath of fresh air. Not to mention the actual fresh air of Scotland, her new home.

But then there was Killian. She hadn’t met him until the day before her nuptials to Liam, since he’d just recently returned home from the Napoleonic Wars on the continent. He was handsome, to be sure, but there was an undeniable connection between them that she felt from the moment she met him. If Liam understood her the way no one ever had before - the opposite side of the same coin - then Killian was like a puzzle piece that fit her perfectly. A puzzle piece she never knew she was missing. He completed her. Besides Liam, Killian was her very best friend and that was why she wanted him to be as happy as she was. And the only way that was going to happen was if she found him a wife who’d make him as happy as Liam made her.

“Finding me a wife is not among your duties, Lady Kilmartin,” Killian spoke again, drawing her from her musings.

She huffed again. “Well, it should be.”

He laughed, which delighted her immensely. She could always make him laugh.

“Very well, then,” she said, dropping the subject for now. “Tell me something wicked. Something that Liam wouldn’t approve of.” Her lips lifted in a conspiratorial smirk that he returned in kind. It was a game they played, that spoke again to how Killain somehow completed her. As much as she loved her husband, hearing about Killian’s exploits was always immensely entertaining. And she knew Liam enjoyed hearing about them, too, even if he gave a token admonishment whenever he was also present. Killian never shared too much, he had too much discretion for that, but he’d share hints and innuendos that never failed to amuse her greatly.

“Alas, I’m afraid I’ve done nothing wicked this week,” he said with a sigh.

“You?” she asked, incredulous. “I find that very difficult to believe.”

“It’s only Tuesday, my dear,” he reminded her.

“I’m aware,” she shot back, “but aside from Sunday, which I’m sure you’d leave sacred…” She shot him a look that belied her words completely, earning her another laugh, “that would leave Monday, and a man can get up to quite a bit of mischief on a Monday.”

“Not this man,” he assured her. “Not this Monday.”

“What did you do then?”

He was quiet for a moment as they continued walking.

“Nothing, really.”

There was a tone of melancholy blanketing his words and Emma stopped and turned to him. His blue eyes shone under the street lamps and Emma was shocked at the intensity she found there. A moment later it was gone and the thought occurred to Emma that Killian Jones perhaps wasn’t really the man he wished others to believe him to be. Even her.

She squeezed his arm gently. “We must find you something,” she whispered into the night.

He held her gaze a moment longer then he looked up.

“We must return. Liam will have my head if you catch a chill.”

“Liam will blame me for my foolishness of insisting on a walk after dark, and well you know it. This is just your way of saying you have a woman waiting for you, probably wearing nothing but a sheet.”

He smirked. A devil-may-care grin that made Emma roll her eyes and recall why the female half of the ton fancied themselves in love with him, even without the title.

“Don’t be jealous, my dear,” he said, the teasing clear in his voice, making Emma roll her eyes again.

“As if I ever could be,” she scoffed.

He stopped and faced her, the way his black hair flopped over his brow making her long to brush it back. The intense look was back in his crystal blue eyes and Emma had trouble drawing a deep breath.

“I know.” His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper. “It’s the only reason I tease you.” He reached up and lightly ran his knuckles down the side of her face. “You’re the only woman I know who would never stray. I can’t tell you how much I admire you for that.”

“I love your brother. I could never betray him.”

“I know that, too.” His hand returned to his side. He was so handsome and so in need of love, Emma felt her heart would break. If only he’d let someone, anyone, into his heart. If anyone would care enough to look beneath the handsome, yet devilish facade, they’d find the man she knew- kindhearted, loyal, and true.

They continued toward Kilmartin House and Emma took a deep breath. “Thank you for bringing me out tonight. I was just feeling so closed in, claustrophobic almost. The fresh air did me quite a bit of good.”

“Then I’m happy to have been of service, milady,” he said as they climbed the steps to the front door of Kilmartin House. The door opened, the butler obviously looking out for them, and Emma undid and handed him her cloak and gloves.

“Will you stay or must you go?” she asked Killian. She could just see Liam’s valet coming down the stairs out of the corner of her eye.

Killian checked his pocket watch. “I’ll wait for Liam, if he hasn’t left yet. I came on foot, so I might as well avail myself of his carriage after he’s done with it.”

Emma nodded and turned to the valet.

“Has his Lordship left yet?”

“No, my lady. I’ve rapped on his door, but he must be sleeping quite soundly. Do you still want me to wake him?”

Emma sighed. As much as she wished he could sleep longer, she knew how important this meeting was.

“No need,” she assured the man. “I’ll wake him myself. Thank you.” She nodded at him and Killian and hurried up the stairs.

Moments later, Emma’s scream pierced the night.

~*~*~

Killian had no memory of taking the stairs three at a time to rush to Liam’s bedchamber, one of two thresholds in the house he’d never breached. He suddenly found himself there, staring at the bed on the other side of the room, barely conscious of Emma screaming from where she sat on the edge of the bed as she shook the shoulders of his unnaturally pale and still brother.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Whoever that was lying on the bed, it wasn’t his brother. His brother was gone. He’d seen death in battle, but death wouldn’t dare come for Liam. Liam. Who was so strong. So steady. The pillar of their family. The one they all relied on. The picture of good health.

He took a laborious step forward.

“Emma.” His voice was hoarse, strangled, and unsurprisingly Emma made no indication that she’d heard him, her screams continuing unabated. When she finally stopped to take a breath, her face turned to him.

She rose, her movements so slow and graceful, her face nearly as pale as Liam’s, Killian could have mistaken her for a ghost. She glided toward him and as she got closer, he could see the splotches of color high on her cheekbones, the sunkenness and redness of her eyes, the tear tracks down her cheeks. She grabbed his hand, her grip so tight her knuckles were white.

“Wake him up, Killian,” she begged, more tears spilling from her eyes. He met her gaze, knowing the same devastation she wore on her visage was reflected back to her on his own. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her in tightly, automatically, like some kind of machine. She grabbed the lapels of the coat he wore and buried her face in his chest, moaning like a wounded animal. “It was just a headache.” Her tears soaked his shirt. “It was just a headache. How could this happen? I don’t understand!”

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t offer her any sort of comfort beyond holding her as he was now because he didn’t understand either. Between Eton, Cambridge, and the Royal Navy, he’d been trained for everything the life of a gentleman had to offer. But he’d never been trained for this.

She pulled back suddenly, the cry falling from her lips coming from the depths of her soul.

“WHYYYYYYYY??!!”

Just as suddenly as she pulled back from him, she collapsed in his arms, bringing them both to the floor. He stared, unseeing, at the far wall, wondering why he wasn’t crying. He was numb and his body felt heavy, like his very soul had been crushed. Killian’s internal cry echoed Emma’s.

Why?

~*~*~

“Could she be with child?”

Killian sat behind Liam’s desk, and blinked at the question posed to him by Lord Isaac, a short and thin man who rather reminded Killian of a rat. The representative of the Committee for Privileges of the House of Lords had a self-important air about him that grated on Killian’s nerves. Liam hadn’t been gone - he still couldn’t bring himself to say or even think the truth - twenty-four hours and here was this bastard, demanding an audience and droning on about some sacred duty to the crown. He turned his attention back to Lord Isaac, his brow furrowed.

“What did you say?”

“Her ladyship,” he repeated, enunciating each syllable carefully, as if Killian had no idea of whom he spoke. “If she’s carrying, it will make things… difficult.”

“I don’t know,” he said, enunciating his own words just as carefully. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this right now. “I haven’t asked her.”

“You need to.” The man sniffed indignantly. “I’m sure you’re eager to assume control of your new holdings, but before you can do that, we must determine if she’s carrying. Furthermore, if she is, a member of our committee will need to be present at the birth.”

Killian was stunned. There was no other word for it. “I beg your pardon?” He was amazed he was able to get the words out.

“Baby switching,” Lord Isaac said grimly, with all seriousness. “There have been instances…”

“For God’s sake…” Killian interrupted, scrubbing his hand down his face.

“It’s for your own protection as much as anyone’s,” Lord Isaac assured him. “If she were to give birth to a girl, and no one is there to witness it, what’s to stop her from switching the babe with a boy?”

Killian couldn’t bring himself to dignify that with any kind of response.

“You need to find out if she’s carrying,” Lord Isaac insisted. “Arrangements will have to be made.”

“She was widowed yesterday,” Killian bit out. “I will not burden her with such intrusive questions.”

“There is more at stake here than her ladyship’s feelings,” Lord Isaac continued, haughtily. “We cannot properly transfer the earldom while there is doubt as to the succession.”

“The devil take the earldom,” Killian snapped.

Lord Isaac drew back in visible horror. “You forget yourself, my Lord.”

“I am not your lord,” Killian growled. “I’m not anyone’s…” He stopped suddenly, realizing almost too late that he was perilously close to tears. He glared at the man in front of him, trying to stave them off. This little weasel, who didn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t just an Earl who had died, but a man.

His brother.

He expected that as soon as the abhorrent little rodent left, the door was locked behind him, and Killian was sure no one would observe him, the tears would finally come.

“Someone has to ask her,” Lord Isaac said.

“It won’t be me,” Killian murmured.

“Then I will.”

Killian could take it no longer and was out of the chair like a shot, grabbing Isaac by the lapels of his jacket, pushing him against the wall before the man could even blink.

“You will not approach Lady Kilmartin,” he growled, menacingly. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my Lord,” the damnable man choked out. Killian realized he was turning an alarming shade of purple, so he stepped back, releasing him.

“Get out.”

“You’ll need to…”

“Get out!” Killian roared.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, when you’re in a more calm frame of mind.” The man left quickly with as much dignity as he could muster and Killian closed the door firmly behind him, turning the lock before he returned to the desk.

He dropped his head into his hands and a single tear finally spilled over and tracked down his face. His chest was tight and his throat felt so narrow, it was a wonder he could breathe at all. A gasping sob escaped him and the dam broke. Killian’s anguish poured from him in a seemingly endless tide, the tears streaming down his face, soaking the loosened cravat he wore and the shirt underneath.

How had it come to this? Yes, as long as Liam and Emma had remained childless, he was second in line to the earldom. But no one seriously expected him to inherit. Liam was barely thirty and the picture of health.

Word had already reached him that men at the club were calling Killian the luckiest man in Britain. What no one realized was that he’d never wanted this. He’d never wanted the earldom. He wanted his brother.

And no one seemed to understand that.

Except Emma. Her devastation equaled his own, he knew.

They’d put her to bed last night, him and her mother, Ruth, who’d arrived quickly after his urgent summons, and she’d slept soundly all night, too worn out from the shock of it all. Killian knew, because he’d spent the night opposite the large bed where Emma slept, in one of the chairs where he imagined Liam and Emma taking their morning coffee before starting their days. He couldn’t bear to leave her or be alone with his own thoughts.

When she woke this morning, he could see the moment she remembered the events of the night before. Her eyes landed on him and he saw a moment of alarm, surprise, confusion, and then finally realization. He stood on shaky legs as her eyes filled with tears. They only lasted a moment, however. He watched as a firm resolve took over her gaze, her movements choppy and stilted as she swiped away the evidence of her anguish.

He grudgingly admired her for that and stood before her helpless to do anything useful. What were they to do? Neither of them was prepared for this. They were young, happy, carefree. They’d never dealt with death before and all the myriad details involved with it.

Who would have guessed the Committee for Privileges would get involved? And demand a front row seat to an event that should be a private moment for Emma. If indeed she was with child. Which he was not going to ask her.

“We must inform Alice,” she said.

“Of course,” he murmured. Why he hadn’t thought of that, he’d never know. Their mother would be equally devastated.

“I’ll write the note.”

Killian could only nod, wondering what he was supposed to do. The answer became apparent when Lord Isaac arrived. But he couldn’t think about that now, all that he stood to gain since Liam was gone. There was nothing good about Liam being gone. And if anyone dared to offer him congratulations…

His tears spent, Killian lifted his head and stared sightlessly out the window. He hadn’t wanted this. Had he?

He only wanted Emma. But not like this. Not at this cost.

He’d never coveted Liam’s title. The money or power.

He’d only ever coveted Liam’s wife.

And now he stood to gain everything that had been Liam’s. Except his wife. Guilt wrapped itself around his heart and threatened to strangle him.

He didn’t want this. He’d never wanted this.

“Killian?” Her soft knock and voice drew his attention to the door. The locked door. He rose and moved toward it, making no effort to hide his grief. He unlocked and opened the door and she stood there, as thin but strong as a young birch tree, her face pale, her green eyes round as saucers and beyond exhausted.

“I’ve sent a note to your mother,” she murmured. “Is there anyone else…”

Killian shook his head slowly. He knew he should say something to her, but his mind just refused to give him anything. He was too broken, too grief stricken. Just like the woman in front of him.

He gently took her elbow. “You should sit down. You look exhausted.”

Emma shook her head, even as she allowed him to lead her into the room and toward a chair.

“I can’t,” she murmured. “I can’t stop. If I do…” She shook her head. “If I don’t stop, I don’t have to think. And if I don’t have to think…” she trailed away and her eyes filled with tears again. It didn’t matter. He understood perfectly.

Then she turned her eyes upon him and her mouth opened like she had something to say. He steeled himself against the despair in her eyes.

“I’m pregnant.”

~*~*~

Seemingly overnight, Kilmartin House in London changed.

First, Alice Jones arrived from Scotland.

Second, Emma’s own mother, Ruth Nolan was a much more frequent guest than she’d been when Liam was alive.

Third, Killian was a much less frequent guest than when Liam was alive.

And Emma wasn’t sure she’d survive that last one.

Of course, it was a comfort to see her mother-in-law. They got along well and Emma loved her. And she’d known the grief of losing her husband. But now she’d lost her son, and in many ways was in as much need of comfort as Emma herself.

And of course her own mother was also a comforting presence, having also been widowed young, but Killian was the one she needed. Killian was the one who knew and loved Liam best, besides herself of course, and Killian was the one who most understood what she was going through.

He still came to visit occasionally, but when he did, he didn’t feel there. Not like he was when Liam was alive. His eyes were distant and he didn’t come anywhere near her, beyond what propriety demanded when greeting her or taking his leave - a formal bow, a slight brush of her knuckles with his lips, murmured words she could barely hear. He wasn’t the same.

And it was killing her.

But, she reminded herself, he was hurting, too.

She reminded herself of it when she didn’t know what to say to him. She reminded herself of it when he didn’t tease her. She reminded herself of it when they sat together in the parlor and neither had anything to say.

She’d lost her husband. And she’d lost her best friend at the same time.

She was lonely. And so sad. Why had no one told her how sad she’d be? But would she have believed them? Of course not. There was no understanding this kind of grief without experiencing it for herself.

Killian was the one link to the husband she’d lost - who’d loved him as she did - and she hated him for being here, but not being here. To walk beside her in their mutual grief. So they could be a comfort to each other.

It never occurred to her that in losing Liam, she might lose Killian, too.

“How are you feeling, dear?” Alice’s gentle question drew Emma from her musings. She blinked, momentarily unable to really comprehend the question, much less answer it.

“Uh, fine,” she said after a moment, with a slight shake of her head. The soft smile on the face of her mother-in-law, coupled with the joyful sadness in her eyes, prompted a small smile from herself as well. It brought home the fact that while Alice had lost her first born, the fact that Emma was carrying a piece of him brought a measure of peace to her grieving heart. “No different than I ever have.”

Alice sat down across from her and folded her hands in her lap. “It’s remarkable. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“If it wasn’t for my missing courses, I’d never know anything was different.” And it was true. She’d been around enough pregnant women to know what to expect in the early weeks and months, and the only thing she was experiencing that might be a symptom of early pregnancy was that she was a bit more tired. But, of course, that could be the grieving as well. Her mother had told her she’d been tired for a year after her father passed. Emma experienced none of the expected quirks and illnesses other women had told her about.

She’d be happy to be losing what little breakfast she was actually eating each morning, if only so she could imagine the little one waving, hello, I’m here!

“I wonder if Killian will be visiting today?” Alice mused.

“He hasn’t been here in three days,” Emma murmured, “So I expect he will.” She’d never admit to counting the days between his visits, but she had been, and he was due for his bi-weekly visit.

“He’s grieving Liam,” Alice said softly.

“So am I.” Her voice was a bit sharper than she’d have liked. “So are you.”

“But it’s different for him,” she continued. “He’s a bit in limbo until you deliver. And that’s still six months away.”

“Well, I can’t do anything about that.”

“Of course not,” she replied. “I just hope that he begins thinking about the future soon. If you do deliver a girl, he’ll have to marry and produce an heir.”

Emma scoffed. “Killian will do what has to be done, but he’d never marry while he’s still grieving Liam and it’d be dreadfully unfair to expect him to.”

“Of course,” Alice agreed. “I just so want him to be happy. Even with Liam gone.” She sighed forlornly.

It was odd. Emma wanted Killian to be happy, too, but imagining him married was rather hard to picture. Of course, it hadn’t stopped her from trying to push Killian in that direction. But if she was really honest with herself, he just didn’t seem the type. For years, she’d had Liam and Killian had been their rather constant companion. Could she be happy for him if he found love and happiness and she remained alone? Was her heart big enough?

She was tired and feeling a bit weak as well. She stood, grasping the arm of the chair when a sudden wave of dizziness came over her.

“I think I’ll lay down for a nap,” she said. “Wake me when Killian comes, if you please.”

“Of course, my dear. That’s a very good idea. You need your rest.” A sudden gasp escaped Alice and Emma saw that she wasn’t looking at her, but at the seat she just rose from.

There in the middle of the cushion was a small patch of red.

Blood.

~*~*~

Killian stared at the almost full bottle of rum sitting on his desk. His life would have been much more bearable if that amount of alcohol was enough to get him drunk. But unfortunately, Killian was blessed with quite a robust constitution and could hold his liquor with aplomb and grace.

He glanced outside the window to see it was still some hours from sunset. Also unfortunately, he couldn’t make himself override the good manners and etiquette Alice had instilled in him from the time he was a small boy that refused to let him get bosky before the sun set.

He tapped his fingers against the desk and wondered what he ought to do with himself. Liam had been gone for nearly two months now, and he hadn’t yet brought himself to move into Kilmartin House, still living in his modest apartments a few blocks away. According to Lord Isaac, whose lectures he was eventually forced to endure, the title would go into abeyance until Emma delivered. And if she gave birth to a girl, then the title and everything with it would be his. But given that that event was still six months away, Killian felt he could get away with not taking up residence in the earl’s house. He told himself he didn’t want to move in only to have to move out again in six months.

But the truth was something else entirely. He wasn’t sure he could survive living under the same roof as Emma.

She was still living in the house. She was still the Countess of Kilmartin. And would be until she gave birth to a girl and he married. Which he was absolutely not inclined to do.

Because even if he did end up as the earl, Emma wouldn’t be his countess, and that knowledge was enough to make him seriously think about damning etiquette to hell and downing that entire bottle of rum between now and sunset.

He would have thought his grief would have overtaken the longing in his heart for Emma, that he could be near her and not want her so much he could barely breathe. But no. His heart still ached with the pain of loving her. Even being in the same room with her caused his breath to hitch and his heart to race.

And now, all that longing was intertwined with a suffocating guilt. As if there hadn’t been enough of that when Liam was alive.

Emma was in pain. Grieving. And he should be there comforting her. Who could better do so? No one had known Liam better than he did. The two people who knew and loved him best should be comforting one another in their loss. But no, instead of comforting her, he was lusting after her. What kind of bastard lusted after his sister-in-law, his pregnant sister-in-law, when his brother wasn’t even cold in his grave?

Him, apparently.

And so he stayed away. Not completely. He couldn’t get away with that, not with his mother in residence at Kilmartin House. In addition, although the title wasn’t potentially to be his for another six months, everyone was looking to him to manage the affairs of the earl.

It was the least he could do. For Liam. For Emma.

He may not be able to be her friend at the moment, but he could make sure her finances were in order.

She didn’t understand. And he knew she didn’t. She’d often come to visit him when he was working in the study of Kilmartin House - going over various solicitor’s and land steward’s reports - looking for their previous camaraderie, he knew, but which he was unable to give. Not yet.

“My lord?”

Killian looked up at the door to see his valet, Smee, and a footman wearing the unmistakable green and gold livery of Kilmartin house.

“A message from your mother,” the man said, approaching with an envelope in his outstretched hand. “She said it was urgent.”

His brows rose on his head. Urgent? That was new. His mother had sent him nearly daily missives, or it seemed like it anyway, but they were never more than just prattling on about the doings at Kilmartin House. She was likely just trying to keep herself busy.

Once Smee and the footman left the room, he opened the letter.

Come quickly, it said. Emma has lost the baby.

~*~*~

Killian himself was nearly killed several times, not to mention the numerous pedestrians who were in his way, as he raced on horseback to Kilmartin House.

But now he stood here in the foyer, holding his crying mother, and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

A miscarriage they called it. It seemed like such a small word for such a profound happening. And why had they called him? This was the province of women and doctors. Of which, he was neither. What could he possibly do?

But then it hit him. He was the earl.

Slowly but surely over the last two months, Killian had been stepping into Liam’s shoes. And now that process was complete. The final nail in the coffin, so to speak.

It took nary a thought to murmur comforting nonsense to his mother as he led her to the downstairs parlor, her sobs abating.

“It’s like losing Liam all over again,” she whispered.

“I know,” he agreed. And he did. While Emma had been pregnant, a small piece of Liam still existed on this earth. And while he wasn’t yet prepared to step fully into Liam’s shoes, by the time she delivered, he would have been, and he would have done everything duty demanded. For Liam, his child, for Emma.

But he wasn’t ready. He couldn’t. Not yet.

That last fragile link to Liam was snapped and he was right back where he was two months ago.

“How is she?” he asked.

“In shock,” she answered quietly. “She’s been crying. She can’t seem to stop. She asked for you.”

Killian’s head snapped toward his mother.

“Me? Why?”

Alice’s face was surprised. “She wanted you.”

“But… I can’t…” he stammered.

“Yes, you can.” His mother looked confused at his refusal. “You have to,” she insisted.

Killian shook his head vehemently, his hands starting to tremble. “I can’t go in there.”

“You can’t abandon her!”

“I’m not! I didn’t!” he cried, the grief breaking free. “Liam abandoned her! Liam abandoned me!” he shouted. His voice shocked him. He sounded like a wounded animal - pained, panicked, confused. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes. “She was never mine to abandon!”

“Killian George Alaster Jones!” his mother cried, shocked. “How can you say such a thing?”

“Mother,” he all but moaned. “She needs a woman. What can I do?”

“You can be her friend,” she said softly.

“No. I can’t. Not yet.” The anguish on his mother’s face was real and he knew his was the same. In a move of utter and pathetic cowardice, he rose and ran from the room.

~*~*~

If there truly were nine circles of Hell, then in the month since he’d taken on his duties, Killian surely must have taken up residence in one of the lower levels of Hell on earth. With every new ceremony, each document he signed as Kilmartin, and every “my lord” he was forced to endure, it was as if Liam's spirit was being pushed further and further away.

Everything that had been Liam’s was now his.

Except Emma.

And Killian was determined to keep it that way. He would not bring that last insult to bear against his brother’s memory. He’d seen her, of course. And offered his best words of comfort. Which were, truthfully, woefully inadequate. And both he and Emma knew it.

He’d been more relieved that she was physically unharmed than upset over the loss of the child. But he couldn’t very well say that.

Their mothers, for some reason, felt compelled to describe the event in gruesome detail, a chamber maid trotting out the bloodied sheets as proof that Lady Kilmartin had indeed lost the baby. Lord Isaac had nodded in approval when presented with the evidence, but had then added that Lady Kilmartin would still need to be observed closely for the next few months to be sure she was not increasing. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to circumvent the sacred laws of primogeniture, he’d asserted.

The rage inside Killian at that statement nearly propelled him to pick up Lord Isaac bodily and throw him out the window, but he managed to control himself by the most tenuous of grips.

He still hadn’t moved into Kilmartin House. He knew it was expected, but the circumstances at the house hadn’t changed, and Killian still couldn’t bring himself to live in the same house as the woman he loved.

Who now stood at the threshold of his study. She looked thin and pale, but her green eyes flashed.

“Emma?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

He was shocked. He couldn’t deny it. She’d never been here. Not when Liam was alive. And certainly not after.

“I wanted to see you.” The rest of her statement, her accusation really, went unspoken. You’ve been avoiding me.

Was this improper? He hadn’t a clue. Their relationship now was so different and ambiguous, he couldn’t guess what rules of etiquette applied. He motioned to a seat and she took it, her fingers twisting in her lap.

She finally looked at him, her gaze intense, grief and anger swirling in their depths.

“I’ve missed you.” Make that an even lower level of hell.

“Emma…” he tried.

“You are… were… my friend,” she said, angrily, swiping at the tear that tracked down her face. “Besides Liam, you were my closest friend!”

Emma, I…” he tried again. He was a fool. And a coward. And he didn’t know what to say to her.

“Where have you been?”

“I…” He was speechless. Brought down by an angry and grief-stricken face, and a mountain of guilt. Although guilt for exactly what, he couldn’t pinpoint any longer. It came from too many sources to make sense of anymore.

“I needed you.” The plaintive need in her voice nearly undid him. “You knew him best. You loved him the most, besides me. Why didn’t you come and help me?”

Killian looked down at his desk. He couldn’t lie to her. But he couldn’t tell her the truth either.

“I don’t know,” he settled upon instead. She was quiet and Killian couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes.

“That’s it then,” she whispered.

“I guess so,” he replied sadly. The sadness threatened to consume him. In the eyes of the ton, he may have gained much, but in reality, he’d lost everything. And the one person who needed him the most… he couldn’t be what she needed. He couldn’t stand to be near her. Because the grief and the anger and the love and the guilt were a never ending flood, and he was drowning.

The ticking clock on the mantle was the only accompaniment to her swirling thoughts. She looked at Killian and took in his tense shoulders, his rigid bearing, the unbridled grief on his countenance mirroring hers.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he finally said, taking a tentative step toward her. Then another. Then another. Then he was kneeling before her, his hand on her knee. “I’m so, so sorry, Emma.”

“Why did this happen?” she cried. “I don’t understand!” The tears poured from her eyes and Killian gathered her into his arms. “It isn’t fair!” She clutched at his jacket, holding on for dear life as all the grief, all the anger, all the confusion that she thought she’d already released burst forth from her all over again.

“It isn’t fair that it happened to me!” she lamented. “It isn’t fair that this happens to anyone! Oh, what am I to do?”

“I don’t know.” She could just hear him murmuring into her hair and placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. And the comfort she felt from him holding her was almost more than she could bear. For the first time in months, she felt safe and warm. And not alone.

Her tears finally spent, she pulled back from him.

“Will you come back? To Kilmartin House?” she asked, her voice shaky. “Will you stop ignoring me? I still need you.”

She could see the tears in his own eyes, grief and something else she couldn’t identify, as she waited for him to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t know what to say to you. Didn’t know what I could do, so I stayed away.”

“I know,” she said quietly, looking down at her lap. She still clutched at him, unable to let him go, or the warmth and safety he gave. “I knew that’s why you were staying away, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.” He released her and stood, even as her arms reached for him again. “I’ll take up my residence in Kilmartin House.”

He could deny her nothing. And living under the same roof couldn’t possibly be any worse than what he’d already had to endure. And if it was, and it did actually kill him, then so be it.

“Thank you. That will… that will be a great comfort to me. And your mother as well.” She paused for a moment and rose. “You know, you were to be his father, in a way.”

Killian felt the blood drain from his face and his heart stop.

“What did you say?” The words were soft, weak, he could barely catch his breath to get them out.

“The baby,” she replied, turning toward him. “In the absence of his father, you’d have been the closest thing he had. And even with him gone, having you here will help me let him go. Let them both go.”

But Killian didn’t hear those last words. His heart started beating again at a gallop and the blood rushed in his ears. All he could grasp from her statement was that he would have been a father to the baby, and that knowledge destroyed him.

The title, the lands, the money, the power, the responsibility were all his now. The only things that weren’t were Liam’s wife and child. And now Emma was telling him that wasn’t true either.

He grabbed Emma by the arms. He was shaking, and she looked frightened but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t let her go.

“No!” he cried. “I can’t! I won’t! I’m not Liam!”

“Of course you’re not,” Emma cried out, thoroughly alarmed at the sudden change that had come over Killian. She’d never seen him like this. His eyes were glazed and unseeing, his grip on her arms painful, but her words to try and reach him, to get him to release her, fell on deaf ears. He looked wild, crazed, like a cornered animal that would either make a last desperate attack to try and save itself, or fall over and wait for the final killing blow.

“You can’t ask this of me,” he breathed, the strength and energy that fueled him, completely disappearing. He still held her tightly, but his eyes were finally seeing her and not some vision playing out in his mind. “I can’t do it.”

“Killian, you’re hurting me,” she whispered. “Please let me go.” He released her suddenly, the recrimination in his eyes and the restored blood flow in her arms bringing tears to her eyes.

“I’d… I’d better go,” she said, pulling away from him. She looked at him for a moment more, trying to make sense out of what just happened. She’d never seen Killian like that before and it frightened her. She wasn’t afraid of him, though. Even after that, she knew with utter surety that he would never harm her and would protect her to his last breath.

“Perhaps… perhaps it would be better if you remained here instead of Kilmartin House.”

“Y- yes,” he stammered, nodding with a jerky motion. “I think that would be best.”

Not only had she lost Liam, and her child, but it was now clear she’d lost Killian as well. And she didn’t quite know what she would do about that.

~*~*~

Once Emma was gone, Killian sat back down behind his desk and poured himself a tall drink.

He’d made a promise to her and broken it almost in the same breath. He’d spent the last month fulfilling the duties of the earl and then Emma’s words made him realize something.

She truly had no inkling of his feelings for her, and as long as that was the case, as long as she didn’t understand how much he hated himself for every step he took in Liam’s shoes, he couldn’t be near her.

And that brought him to a decision. Rarely in life had his path been this clear. He slammed back the rum and rose from his desk. When he arrived at his bedchamber, he found his valet carefully folding a cravat.

“Smee,” he asked. “What do you think of India?”

~*~*~

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know what you thought! Next ch will be up on Saturday!

#a scoundrel… or a gentleman?#krystal writes #inspired by francesca bridgerton’s story #art by motherkatereloyshipper #cs ff #chapter one #prologue #cs au mc #major cs fic rec ❤️⚓️❤️#such a talented shipmate ⚓️🩷⚓️

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snowbellewells · 4 months ago

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CS Fic Rec Monday: "Past the Veil of Shadows" by: @4getfulimaginator2022

This crossover WP fic is still ongoing, but the author updates very regularly, and I get more and more engrossed in the story with every new chapter she posts. I don't even know that much about Game of Thrones (which is the fandom OuaT is crossed over with here) but @4getfulimaginator2022 has written the two characters from it so beautifully that I am empathizing with them almost as much as her Emma and Killian.

This action picks up from the season 3 finale in the OuaT timeline, which was prime CS goodness, and if you wanted to see them get more time in the show than they did onscreen, then this fic will give you that. You also get to see Killian in his pirate element here, which is thrilling as well. I love the high stakes and the adventure as well, and my heart goes out to Emma as she is yearning to get back to Henry and her other loved ones once more.

I'm definitely excited to see where else this story might take me, and who else I might meet along the way! If you love a good adventure with drama and feeling to equal the plot, then this one is one you should check out!

"Past the Veil of Shadows" by: @4getfulimaginator2022

#cs fic rec monday #csfrm #ouat x game of thrones crossover fic #cs ff #such a talented shipmate #@4getfulimaginator #fic rec #WIP MC ff

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frauleinsmaria · 6 years ago

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The Facebook Flub (1/3)

Summary: When Emma accidentally sends a friend request to the wrong person, she doesn't expect much to come of it. But maybe this accident is the best decision she's ever made.

Rated: T for now, potentially high T/low M in the future

Also on AO3

A/N: Inspired by a comment I came across on Instagram asking people to share how their long distance relationships began: "I added the wrong guy on Facebook that I met at the bar...the guy I added lived in Germany and I was in Canada. That accident...is now my husband."

A few changes to make it fit Captain Swan, plus a whole lot of support and cheerleading from @wellhellotragic , @profdanglaisstuff , and @thejollyroger-writer later, here we are! Thanks a million, ladies, you’re the best.

Going out was the last thing Emma wanted to do tonight. She had a long week dealing with a tough case at work, the weather reports were calling for snow, and she had a headache- not to mention the fact that she didn’t feel like being hit on by some drunk low life.

“Those are all reasons for you to go out then,” Ruby insisted when Emma relayed all of this to her over the phone. “It’s Friday night. You need to come let loose with your friends and forget about whatever else is on your mind. And you know I’ll gladly fight off anyone who bothers you.” It took similar texts from Elsa, Graham, David, and Mary Margaret for her to finally give in and join them. Which is how she found herself sitting at the bar at one of their favorite burger and beer places downtown.

She was drinking one of her favorite beers, with Graham on her left side flirting with the guy behind the bar, and a stranger on her right who had been talking her ear off about some upcoming movie since he sat down an hour ago. Emma wasn’t all that interested- in both him or whatever this movie is- but she listened anyway. She didn’t have the energy to join the rest of her friends at the dart boards, and at least this guy wasn’t trying to flirt. So when he suggested she add him on Facebook before he left, she’d had enough to drink that she saw little reason to object.

It wasn’t until he was gone when she opened the Facebook app on her phone and realized she wasn’t one hundred percent sure of his name. He’d introduced himself when he first took the seat beside her, but that had been several beers ago, not to mention the loud music in the bar making some of his words hard to hear.

It had been something different that she’d never heard before. Killiam James, maybe? she thought as she typed it into the search bar.

“I should’ve known.” Ruby appeared behind her, holding a glass of whatever she’d picked for her poison tonight. “Don’t tell me you came out just to sit on your phone by yourself.”

“I’m not by myself. Graham’s he-” She turned and saw that the man in question had apparently slipped off with the bartender without her noticing.”Huh. Or maybe not.”

Ruby sighed. “Come on, Emma. You know you wanna watch Mary Margaret kick David’s ass at darts.”

That was a statement she couldn’t argue with. “Hang on. Let me do this first.” But Ruby instead grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the dart boards, causing Emma to hit “add friend” for the first option in her search results without paying much attention to the name or profile picture.

The guy from the bar and the friend request had been forgotten about by the next morning when she woke up with a pounding headache and wondered exactly when she’d started getting old.

The events of that Friday night didn’t cross her mind again until the next weekend. She’d gone to see Captain Marvel with David and Mary Margaret, who were always willing to join her to watch any superhero movie despite both of them losing track of the plot at least half an hour in. It wasn’t the same as getting to experience it with someone as invested as she was, but years of going to the movies by herself when she was younger made Emma grateful for their company regardless.

They arrived at the theater early, battling the lines at the ticket booth and again at the concessions stand for overpriced popcorn and candy. The theater was already filling up after they’d gotten snacks. Emma stepped on quite a few feet to get to the only empty three seats together. Once they were settled, she pulled out her phone and opened the front camera. “Smile, guys!” Mary Margaret got the memo, but David looked like a deer in headlights in their selfie. This was definitely getting posted.

She made a few adjustments to the lighting before posting the photo on Facebook and Instagram. It’s Captain Marvel time!

The lights in the theater dimmed as the first movie trailer began to play on the screen. Emma silenced her phone and dropped it into her purse before grabbing a fistful of popcorn and settling into her seat.

It was over two hours later when the movie had ended and the three of them had arrived back at David and Mary Margaret’s house before she thought to check her phone again. There was a new text from Elsa about the shirt she’d borrowed last week and a handful of social media notifications. She opened Facebook first to see the response to her pre-movie selfie. It was when she started scrolling through the list of various reactions that an unfamiliar name caught her eye. Of course since she’d tagged David and Mary Margaret in the photo, several people who’d liked it weren’t Facebook friends of hers or people she knew. But this one stood out- it belonged to a person she’d never heard of before, and one who was apparently on her friends list.

Killian Jones. She frowned and clicked the link to open his profile page. They had no mutual friends, but sure enough, they were friends with each other. The brief amount of information listed under his personal details told her he lived in London and worked for a company named Ship Shape.

Emma quickly began to question just how she knew this Killian Jones. They hadn’t gone to college together; his profile listed him as an alum of a university in London she’d never heard of. He wasn’t in her line of work, so that wasn’t a possibility.

What if he had been a previous one night stand? No, that definitely wasn’t the case. She rarely got men’s names when those happened, let alone befriended them on social media.

And there was no way she would have forgotten a face like his. His current profile picture was taken from a distance on a beach somewhere, which made his features a bit harder to notice. The handful of previous ones were closer shots though. There were a few that looked like they were taken at some kind of professional event and a selfie with a dog she presumed was his. He was gorgeous, she realized as she quickly flipped through them. Piercing blue eyes, a head of dark hair that successfully toed the line between messy and polished with a five o’clock shadow to match. Yeah, she definitely would have remembered him.

Emma scrolled through a few more photos before she started to feel like she was crossing some sort of line. She had zero ideas on who this Killian Jones even was, and yet there she sat combing through the details of his Facebook profile as if they were close friends.

Contacting him seemed like the most logical thing to do. She opened Messenger, still annoyed that the feature wasn’t included with the regular Facebook app anymore, and typed out a brief message. Hey. Sorry if this seems weird, but I was wondering how you and I knew each other?

Her phone chimed with a response only a few minutes later. Not weird, love. Although I was wondering the same thing considering you’re the one who added me.

She stared at her phone screen and read the message again. There had to be some kind of mix up. Her friends list was on the small side, mostly former classmates and coworkers, and the people she regularly interacted with now. What reason would she have for sending a friend request to Killian Jones all the way in London-

And then it hit her. “Killiam James,” she groaned, remembering the guy from the bar the weekend before. If that was even his name. Emma blamed the combination of beer and loud music for the mix up, which explained why she’d added this guy with such a similar name.

What was she even supposed to say to Killian Jones now? The truth was ridiculous, and she couldn’t think of a lie that sounded even moderately believable.

Honesty won out in the end. “What does it matter? He’s never gonna meet me anyway,” she muttered as she started to reply. So, funny story. I thought I was sending a friend request to a guy with a name that’s really similar to yours and I just now realized my mistake. I’m sorry again because I know how weird this all probably sounds to you.

She hadn’t expected another reply. He’d probably delete her from his friends list after learning the reason behind the mishap and forget all about their brief interaction. What she got instead was a huge surprise. That’s quite alright. I suppose it could have happened to anyone. But, while we’re here, can I ask how the movie was?

Movie? Oh, right. She’d gone to see Captain Marvel tonight. His liking her photo was what started all of this. I liked it a lot. Keep in mind I haven’t read the comics, so I don’t know how accurate anything was. But it’s a great addition to the MCU if you ask me. And the cat was awesome.

I’m glad to hear that. I don’t know much about the comics myself, I just like the films as well. I’ll have to keep my eye out for the cat you speak of when I see it for myself.

This conversation was already a positive changed compared to the ones she usually had about Marvel movies. Most people, men especially, would make fun of her or call her a “fake fan” when she admitted she wasn’t familiar with the comics and didn’t really have plans to change that. Not only was Killian Jones not making fun of her preferences, he actually seemed to share them.

Emma soon found herself discussing everything from Endgame theories to the newest Spider-Man: Far From Home trailer with him. It wasn’t until her eyes grew heavy and she started yawning that she realized it was after midnight. Had this guy really stayed up until five in the morning to talk superheroes with her? Crap. I just realized what time it is. I’m really sorry if I kept you up. You’re probably exhausted.

No worries, Swan- can I call you that? As coincidence would have it, I’m a bit of an insomniac. I likely would still be awake now regardless. Plus, I work for my brother, so he can’t fire me for sleeping on the job unless he wants to lose his kids’ favorite babysitter.

Swan is fine- after all, it is my name. Although I still feel like you may need to apologize to your brother on my behalf.

Truthfully, she didn’t expect to hear from Killian again. Sure, they’d had a long conversation about a shared interest of theirs, but that didn’t mean he had any desire to continue talking to a stranger in the middle of the night. Or at any other time, for that matter.

Which is why Emma was caught off guard when she received another Facebook message from him a few days later. Hello, Swan. I know it’s the middle of the day where you are so you’re probably working, but I just saw Captain Marvel with a friend of mine and I needed someone to discuss the end credits scene with since he’s not nearly invested in this.

Their conversation soon left movies entirely and shifted to their everyday lives. Within the next hour, she learned that he was thirty-one, worked as a marketing executive for the shipping company owned by his brother, was the proud uncle of a nephew and two nieces, and spent most of his free time hiking or reading whatever fantasy novel was next on his to read list. Emma was more hesitant when it came to sharing specifics about herself for several reasons: talking about herself wasn’t exactly something she enjoyed, she barely knew this guy, plus, what if he really wasn’t the person he claimed to be?

If there’s one of us that ought to be suspicious, it’s him, she thought. You added him first; you could be the one Catfishing for all he knows.

Their once sporadic conversations soon became a nightly occurrence, switching from Facebook Messenger to texts once they felt comfortable with sharing numbers. (The short amount of time this took didn’t go unnoticed to Emma. She refused to let herself think too much about it.) Over time, it soon became easier to open up to him about a number of different things. Some days it was her favorite color or flavor of ice cream, others it was conspiracy theories she believed that dealt with people like Marilyn Monroe and Kurt Cobain. Emma rarely brought up her upbringing or personal life, and he never asked.

On nights when Killian’s insomnia was particularly brutal, they watched Netflix together, one of the few pastimes they could share considering the distance between them. They usually chose comedies, preferring shows like The Good Place and Parks and Rec so they wouldn’t miss much of the story if they got caught up in whatever conversation they were having at the same time.

The first phone call happened by accident when they’d been talking about three months. Emma had just got in from work and was debating between Chinese and pizza for dinner when her phone began to vibrate. She froze at seeing Killian’s name on the screen. Why was he calling her? They had never talked outside of Facebook and texts. Phone calls had never even come up once in their conversations.

“H-hello?” she answered after a moment. “Killian?”

“Oi, Jones, is this your girlfriend?” Not Killian then, although another man with an accent who sounded far from sober. She heard some sort of commotion in the background, followed by, “Give me back my bloody phone!”

“Um, hello, Swan.” His voice sounded exactly as she’d imagined. (Not that she’d spent that much time thinking on the subject. Not at all.) The accent was there, of course, but his voice was softer and he sounded considerably more under control than whoever had greeted her. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine. Killian, don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you calling me? Where are you?”

“Well, you see, a few of us brought Liam to the pub tonight for his birthday, but I realized I’d forgotten to tell you about it earlier. I know you wanted to start Brooklyn 99 tonight since we finished New Girl. Anyway, I was in the middle of typing out a message to you explaining all of this when Will took my phone and called before I could stop him.” He sighed. Emma had a feeling Will would get an earful as soon as this conversation was over; she heard a lot about him from Killian, mostly complaints. “I’m terribly sorry, love. I’m sure this must be awkward for you.”

“It’s fine, Killian. I appreciate you for telling me, but I know you probably have better things to do on a Friday night than watch Netflix with a stranger in Boston.” Although that was the gist of their relationship from an outside perspective, Emma’s heart sank at her own words. She thought more for this virtual stranger than she did most of the people she saw in person on a regular basis.

“Don’t talk like that, Swan. Besides, it would’ve been bad form to leave you hanging without an explanation.”

She should have known he would be a stickler for manners, even for something as trivial as a regular Netflix binge. “Thanks, Killian. Seriously though, go enjoy your night out. Sing ‘happy birthday’ obnoxiously loud to your brother and maybe don’t let anyone else take your phone. We’ll catch up on Netflix later, alright?”

“Alright, love. Goodnight.”

The next time Killian called, it was intentional. Neither of them thought much of it.

The calls (via WhatsApp to keep from spending a fortune) soon became a semi-regular part of their “routine.” They didn’t happen as often as the texts, however, since it was harder to both talk and vaguely pay attention to whatever show they were watching at any given moment. Talking on the phone often made it easy to forget the difference in time zone and the ocean between them, even when Killian said something particularly British, like “tosser” or “knackered.”

She and Killian had their first shared experience with FaceTime the night before the surprise party she and Mary Margaret have planned for David. Emma had been asked to make cupcakes, something she now regretted agreeing to as she stood in her kitchen dumbfounded by the assortment of ingredients strewn out across the counter.

As if on cue, her phone vibrated.

Killian: How are the cupcakes coming along?

Emma: They’re not.

Do I really have to mix the wet and dry ingredients separately? They all go in the same bowl in the end. And how much batter do I put in the cupcake liners without them blowing up like mushroom tops? I don’t get why I had to pick a recipe that calls for baking soda AND powder too.

Basically, I need to be able to snap my fingers and have a professional chef in my kitchen to take care of this.

Killian: I’m no professional, but if you want to FaceTime, I could possibly help walk you through it.

Of course he could. She’d quickly learned that Killian Jones was one of those people who was unfairly good at most if not all things.

Emma opened the camera app on her phone to get a look at her current appearance. An old Rolling Stones t-shirt that probably should have been thrown out years ago, her-square rimmed glasses, hair thrown up on the top of her head in a messy knot, and no makeup, not to mention the zit on her chin that she hadn’t gotten the chance to get rid of yet. It would have to do. They were friends, and he already knew what she looked like thanks to social media. And she didn’t have time or energy to freshen up before she got the stupid cupcakes taken care of.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered.

Her phone screen was taken up by Killian’s smiling face seconds later. “Hello, Swan.”

“Uh, hi.” Somehow he was even better looking in real time. It wasn’t fair. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“Come now, love. How hard can it be?”

“Consider who you’re dealing with, Killian. I almost cooked an oven mitt last week.” She didn’t add that it had happened due to their intense conversation on nineties one hit wonders and she’d been so distracted she hadn’t paid attention to where she’d placed the mitt after taking pizza out of her oven.

He barked out a laugh. “Something tells me chocolate cupcakes will smell much better. Do you have the recipe up?”

“Yeah. I’m sending it to you.”

Killian, being the good sport that he was, spent the better part of the next two hours going through the recipe step by step with her. Which was much easier said than done.

“You mean to tell me that not only do I have to mix the wet and dry ingredients separately, but I can only mix half of each together at a time?”

“Aye, that’s what the woman recommends.”

Emma had long since forgotten the name of the woman who’d posted the recipe online, but she had quickly become her worst enemy. “I should’ve just told Mary Margaret to make the damn cupcakes herself.”

“I highly doubt she could’ve gotten away with making cupcakes for her husband’s surprise party in their own house,” Killian noted.

How was it that he seemed to know her own family better than she did. “Yeah, well, then I should have bought cupcakes from the store and brought them to the party on one of my plates.” It would have at least saved the trouble of having a kitchen covered in flour, butter, and the other dozen or so ingredients she’d added to the mix.

She had just began pouring batter into one of the slots in her cupcake tin when Killian spoke up. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Swan.”

“Killian, I may have the cooking skills of a dustpan, but I do know that cupcakes have to be baked.”

“Right you are, but what about liners?”

“Come again?”

“You know, the paper things? You’re going to have an awfully difficult time without them.”

Of course. “Shit!” Hurling the mixing bowl at the wall now seemed like a great idea. “I can’t believe I didn’t think about that.”

“Hmm.” She heard the sound of computer keys typing as Killian looked something up. “Do you have parchment paper? Several sites list it as a possible substitute.”

“Wouldn’t that look kind of tacky though?”

“You don’t exactly have a lot of options, love, unless you’re willing to make a trip to the store.”

Emma glanced at the clock above her oven. It was past ten. A handful of stores would be open, but she didn’t have the energy or motivation to change into decent clothes to leave the apartment. “Parchment paper’s fine, I guess. What does it say I’m supposed to do?”

He quickly walked her through the process, which was much simpler than she presumed. After cutting the parchment paper into squares and folding them around a glass that was the same size as the slots in the cupcake pan, the problem was solved. They rewatched one of their favorite episodes of The Good Place while the cupcakes baked. She was so caught up in the show that she wouldn’t have remembered to turn off the oven if Killian hadn’t reminded her.

“So far, so good,” she told him once the pans had been taken out of the oven and placed on her counter. “They smell incredible.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Killian groaned. “The only form of chocolate I have in my flat is unsweetened cocoa powder.”

“Well, that’s just depressing.”

The icing process, while tedious, went over much more smoothly than the baking had.

“Swan, you’ve got chocolate icing all over your cheek now.”

“Maybe so, but I’ve got two dozen nice looking cupcakes. Isn’t that all that matters?”

“I suppose,” he agreed. “Although you’re just giving me something else to make fun of you for.”

He laughed when she stuck her tongue out at him.

She’d gone this far without sampling anything, too concentrated on not botching the cupcakes. But the sound of her stomach growling reminded Emma she’d never eaten dinner. “You think I can justify having a cupcake now if I don’t eat one at the party tomorrow?”

“After all the work you’ve put in, I believe you could justify two.”

“You, Jones, are a bad influence,” she said, taking the nearest cupcake and pulling off the parchment sheet liner.

“A bad influence who reminded you of the importance of cupcake liners.”

“Ugh. I hate it when you’re right.” Emma took a hearty bite of the cupcake and couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped her lips. “Ohmgod.”

Killian was quiet for a moment. Then, “I presume it’s good?”

“It’s not good, it’s fantastic. I never thought I’d say that about something I made.” Another bite elicited the same reaction, her eyes closing as she savored the rich chocolate taste. This caused her to miss Killian blush as his eyes shifted away from the screen.

“Erm, well, I’m very glad to hear that.”

The cupcakes, thankfully, are a hit. Several people at David’s party ask Emma for the recipe, a few eve complimenting the unique choice of liners. Her own brother was skeptical that she’d made them herself.

“I did!” she insisted. “I mean, Killian provided moral support via FaceTime, but all the manual labor was my accomplishment.” Her family and friends have known about her unconventional friendship with Killian for awhile now. Most of them went along with the idea, although a few were skeptical that her virtual friend was really the person he claimed to be.

“You and this guy have gotten pretty close, haven’t you?” David was one of those skeptical people.

She shrugged. “Kind of. I guess we’re as close as friends can get when they’re on opposite sides of the pond and have never met in person.”

“And you’re sure he’s not, what’s the word, fishing with you?”

“The term is catfishing, David. And the answer is no, considering we FaceTimed during the cupcake ordeal and his face matches the one in all of his pictures.”

“If you say so. I just don’t want you to risk getting hurt.” He almost always went into Protective Big Brother mode whenever Emma referenced a guy in any capacity, and this was no exception.

“I appreciate that you care about me, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about considering the circumstances. The chances of the two of us meeting are basically nonexistent.”

A few days later, they were on their third episode of Schitt’s Creek of the night and discussing each other’s uneventful work days when he brought it up. “So, uh, Liam has been talking about sending me away for work sometime soon.”

“That’s cool. Does he want you to go back to the Dublin office again?” Emma remembered that he’d taken a short trip to Ireland for business not long after they’d became friends.

“Actually, no.” He paused. “He’s made a few comments about Boston this time.”

Any interest she had in the episode they’d been watching was long gone. “Oh really?”

“Yeah. Sometime next month, if nothing changes.”

Her next words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I know a semi decent tour guide who lives in that neck of the woods if you have some free time while you’re here. And, y’know, if you’d be up for that.”

“I think that could be arranged.” She couldn’t see Killian, but somehow she knew he was smiling.

Emma didn’t start freaking out until the day before his flight. She was at Elsa’s apartment with Mary Margaret and Ruby, drinking wine and eating Elsa and Anna’s homemade cookies at the kitchen table. She was on her third- okay, maybe it was her fourth- snickerdoodle, only half participating in the conversation when she glanced up and saw the three of them staring at her.

“Do I have something on my face?”

Mary Margaret gave her a knowing look. “Have you been listening to anything we’ve said?”

“Yeah, of course I have.”

“Emma, I just said that Granny was having surgery next month, and your response was, ‘that’s cool,’” Ruby deadpanned.

Her face flushed red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. Just have a lot on my mind I guess.”

“Is something goin- oh!” Elsa exclaimed. “Aren’t you finally meeting that friend of yours from London tomorrow?”

“Yeah. His plane is supposed to come in at two, then I’m meeting him for dinner and a little sightseeing before his meetings start the next day.”

“That’s really all you’ve got planned for him?” Ruby waggled her eyebrows over the rim of her wine glass.

Emma rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Ruby. He’s just my friend.”

“Your very attractive male friend, who you talk either to or about nonstop,” Mary Margaret added.

She shot her an annoyed glance. “I thought family was supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side! I want you to be happy, and I’m just saying maybe you should be open to the possibility that Killian could have something to do with that.”

Leave it to her sister-in-law to bring Emma’s love life (or lack thereof) into the conversation. ““Don’t get any ideas, Mary Margaret. I love that you’re an eternal optimist, but everything else aside, he lives over three thousand miles away. I never thought we would actually meet.”

“People do long distance all the time,” Elsa chimed in. “Anna and Kristoff did for several months when he was away doing research about climate change in the North Pole. It wasn’t easy, but they got through it and are happier than ever now.”

She wanted to remind Elsa that her sister and her fiance had been together for over two years before this, but disregarded the thought. “I know you all mean well- even though it seems like Ruby just wants me to get laid- but can we change the subject? Killian is my friend. That’s all there is to it.”

Even as she said the words, Emma wondered for the first time whether that was actually true.

Her intention had been to sleep in the next morning since she’d gone ahead and taken the day off. But, much to her dismay, she was wide awake at seven. By ten she’d gone for a run, showered, eaten breakfast, and cleaned most of her apartment. It was tempting to blame the random burst of energy on wanting to be productive while she had the time to spend at home, but that wasn’t it.

She was excited to see Killian. And the closer that came to happening, it terrified her too.

For starters, what if they didn’t mesh as well in person as they did online or over the phone? It sounded silly just to think about, but maybe actually being in each other’s space for the first time would somehow change how their friendship worked.

The conversation she’d had with her friends the day before wasn’t helping matters either. What they’d said shouldn’t have been getting to her like it was. Every argument she’d made against their insinuations about her and Killian had been true.

Then why have you barely paid attention to other guys since the two of you started getting close? The thought came to her once she’d started walking laps around the apartment just to keep her busy. Dating for her had been a rare occurrence since Neal almost ten years earlier. Walsh was the one exception, and things with him hadn’t gone much better. One nighters happened now and then when she wanted to scratch an itch without having strings attached. But even one of those hadn’t happened in months.

She didn’t even know whether or not Killian had been seeing anyone. Her first assumption was no. He’d never once mentioned dating, and, regardless, he’d spent the majority of his nights over the past handful of months talking to her. His unconventional friendship with her on top of his job and his family didn’t give her the impression he had a lot of time for dating.

Emma glanced at the clock on her phone. It was just after twelve. “Dammit.” Even with traffic, it would be at least another hour and forty-five minutes before she needed to leave unless she just wanted to drive in circles around the airport.

“Screw it,” she said at one-thirty after she’d won her fourth game of solitaire. TSA might give her hell about parking if she had to wait a bit for Killian, but she couldn’t sit around her apartment much longer without losing her mind.

There was a knock on her door just as she was pulling on her jacket and boots. She went to the door and found her brother standing with his arms crossed over his chest. “Hey, David.”

“Oh, good. I was hoping I’d catch you in time.”

“In time for what?” she asked. “I’m about to leave for the airport.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m coming with you.”

He’d known she was going to meet Killian today for over a week and had yet to mention this to her. “What? Why?”

“I don’t want you going alone, Emma. It’s not safe; you’ve never met this guy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Seriously? I could understand if I’d met a guy on a dating site or something, but I’ve known Killian for months now, David. I’m pretty confident that I’m not picking up a serial killer.”

The frown on his face hadn’t budged. “Either way, I’d still like to meet him before I leave you alone with him. Gotta let him know what he’s dealing with if he hurts you.”

Emma checked the time on her phone again. “Ugh. Let’s go,” she groaned. “You’re not gonna let this go, and I don’t have time to argue with you about it.”

Any nerves she’d felt before had briefly been alleviated by the desire to strangle David. The drive to the airport was spent with her hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel so she wouldn’t wrap them around his neck instead.

“Are you gonna insist on spending the day with us too?” she asked as she pulled into the airport’s parking lot and looked for the garage for short term parking.

He shrugged. “Not sure yet. Ask me again once I’ve met him and had a chance to evaluate.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“I’m your older brother. That’s my job,” he insisted.

Emma parked in the short term garage connected to the airport. There was no point in trying to wait at the curb since she knew they’d be asked to move. She and Killian had decided to meet at the landside area, so she sat and waited for a text that he’d arrived and tried to ignore David tapping his fingers against the passenger door.

Her phone vibrated a few minutes later. Hello, Swan. Just wanted to let you know I’m waiting for my luggage and then I should be good to go.

Emma swallowed hard as she got out of the car on shaking legs. This was it.

She was too anxious to object when David followed her out of the garage and into the airport; she’d known better than to expect him to wait in the car for them.

When they’d entered the waiting area, Emma quickly scanned the room for a familiar face, coming up short. This was the place where they’d agreed to meet, wasn’t it? He’d sent her the text just minutes ago confirming their plans. What were the chances the nerves had gone to her head and made her mix something up?

She was so lost in thought she failed to hear the footsteps coming up behind her. “Someone in particular you’re looking for, love?”

They’d FaceTimed on several occasions and shared more ridiculous Snapchats than necessary. Emma knew what to expect. And yet, somehow, she’d been all wrong. His eyes were so much brighter and vibrant in person, there was no way to accurately capture that on camera. There was a tinge of red to his hair and scruff she’d never noticed. She liked it. A lot.

“Hello, Swan.” Shit. His already perfect smile was somehow better in person too. It wasn’t fair.

“Killian. Hi.” How could she have talked to him for hours on end over the past few months and be at a loss for words now?

They stood in silence for a moment, each trying to take the other in. Emma wasn’t sure how she was supposed to greet him. Was their friendship advanced enough to permit a casual hug? Or should she stick to a handshake?

David solved that problem for her, stepping between the two of them and extending his hand to Killian. Emma had all but forgotten that he’d come with her.

“So,” he said, using what could only be called his Protective Big Brother voice, “you’re the British guy.”

“Seriously?!” Emma hissed loud enough for only him to hear as Killian accepted the handshake.

“Aye. And you must be David.”

Her brother looked taken aback. He must have been under the impression Killian had no idea he existed. “Uh, yeah. Emma’s mentioned me then?”

“Oh, yes, several times. She tells me you’re quite the Orioles fan.”

Uh oh. This had the potential to be a recipe for disaster. David did not take comments about his notoriously terrible favorite team lightly. If Killian made any patronizing remarks about the Orioles, any chance at getting on her brother’s good side was doomed.

“I’ve caught highlights from a few games online before,” Killian continued. “Always admired Ripken.”

Emma let out an audible sigh of relief. Killian may very well have been lying through his teeth to appease David, but at least he’d avoided making a bad first impression. “Yes, well,” she butted in, “David’s just here for the ride. We’re dropping him off back at his apartment on our way.” She shot her brother a look that told him not to argue.

The first few minutes in the car were filled with awkward silence as Killian fidgeted in his seat, clearly used to a steering wheel in front of him on the right side, while she tried to ignore David’s presence in the back.

“How was your flight?” she asked after a moment as they headed in the direction of David and Mary Margaret’s building.

“All right. Bit of turbulence, but nothing terrible. The airplane food, on the other hand.” Emma saw him cringe out of the corner of her eye and tried not to laugh. “I’ll be more than happy to see what restaurants you have to recommend in the city.”

“Anything particular you’re up for? Most places aren’t gonna be busy at this time of day. And no, he’s not coming,” she added, glaring at David in the rearview mirror before he had a chance to chime in.

Killian pursed his lips. “Eh, would you judge me if I said I just wanted a good, American cheeseburger?”

She laughed. “That was the last thing I expected. But no judgment here, Tony Stark.”

“I’m perfectly fine with that comparison.” He grinned. “Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist…”

“I’m sorry, playboy?” David questioned. Someone didn’t know his movie references.

They arrived in front of David’s building minutes later. “Okay, here we are, you’re welcome for the ride home, talk to you later, bye.” Emma must have gotten her point across since he got out of the car with no objection other than a shake of his head.

“I’m really sorry about that.” She glanced at Killian apologetically as she pulled back out into traffic. “I didn’t know he was going to show up and insist on coming with me, or I would have warned you.”

“It’s quite alright, Swan. He was just looking out for you. If I’m being truthful, not wanting you to be alone when you met someone you’d come across online isn’t an unreasonable request.”

“I totally get that to a certain extent, but I know you well enough to trust that you’re not, like, a serial killer. Unless you have something you wanna tell me.”

He barked out a laugh. “Rest assured, love, I have no blood on my hands. At least, none but my brother’s when we were lads.”

“Let me guess, it was always Liam who started it?”

“Sure. We’ll go with that.”

Traffic was light at that point in the afternoon, the two of them arriving at Emma’s chosen destination sooner than she was expecting. “This place might not look like much,” she told him as she pulled into a parking spot in front of Granny’s, “but she’s got the best burgers and fries, excuse me, chips, in town as far as I’m concerned.”

“And grilled cheese and onion rings as well, I presume?”

“You’re a smart man, Killian.”

The diner was fairly empty as well, just an older couple drinking milkshakes at the bar and a group of college students crowded around a table with a stack of textbooks.

“Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to sit?” she asked Killian.

“No. It’s your pick.”

They took a booth near the back of the diner. Emma handed him one of the plastic menus and flipped through one herself, even though her order had been virtually the same over the years. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt her to branch out a little more with her choices, even if it was just getting a burger or chicken club instead of a grilled cheese for once.

A waitress came to take their orders after a few minutes. Killian requested the cheeseburger he’d wanted with fries, the American term sounding foreign on his lips. She ordered the same.

“No grilled cheese and onion rings? Are we sure this is the real Emma Swan?” Killian asked, feigning concern.

She shrugged. “I’m trying to live a little. And for someone like me, that’s apparently as simple as ordering a burger. Or maybe you’re just a bad influence,” she teased.

“Oi! I wasn’t a bad influence when I helped you make cupcakes in your time of need.”

“Yeah, yeah, technicalities.”

There was a long pause as Emma tried to figure out what to say next. She wondered if Killian was having similar thoughts. This was an easier problem to remedy when they were texting or talking on the phone and she could turn the conversation to whatever show they were on at the time. Even still, there wasn’t the added component of having him across from her to sense any awkward tension between them.

Killian broke the ice. “I’ve been meaning to ask, Swan, have you ever seen One Day At a Time? Been seeing a lot about it online lately.”

“I haven’t actually.” She should have remembered most of their best conversations began with shows. “You know how I feel about good sitcoms though.”

“Aye. Perhaps we’ll add it to our unofficial to watch list?”

“I like the way you think, Jones.”

They talked for awhile about the season of Schitt’s Creek they were working on until the waitress brought their food a few minutes later. The conversation had somehow turned to which of Moira’s wigs would look best on him. It was hard not to laugh as Killian nearly swallowed his beloved cheeseburger whole.

“Don’t judge me,” he said through a mouthful of fries when he noticed Emma snickering. “I was bloody starving.”

“Clearly.” She dipped one of her own fries in the generous pile of ranch dressing on the side of her plate. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have so easily done away with all that English charm us Americans aren’t civilized enough to have.”

“What do you mean ‘done away with’? I’ll have you know I’m always charming, love.”

“Says the man who has ketchup on his chin.”

Killian’s face reddened as he grabbed a napkin and wiped off said ketchup. It was barely enough to be noticeable, but she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to tease him a bit.

As they ate, the conversation shifted from shows to Killian’s work and what he’d be doing in Boston over the next few days. She didn’t know much about his job, other than that he worked for Liam and their company provided parts and equipment for ships. While the company’s primary clientele was located in the London area near their home office, they were looking to expand to other areas as well, hence the meetings Killian had flown over to attend.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why were you the one to make the trip instead of Liam?” she asked. “I don’t really know how a lot of business procedures work, but it seems like he would be the one to handle stuff like that considering he’s over everyone else.”

“Aye, you would think so. But the truth of the matter is, Liam’s tied up with so much within our office. Not to mention he doesn’t like making trips now since he’s got Belle and the kids. From both of those angles, it makes more sense for me to handle as much of the international business as I’m qualified for since I truly have nothing tying me down in London nowadays.”

Emma hated the way her heart skipped a beat at his words. If he had nothing tying him down at home, did that also mean there was no girlfriend there too?

(Could she ask him something like that without him seeing right through her?)

“That’s, uh, great,” she told him, trying to get back to the point of the conversation. “That you’re able to travel for him. I’m sure you get a lot of cool opportunities and stuff.”

“Opportunities like getting to eat an American cheeseburger while I have a face to face conversation about sitcoms?”

“Exactly.”

Killian asked a handful of questions about her job, how she liked her boss and coworkers, if she’d dealt with any major cases lately.

“Not really. It’s mostly the usuals, cheating husbands and deadbeat parents.”

He frowned. “Pity situations like those occur enough to be ‘usuals.’”

“It’s enough to make me want to throw in the towel sometimes if I’m being honest. These people are lucky enough to have a family in the first place, and they just throw it to the side like it means nothing to them.”

Emma didn’t realized what she’d said until it was too late. While she’d become comfortable enough with Killian to share certain details about her personal life over the past few months, her upbringing in foster care was the one subject she’d avoided. She’d heard stories of his and Liam’s upbringing by their single mother, who died when Killian was in college. The only family she’d ever mentioned to him was David, and he didn’t even know they weren’t actually siblings.

But that wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have at Granny’s in the middle of the afternoon. She wasn’t sure how much time he had free to spend with her, or when she would see him again. If you even will, she thought.

Sensing her discomfort, Killian reached across the table and gave her hand a squeeze. “Is everything alright, love?”

The feeling of his hand in her own stopped Emma’s train of thought. She almost hated how comforting it was. “Yeah, it’s nothing.” She gave what she hoped looked like a genuine smile. There was no need to waste her time with him focusing on bad memories. “What do you say we pay the bill and go do some sight seeing? Boston isn’t New York or LA, but it can be fun. I think so anyway.”

“Sounds like a plan, love.”

They bickered at the cash register over who was going to pay. Killian wanted to be a gentleman, Emma wanted him to feel like her guest in some way. She somehow won. “You can buy me a bear claw at my favorite bakery later if you really want to,” she told him as she swiped her debit card through the reader and he stood to the side pouting.

She and Killian were heading for the door when a familiar face entered the diner. The sight of Ruby made Emma consider grabbing Killian and hiding him.

“Emma!” Her friends’ eyes lit up when she spotted them, red lips breaking out into a grin.

“Hey, Rubes. I didn’t think you were working today.” She would have taken Killian to eat somewhere else otherwise. Emma loved her friend, but something told her Ruby would have less of a filter than usual around him.

“I wasn’t, but Ashley had a doctors’ appointment and asked me to cover her shift.” She glanced around Emma to get a look at Killian. “Oh, is this the English guy? You didn’t tell me he was hot.”

The urge to crawl under the nearest table was tempting. “Uh, yeah,” she said, her face reddening, even more so when she realized it sounded like she was agreeing with Ruby’s comment. She turned to Killian. “This is my friend, Ruby. Granny’s is, well, her grandmother’s.”

Ruby held her hand out to him. “It’s so nice to put a face with the name. Emma talks about you all the time.”

Emma shot her a death stare as Killian accepted the handshake and brought her hand to his lips. “It’s a pleasure, love. I’ve heard quite a bit about you as well.”

“Such a charmer.” Ruby’s grin widened. “I love it.”

“Yeah, well, we were just leaving, and I know you have to get to work.” She grabbed Killian’s hand and pulled him out the door before Ruby had another chance to embarrass her. “Bye!”

Emma groaned as soon as the door to Granny’s had shut behind her. “I’m sorry about that. She means well, but she tends to come off a bit strong.”

“No worries, Swan. I can’t say I have many objections with a woman who so freely acknowledges my good looks.” He smirked, and she couldn’t help but think how much she wanted to kiss the smile off of his face.

Which she wasn’t going to do. Because that would be ridiculous. “Yeah, I’m never gonna let her live that down.”

She moved her car to a free public lot and spent the next hour with Killian, walking around downtown Boston to show him some of her favorite spots in the area. She pointed out the precinct where she often dropped off bail jumpers, the library, her favorite coffee shop, and the bakery that made the best bear claws in town.

“You can definitely return the favor from lunch now,” Emma told him when they entered the shop and she caught a whiff of something that smelled like butter and cinnamon.

“Whatever the lady wishes.”

“The lady definitely wishes for a bear claw. Or five.”

In the end she requested one, although Killian told the attendant to add another to her bag. “In case you’d like one for the weekend and don’t feel like making the trip.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll let it go uneaten for that long.”

They sat at a bench outside the bakery since the weather was nice. Mid September in Boston was often ideal since it was still warm without being unbearably hot. Emma took one of her bear claws out of the paper bag and bit into it, letting the warm dough melt in her mouth. “You don’t know what you’re missing,” she told Killian, who had started eating his blueberry scone.

“I’ll take your word for it, Swan. You know I’m not fond of raisins.”

“Whatever.” She feigned disappointment. “More for me.”

It occurred to Emma that she had yet to ask another important question. She had no idea how long he would be in Boston, and if she would get to see him again after today. Killian had mentioned in previous conversations that he had a handful of meetings over the following two days, but nothing about what his schedule looked like or when he would be flying back.

Killian picked up on her unspoken apprehension. “What’s going on in that head of yours, love?”

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Hadn’t she decided she wasn’t going to waste time worrying while he was there? “It’s nothing,” she insisted again. Killian’s expression suggested he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t press the issue.

“Did I tell you my nephew is into Peppa Pig now?” she asked, knowing he might like this change of subject. “He’s, like, fascinated with the British accents and tries to talk like the characters all the time now. It’s hilarious.”

His eyes lit up. “Is that so? I like this lad already. Although I do prefer Percy Pigs myself. It’s a type of candy,” he explained when her eyebrows shot up. A quick Google search provided a photo of what he was referring to, which was, as suggested, a gummy in the shape of a pig’s head.

It was weird, if she was being frankly honest, but Leo would love them. “Kid’s definitely getting an order of these for his next birthday.”

Emma finished her bear claw and wiped her mouth with a napkin from the bakery. But she must have not done an adequate job. Killian leaned over. “You missed a spot, love,” he said, brushing his thumb at the corner of her mouth. Any reply she had was forgotten with the gesture as she became hyper focused on the brief but startling feeling of his touch.

“Uh, thanks.” The words came out raspy and uneven.

Her reaction seemed to make Killian realize what he’d done. “Apologies, Swan. I wasn’t thinking.”

She couldn’t stop herself from blurting out the question that followed. “What are we doing here, Killian?”

#cs ff #cs au #captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfiction #cs mc ff #meredith writes

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postsofbabel · 6 months ago

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#posts of babel #neue posts of babel #screenreader unfriendly #eyestrain

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snowbellewells · 2 years ago

Text

@grimmswan I’m sorry to be so late I starting this story, but what an opening chapter!! I really like the idea of more creatures of literature and legend who could have shown up in season six being worked in here (and Dracula was definitely high on my list!) I love that you even wove in Van Helsing and the Harkers briefly.

And that scene at the end? Creepy for sure - definitely had me hurrying right on to chapter two!

Dracula in Storybrooke part one

For the 2023 Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Event

The newest threat to Storybrooke has arrived. Vampires! And one of the biggest baddest vampires of legend has his sights set on the savior, Emma Swan

Set in season six. Sort of a mix between missing storyline and AU

Instead of the heroes traveling to a different land, the people of a different land had traveled to Storybrooke.

The Land of Untold Stories had already brought forth quite a few interesting characters.

And it seemed there were also some horrifying ones.

A clue to there being another big bad in town was discovered just after sunrise.

Some dock workers discovered one of their own lying lifeless on the ground.

The only visible wounds were two puncture marks on his neck.

“The markings kind of remind me of the vampire bites I've seen in movies.” Emma groaned. "Please tell me we aren’t dealing with vampires now.”

“Sorry honey.” David didn’t like what the situation indicated. But with two puncture marks on the neck and the body drained of blood, the implication was clear.

The only questions now were, just who, and how many, were they dealing with.

To make sure, they talked to Dr. Whale, who was Frankenstien in his other life. If anyone knew about these types of things, it had to be him.

Just then David’s phone rang.

“Charming, somethings wrong. The body of the night custodian was just found outside the school. There’s no sign of injury except for two small wounds on his neck.”

A call from Killian added to the situation.

“Smee just informed me that two men who often fished at night have just been found lifeless on their boat, which has crashed on the rocks.”

A meeting was called to figure out, and how to handle, what they were dealing with. Dr. Whale and the head of the fairies, Blue, were asked to attend.

It was thought best for school to be canceled for the day.

Henry insisted on joining the meeting. Snow insisted that he stay by her side the whole way to the sheriff’s station.

“Well, Storybrooke had been flooded with people from various realms. It stands to reason that beings of myth, legend, and lore are here as well.”

“So are you saying we’re dealing with an actual vampire?”

“Hopefully, it’s just one. But with multiple victims, I fear there may be more.”

"All of the victims have been found early in the morning. Which means whoever is attacking them, prefers to do so at night."

"Maybe they can only attack at night."

“Night is a pretty common time for one person to harm another.” Emma sighed. It didn’t matter if they were dealing with a magical world, or a non magical one; every realm had people hurting other people.

“Darkness and shadows. A lot of crime is easily committed with the help of darkness and shadows.” Killian nodded.

“It's why a dense forest was an ideal place for being a bandit.” Snow added, remembering her own past deeds.

It left very little clue to who the culprit could be.

“The problem is, besides people being killed, all of the victims have been from different lands. None of them seem to have anything in common.”

“Which means we may be looking for someone who simply enjoys the act of killing.”

“Who either is, or thinks they are, a vampire.”

"So are we saying that vampires could really be in Storybrooke?" David asked, incredulous at the idea.

"Looks like it." Mary Margaret shook her head, agreeing with her husband at the insanity. "But if vampires only exist in Whale’s' world; how did they end up here?"

"Obviously through the Land of Untold Stories." Whale said, matter of factly.

“What can you tell us about the vampires from your world?”

“I only know what my former professor told me.” Whale explained. “Dr. Van Helsing claimed to have dealt with beings who he referred to as vampires. These beings were humans that were turned by those who had also been turned.”

“Van Helsing?! Seriously?!” Emma knew she should probably be used to fictional characters actually being real; she was the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming after all. Still, the idea that Van Helsing from the Bram Stoker story was real was difficult to believe.

And with that thought came another.

“Did he mention Dracula?”

“Yes, he did. Something about sealing the ancient vampire in a tomb in the depths of a church. He and a man named Jonathan Harker. It was the only way of saving Harker’s wife.”

"I take it this Dracula being is some sort of monster in one of this world's stories?" Killian asked.

"Something like that."

"Can we blame Whale for all of this? And send him back to his world?" David was secretly hoping a vampire would get Whale.

"You have to stop trying to get rid of Whale."

"Did Whale ever flirt with you?" Killian asked Emma.

"No. But that might only be because he had already been hitting on Mary Margaret. And she and I became roommates pretty soon after I came here. Then again, it might be because I also started working for the sheriff station pretty soon after moving here. And I started carrying a gun."

"Maybe we should turn the bullets to silver." Snow suggested, trying to get the conversation away from the fact she had gone out with Whale.

"I thought silver was used against werewolves?" David asked.

"I've heard lore where it burns vampires."

"Let me see what I can do. I should have a few chests full from my pirating days."

"Thank you, Killian." Emma looked at him with affection and pride. " We might have to pass them around Storybrooke. So people can defend themselves."

The first person to be given trinkets of silver to wear was Henry.

“Wind these silver chains around your wrists. If a vampire comes after you, press the silver to their skin.” Killian advised as he fastened the chains to the boy.

“It would be better if we told people not to leave their homes at night.” Leroy said.

“That’s not always possible. Some people have animals. And kids don’t always listen to warnings.”

“Adults don’t always listen to warnings.” Emma sighed.

"Are we driving stakes through their hearts, or are you guys going to try to redeem them?" Whale asked. "I know you hero types are always wanting to do the right thing. Or you think everyone can be saved from themselves. But I think you have your work cut out for you this time."

"The only way to stop them without killing them is to turn them back into humans. But we would need to find a spell to do that." Snow said, the worry of the whole situation clear on her face.

"The prince in me wants to try to return them to human. But the bigger part of me that's Emma’s father wants to end them completely, before they hurt my little girl." The determination in David’s stance made Whale take a step away. A flashback of getting punched in the face flitting through his mind.

“The one thing we have going for us is that it appears these vampires don’t like direct sunlight.” Henry pointed out.

Emma didn’t say it out loud, but she was relieved they weren’t dealing with the sparkles in the sun variety. She probably would have left Storybrooke if she had seen some Rob Pattinson looking guy show up.

“Van Helsing said direct sunlight was harmful, it literally burns a vampire’s skin. But if it’s a cloudy day, where the sun is blocked most of the time, we could still be attacked.” Whale warned.

Emma gave a heavy sigh. “Whale, write down everything Van Helsing told you about vampires. We need to know which rules apply, and which don’t. We need to hold a town meeting and warn everyone about the latest threat.

“There might be a bigger threat at hand, love.” Killian advised. “If these creatures just needed blood, they could have broken into the hospital. They’re obviously strong enough. Or they could have asked for help. It’s been made clear that help is available to everyone. My instincts tell me there is a lot more going on.”

“My instincts tell me the same thing.” Emma agreed.

“I hate to suggest this. But do you think we could get Gold to help with our vampire problem?”

“He can not help us.” Blue warned. “His power comes from darkness. These beings we deal with exist in the darkness. The dark one’s magic will have no effect on the creatures.”

“The magic in each world manifests differently. In the world of the enchanted forest, it’s healthy, thriving, and can be controlled with a little focus and practice. In the world of Wonderland, it’s chaotic and not always easy to predict or control. In the land of horror, it’s weak and rare. it only manifests in certain areas, and in certain beings. And often takes a specific time, element, and energy to tap into. The rules are different.”

“But there are rules. If we can figure out what they are, we can deal with this new crisis.”

By the end of the day, everyone in town had been warned of the new threat and been advised on how to protect themselves.

Needing to take her mind off of the potential of horror movie monsters in Storybrooke, Emma decided to focus on her sexy boyfriend.

She practically threw herself at Killian, who easily caught her and wrapped her tightly in his arms. Their lips fastened firmly together, barely parting as they made their way up the stairs and into their bedroom.

From just outside their fence, a figure cloaked in shadow stared at the lovers. Eyes filled with envy gazed at the beauty who was giving her body so willingly. Sharp ears picked up her breathy moan of “Killian”.

The dark figure moved up into a tree, peering into the window, staring at the two lovers wrapped so much in one another, neither felt his menacing glare.

He watched with increasing envy as the golden haired beauty pressed herself to the raven haired man and whispered that she wanted him.

The dark entity plotted that soon he would be the one to receive the attention of the one called The Savior.

By sunrise, the figure was gone.

#cssns23 #cs ff #Dracula in Storybrooke #chapter one #cs fic rec #cs au mc

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everlastingcaptainswan · 6 years ago

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Mark Your Calendars (2/13) Modern AU

Summary: 12 holidays. 2 stubborn people in love. One very interesting year.

Notes: Hey guys I’m going to super busy next week, so I won’t have time to post this chapter on Valentine’s Day. I’m posting the chapter a little early when I actually have some time, but I’m sure none of you mind :) Things heat up in this chapter so enjoy!

FF Ao3

Chapter Two: Valentine’s Day

Emma was having a bad day. Plain and simple, there is no beating around the bush. One guy shot at her, another one tried to stab her, but just grazed her with his knife. Which ruined one of her favorite sweaters, might she add. Every man was a complete asshole. It was Valentine’s Day as well, one of the holidays that Emma hates the most. Mostly because it’s a holiday made for couples and if you’re alone on this holiday it’s considered pathetic, which is just ridiculous. There are flowers and chocolate in every store to remind her. She can’t get away from it no matter where she goes. Frankly it pisses her off to no end. Everyone of her friends knows it. They usually leave her alone on this day, at least she hopes they do today. Although they have been known to meddle, so really she wouldn’t be surprised if they butt in.

To top off her bad day, Killian Jones had the nerve to send her flowers with an insulting card. She discovered them after coming back from the ER where she had to get few stitches from her graze with a knife.

The flowers are beautiful, lillies are Emma favorite. She has no idea how Killian would know that, but the bouquet is beautiful and elegant. The card reads: Swan, I quite fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me. Killian

How dare he send her flowers with a rude card? Who the the hell does he think he is? They kissed one time (a fact which Emma is trying to forget about). Since then they have seen each other, but their friends have usually been around. Nothing has been said, however there have been some small touches and glances exchanged. Glances where she feels like he can see through her and into her soul. They never last long because she always looks away because his gaze is too intense, too knowing. Like he knows that there are some nights she fantasizes about that kiss before scolding herself for doing so.

He’s supposed to the asshole friend of her brother. Killian Jones is supposed to be the bane of her existence, the man who she fights with constantly and now she has fantasies about him. She doesn’t quite know what to make of it. Now, he sends her flowers to what be a dick? What was the point? He always had to be an ass.

August (her boss and friend) walks up to her desk in the bail bonds office with a smirk on his face.

“Who are the flowers from?”

“No one important,” she sighs, leaving them on her desk. They were simply too pretty to throw away that would be a waste.

“A likely story. Someone from your weird friend group?” August pushes.

“Yeah something like that,” she grumbles and August just smirks again.

“Fill out this form for insurance bullshit.” August hands her a packet of papers and she glares at him.

“All of it?” It was already almost five and Emma really wants to go home. All she wants to wear sweatpants, watch netflix, and maybe drink some wine. No, definitely drink some wine.

“I just need the first five pages from you the rest is for me,” he reassures her. Emma just nods and sits down at her desk. Before getting started on the paperwork Emma pulls out her phone. Killian is going to get a piece of her mind.

ES: Seriously? You’re sending me flowers on Valentines Day to be dick? Real smooth move. Emma smiles, satisfied with her response. She silences her phone and places it face down on her desk to focus on the packet in front of her. The paperwork doesn’t take too long and she’s out of there in under an hour. She gives it to August before leaving for the night with the flowers in tucked in her arm. He gives her a bemused look before telling her goodnight.

Back at her apartment Elsa is waiting for Emma with a bottle of wine in hand.

“I never should have given you a key,” Emma grumbles and Elsa’s eyes go wide at what Emma is carrying.

“You love me and you know it. I sent you a text that I’d be here didn’t you get it?” Elsa asks still eyeing the bouquet in Emma’s arms.

“I didn’t check my phone on the way home. It’s been a long day,” she sighs as she takes off her jacket.

“Well good thing I brought some wine then isn’t it?” Elsa smirks, searching for Emma’s bottle opener.

“You must have read my mind. The next drawer down,” Emma directs her. Elsa finds it and gets to work opening the bottle.

“So are we going to talk about the flowers?” Elsa asks as Emma pulls down two glasses for them.

“Are we going to talk about why you’re not with Liam?” Emma throws back at her.

“Liam had to stay late, so we pushed dinner back. Your turn,” Elsa says with a raised eyebrow.

“Killian just sent them to be a dick. I have no clue what possessed him to do such a thing, but there you go,” Emma shrugs and Elsa pours her a generous amount of wine.

“Killian Jones sent you flowers?!?! The same Killian who you fight with constantly? The same one who can never take his eyes off you? The same one you claim to hate?” Elsa asks in a surprised tone.

“Yes that one, do we know another Killian Jones?” Emma takes a very big gulp from her wine glass.

“No, but that is not the point, Emma. How do you know he was being a dick?” Her friend asks thoroughly confused.

“Read the damn, card!” Emma throws her hands into the air. Elsa sets down her glass and picks the card out from the flowers. She looks from the card to Emma to the card again.

“How is this being a dick, please explain?” Elsa asks her.

“He insulted me with flowers!” Emma places her hands on her hips, not sure why Elsa was not getting whatever was going on here.

“Where is the insult?”

“The shouting thing,” Emma says with a shake of her head. Elsa just glares at her.

“Did you get a concussion today? Is that what happened at work? Because if you didn’t I don’t know how you’re this stupid.” Elsa snaps.

“No, I did not. What on earth are you talking about?” Now it’s Emma’s turn to be confused.

“This card says he likes you, idiot. He literally said he fancies you when you’re not yelling at him. He sent them to be nice. What the hell made you think he was being a dick?” Elsa practically yells.

“I-” Emma begins, but really she has no idea how she missed that, “I don’t really know.”

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head today?” Elsa asks concerned.

“No, just a light stabbing, I had to go to the ER and they checked me out. No head injury,” Emma tells her.

“A LIGHT STABBING!?! Emma, what the hell?” Elsa says looking at her friend with a lot of concern.

“The knife grazed me. I needed a couple stitches,” Emma shrugs.

“We will come back to that another time, I assure you. Did you say anything to Killian about the flowers?” Elsa asks her annoyed.

“Yes…” Emma cringes. Elsa just rolls her eyes.

“Give me your phone,” Elsa says simply with her hand out reached. Emma slaps the phone into her friend’s hand. Elsa quickly unlocks it and opens her messages.

“Oh my god, Emma! Really?” Emma nods, not making eye contact with her friend.

“How bad is it?” Emma asks.

“Well would you like to know his response?” Elsa asks. Emma rushes over to Elsa’s side to see what he said.

KJ: What are you talking about? Then a few minutes later. KJ: Swan, I have no clue what happened, but I didn’t mean to be a dick.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Emma mutters.

“Yeah I think you need to apologize to him,” Elsa tells her. Emma throws her head back and ignores the urge to stomp her foot like a child.

“I have to?” Emma asks. Elsa places her hand on shoulder.

“Yes, you do. Now, I have to leave to meet Liam. Please do the right thing and apologize,” she tells Emma.

“Fuck, you’re right. I promise I will,” Emma says, annoyed with her own stupidity. Elsa gives her a hug.

“Good and I want to hear all about it,” Elsa says as she shrugs on her coat. Emma just nods and shuts the door behind her friend. God dammit. She really should apologize to him. Emma pulls out her phone and opens her messages.

ES: Okay I was an idiot. Are you home? I’d like to explain myself. Emma sends it before she can really think about it. She should explain in person because texting isn’t really her strong suit. Clearly. A few minutes later her phone pings.

KJ: Yes, come over whenever you’re ready. Emma slips on her jacket and grabs her keys before leaving. Killian doesn’t live far from her so she walks there, thinking about what she should say to him. She gets to his building and he buzzes her up. She stops in front of his door, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. How the hell should she even explain this to him?

Finally, she knocks and he comes to the door. Killian has a look of uncertainty on his face.

“Can I come in?” she asks. Killian steps to the side.

“Of course,” he says quietly. She steps in and he shuts the door behind her. Damn him he looks really good in his gray henley and black jeans.

“So I had a bad day at work, not really an excuse, but for some reason I thought you were trying to be a dick with flowers. It doesn’t quite make a lot of sense, but you know I was being an idiot. Anyway, I am sorry for sending that text and being a complete ass when you did something that was actually very nice,” She says quickly under his intense gaze.

“Thank you for apologizing. I must admit I was quite confused by the whole ordeal. Would you like drink?” he asks her.

“What? You want to have a drink with me?” she asks, surprised. This is not how she saw this going at all. She thought he’d taunt her or be an ass about it (which she would totally deserve).

“It’s certainly not the first time you’ve called me a dick and I doubt it will be the last,” he chuckles and she shrugs, “I meant what was on the card. I can’t stop thinking about that kiss on New Years and well honestly it sounds like you need one,” he shrugs.

“Oh okay. Sure,” she nods.

“Please take a seat, make yourself comfortable,” he nods toward the couch. She sits down, finally relaxing for the first time today.

“I’m afraid all I have is rum, not your usual whiskey,” he tells her from the kitchen.

“Rum is perfectly fine,” she tells him from her spot on the couch. He walks over two glasses in hand and passes one to her. She accepts and he sits next to her on the couch.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

“Do you want to talk about your day or sit in silence until the food I ordered arrives?” he asks her. Emma’s thrown by this interaction entirely. She’s known Killian Jones for a while and really has only seen the asshole side of him. The one that teases her constantly or fights with her. Right now, he’s being nice and thoughtful. She’s never seen him like this. Ever.

“You ordered food?” she asks.

“Aye, some chinese. I ordered enough for two, you’re welcome to some,” he tells her.

“Yeah that’d be nice,” she admits right before her stomach grumbles. He smiles at this and she chuckles.

“Everyone was an ass today, that’s all. Oh and annoying paperwork,” she adds. She won’t tell him about the gun wielding skip or the almost stabbing, he would just tell David. She definitely doesn’t need a lecture from her brother right now.

“I understand annoying paperwork, all too much,” he tells her. Not too long after the buzzer rings and Killian hops up to answer it. When Killian brings the food in the smell is amazing and Emma is about ready to eat her own hand. She gets up to see what he ordered.

“Swan, I would’ve brought it to you,” he tells her.

“I’m sure you would’ve, but I’m curious and I want to know what you ordered,” she scoffs. He just rolls his eyes.

“Potstickers, shrimp lo mein for me and kung pao chicken for you,” he tells her.

“That’s my favorite, how did you know?” she asks confused.

“I’m more observant than I appear, Swan,” he says before handing her the container and chopsticks. Both starving they shovel down the food quickly without much conversation. Killian turns on Netflix and they watch some show Emma’s seen before. They still don’t say much, except for some laughter here and there. Emma’s pretty sure this is the longest they’ve gone without fighting before. They usually fight and bicker, but tonight she has seen a completely different side of him. He’s kind and thoughtful, all the things she thought he wasn’t. Could she have been wrong about him this whole time?

Emma looks over at him and finds his striking blue eyes on her. Since she’s caught him staring at her Killian blushes. Without really thinking about it she leans over and kisses him because well she wants to badly and she can’t think of a reason to not kiss him. Killian’s hand caresses her cheek, his other hand on her hip pulling her closer. Emma shifts quickly, straddling him. One of her hands tangled in his hair. God, kissing him is like nothing else. His soft lips and light, exploring touches. However when his hand touches where her stitches are she pulls away and winces.

“Emma, are you okay?” he asks, concerned. His eyes searching hers.

“I did say today was bad, right? This skip tried to stab me and his knife may have grazed me a little bit,” she shrugs, not looking him in the eye.

“Emma, you have to be careful,” he tells her before pulling up her sweater to examine her wound. He finds gauze covering the stitches.

“I went to the ER and I was being careful that would be why I’m alive and not dead in an alley,” she tells him. His hand is on her cheek once again, the touch light and caring.

“You know what I mean. No wonder you had such a bad day,” he says understanding her turmoil and she bites her lip.

“Please don’t tell David,” she says quietly. He gives her a distressing look.

“I- all right I won’t,” he nods. He wanted to say like hell he would, but it would just cause more trouble for her.

“Thank you, he just worries too much,” she explains. Killian nods. David worries a lot about Emma and her job. David has always felt the need to protect her at all costs. Emma interrupts his train of thought by kissing him once again. He could kiss her for all of his days and never complain. Her hands make their way under his shirt and he helps her get her sweater off. Killian’s careful to not touch the gauze covered area again. All the kissing and tender touches leaves Emma’s skin on fire and she wants more. More of him. She pulls away, leaning her forehead against his.

“Bedroom?” she asks feeling his erection growing beneath her.

“Are you sure?” he asks her.

“Positive,” she says, never wanting anything more. He grasps her back pulling her closer into him. He stands carefully holding onto her. Emma wraps her legs around him. She surges forward kissing him again. He guides the toward his room the best he can. To be quite honest the beautiful blonde in his arms is very distracting. Especially when she grinds down on his erection. The little minx.

Emma leans back to open the door one handed holding onto Killian tightly with the other.

“Thank you, love.” She smiles as he carries her into the room. He gently lies Emma down on the bed and they both work quickly to remove their pants and his shirt. Killian carefully peels her underwear off before pushing his own boxers to the ground. Every touch he gives her is light and caring, and damn does it feel good. She tries to sit up, but winces and falls back. Killian’s eyes find hers.

“Love, lie back. Let me take care of you,” he tells her and she nods, not trusting her own voice. She never lets anyone take care of, she never lets anyone see her this vulnerable. He takes her hand in his and presses a kiss into it. She blushes. Killian drops her hand and begins trailing kisses up her thighs. His thumb reaches her clit and rubs small circles. He places several kisses on her outer lips before capturing her clit with his lips. Emma bites her lip at this. Killian slides one finger inside of her and then another. Emma let’s go of her lip and lets her moans fill the bedroom. His lips leave her clit and their eyes meet.

“That’s it love let me hear you,” he smirks with a few aggressive pumps of his fingers. When his lips come back to her clit she calls out his name. He feverishly moves his fingers in and out of her and moves his tongue over her clit until he can feel her walls flutter around him. She lifts her head up and their eyes meet.

“I need you inside of me, now,” she tells him before pulling him closer. He’s careful with her, not wanting to pull out any of the stitches she received today. He rolls on a condom before sliding into her. They release sounds of pleasure. Killian never imagined his day quite ending like this. He’s found her attractive since the moment they met, but to have her in his bed is something else. He moves slowly, one of their hands intertwined above her head. Their lips gliding over one another. Killian snaps his hips forward causing Emma to moan his name. Gods it’s a beautiful sound, one he could go on hearing forever. They always fought and bickered, but he knew that just clouded other emotions that lay down deep for both of them. Emotions they weren’t ready to admit yet. Emotions that had finally come to the surface after all these years.

His thumb goes to her clit and makes lazy, slow circles around it causing Emma to writhe underneath him. He moves a little faster still conscious of her injuries, his thumb increasing in speed as well. Finally her back arches off the bed and her walls clenching around spurring his own climax as he spills into the condom. Carefully he flops down onto his bed beside her. He rolls off the bed, discarding the condom before coming back to her.

Emma lays her head on Killian’s chest both of them a little out of breath. She should leave, she normally leaves after sex and collapses in her own bed. This time though Emma doesn’t want to leave and that’s a little terrifying. But she’s tired and doesn’t quite think her legs will allow her to move. She’ll close her eyes rest for a couple minutes then leave. Yeah that’s definitely a good plan.

As it turns out it was a horrible plan because Emma fell asleep and didn’t wake up until the early morning hours with Killian’s arms wrapped around her and pain blossoming where her stitches are. He hums at her movements, just barely waking up himself.

“Morning, love,” he mumbles pressing a kiss into her shoulder.

“Morning,” she says clearing her throat, frowning. He rolls away from her, disentangling their limbs. She carefully sits up, her limbs stiff and certain places especially sore.

“Are you alright, love?” he asks. Emma clenches her jaw before answering.

“The stitches aren’t feeling that great,” she says, her voice tense.

“Did they give you anything for the pain?” he asks, concerned.

“Um yeah. They’re in my jacket pocket,” she mutters, moving to get out of the bed. He places a hand on her shoulder and she stops.

“I’ll get it,” he tells her before leaving the room. Killian comes back with a prescription pill bottle in hand and a glass of water.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she scoffs, taking the pill bottle from him.

“Swan, I’m trying to be gentleman here,” he teases her. She swallows the pills and takes the water from his hand, using it to wash down the pills.

“A gentleman? You?” she teases him right back.

“I’m always a gentleman,” he says with a cocky grin as he walks away from her. There’s a beat of silence between them.

“What do we do now?” she asks, turning to face him.

“Well I imagine you need to get to work and so do I,” he shrugs, searching through his dresser drawers.

“Killian, that is not what I meant at all,” she says with a raised eyebrow. He just chuckles.

“I know what you meant, Swan. What do you want?” he asks, turning to face her with something akin to disappointment in his eyes.

“I’m not sure yet, but I don’t want our nosey friends meddling in our business until we know whatever this is,” she says meeting his fierce blue eyes. He walks up to her, standing in front of her with no shirt on, which is extremely distracting.

“As you wish, Swan. I do want you to know one thing,” He takes her hand in his and pulls Emma gently to her feet, “When I win your heart and I will, it won’t be trick or that we simply fell into bed together. It will be because you want me.” Emma can practically hear her heartbeat in her ears. His gaze so intense and serious. She’s never felt like this before. Hell she’s never seen him like this before.

“Is that your way of telling me that you won’t sleep with me again until we slap a label on this?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh definitely not. I’m just letting you know that I’m not going anywhere,” he tells her before pulling her into his arms. Killian puts a lot of passion into the kiss. He knows Emma is the kind of person who believes in actions more than words. Now that he knows what it is like to be with Emma Swan he is never letting her go.

After losing track of time kissing Killian they break apart and she leaves, so they can both get to their jobs. When his door shuts behind her Emma comes to the strange realization that her and Killian had sex. Not only that the sex was tender and kind. Emma Swan is pretty sure that he made love to her last night, but she’s going ignore that fact for now. She knows one thing for sure Killian Jones has gotten underneath her skin.

#cs ff au #cs #cs au #CS modern AU #cs mc ff #CS fanfics #cs ff #captian swan #captain swan ff #emma swan #killian jones #cop!killian #bailbondsperson!emma

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everything-person · 7 years ago

Text

Taken

So here it is. The next chapter. This story will never be abandoned. I'm going to try to get at least one chapter out a month. This chapter has gone through a lot of edits. So hoping it came out good.

Masterlist

Chapter 7

Killian, Emma, and David walked back into the station, to find the girl pacing back and forth in the cell like a crazed animal.

“Ah! Storybrooke’s Avengers have returned! I need to report a theft.” She threw herself against the bars, she seemed almost in a panic.

Emma reveals the items that had been weighing heavily in her hand and her heart. The girl shoulders dropped and she sighed with relief, even as her grip on the bars tightened. “Those are mine. Give them back.” She ground out through her teeth.

“I would like to remind you that as a prisoner you aren't one to make demands. Nor are you privileged to have these items.” Emma said authoritatively. Then after glancing at her husband, her voice grew soft. “But as my daughter, if you asked nicely, I might give you the drawing back.”

The girl froze in her place and soaked in the revelation. “So, you finally came around? You really do need evidence for absolutely everything, don’t you? You can’t even trust your own eyes.”

Emma tried not to flinch as she nonchalantly rebuffed, “Nothing wrong with double-checking your facts.”

She rolled her eyes and took a step away from the bars. “Well now that you did your homework, let's get this started.”

“Get what started?”

“One of these is unlike the others but it was also the only one that was seen. Find it, then find its reflection,” she replied and with that turned her back on the group and plopped down on the cold floor.

“A riddle? Seriously?” Emma deadpanned. The girl shrugged in response.

“Why won’t you just talk to us?” asked Killian, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“The best lesson is the one earned not taught.”

David placed on a hand on his son-in-law’s shoulder. With a sigh Killian asked, “What about your name? Can you tell us your name?”

She said nothing for a while, but just as they turned to get back to work she spoke,

“I am the dreaded pirate Roberts.”

“Yeah, sure. And my name is Inigo Montoya. Watch out for rodents of unusual size, Buttercup.” said Emma. Leave it to my daughter to be a pop culture smartass, she thought.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Regina's mansion

The parlor door cracked open. The spy scanned the room that held his mom, his aunt, Robin, and his grandmother. They were all watching the scene in the station play out on a mirror.

He held back his laughter when the references started flying. She definitely knows her stuff, he thought to himself. The mirror showed the sheriff and her backup leave the girl alone in her cell again. Just because she’s in a cell doesn’t mean she should be alone.

“What the hell was that?!?!” Zelena shouted.

“It’s a clue,” Snow replied.

“I don’t want a bloody clue! I want--I need my daughter back! I’m going down there and getting some answers. A little fireball should do the trick.” Zelena said as she turned towards the door. Henry quickly hid. Before Zelena could storm out of the room, however, she was stopped by her sister. Regina waved her hand and Zelena’s feet were stuck to the floor.

“No, you are not. I told you you were only allowed to be here, to be involved, if you promised to behave. Now, behave.” Regina waved her hand again and released Zelena. “Besides if the Dark One couldn’t scare her you won’t either.”

As the adults continued to argue, the parlor door silently closed. Quiet feet ran up the stairs. Operation Princess Bride was about to begin.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Footsteps echoed through the empty station.

“I must be the luckiest prisoner in all of Maine. Getting so many surprise visitors, and by none other than Storybrooke’s most famous. First the Dark One, and now the Author.” She leaned further back against the furthest wall from the cell bars. “Let me guess you want to add my story to the book?”

“No. I just figured you might be bored,” Henry lowered himself to the ground and began rummaging through his bag, “so, I brought you some stuff.”

Her curiosity got the better of her as she moved closer to the bars. He pulled out some comic books, a hand-held video game, and a portable DVD player. “I figured you might want some entertainment,” he said holding up the handheld video game. “But I wasn't sure what you liked. So, I went with some of the classics.” Showing off the DVD’s he brought with him.

“I prefer D.C. over Marvel--”

“Lucky for you I have a couple of Justice League comics right here.”

“And Star Wars isn't a classic.”

“What are you talking about? Star Wars is so a classic. Where would Sci-Fi be without Star Wars?”

“In a much better place. Sci-Fi started with Frankenstein, with actual science. Now it's all about outer space and aliens.” She scoffed, but Henry still caught a smile creep to the girls face and counted it as a victory.

“You're such a Leia,” he said exasperatedly. He heard a faint “more like Anakin” and filed it away for later but did not respond to it.

“Oh, I also brought you some snacks,” he said, holding up a couple Apollo bars, “and an offer to sneak you all the hot chocolate with cinnamon you want.”

“I don't care for chocolate.” At Henry’s shocked face, she burst out laughing.

“Are you sure we’re related?” Henry asked teasingly, recovering from his shock.

As her giggles faded away, she asked, “What are you doing here Henry?”

Henry shrugged. “Like I said thought you would be bored. ” he continued after noticing her unconvinced look, “And I thought maybe we could talk.” He looked at his sister. His sister. He still hadn’t processed it completely. He was a big brother. He had a little sister. Of course he had Roland and Rebecca, and he loved them like siblings, but it wasn't the same.

“Talk about… what?” she asked cautiously.

“We can talk about anything. We could talk about movies or books. We can talk about people around Storybrooke,” he offered. Then hesitantly added, “about mom, about our family?”

“Or we could talk about why I'm here. What happened, why I decided to come back. That's what you want to know right? My motives?” She took a step back and scowled.

“Look, we can talk about anything you want. I'm your big brother. You can tell me anything.”

“Oh, is that it? Operation Big Brother, huh? You're my big brother. So, now I'm suppose to spill my guts to you. We have a bonding moment. You convince me that I'm wrong and I deliver the kids to you, huh? You're a town hero and they don't have to worry about the kids or about me, right? That’s why you came here! Why you are giving me this shit trying to butter me up?!”

“No--,” he tried to speak, but she was lost to him.

“Hate to push you off of your ‘big brother’ high-horse. But we don't know you. You're not our big brother. You left and never came back. Being the hero of your own story was more important to you than your family!”

“That's not true. It can’t be...I wouldn’t…I couldn’t...”

“Don’t believe me? Look at the picture again. He barely knows who you are! He doesn’t care about you!” She started shouting, “All he cares about are his mama, his papa, and his great big sister,” she paused a moment to breathe.

Her eyes shined with angry tears and her chest heaved. “You weren’t there, you never were! So stop trying!” Henry looked stricken, but his mind focused on one word.

“He?” he whispered. Then, he remembered the drawing... and the little boy.

Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d given away.

“Get out.” she demanded. She backed away from Henry.

“You...you didn't draw that picture. Our little brother did.”

“Why don't you go report that big bro?” She snapped, as she turned away from him.

Henry paused for a moment before asking, “What happened to him?”

She stiffened. Henry waited a moment before realizing that he’d pushed too far. With a sigh, he pushed off the ground and said, “I really did bring these so you wouldn't get bored. I’ll be back later.” He waited a moment for something, anything from her. “Bye Anny.”

Henry left with his eyes downcast and shoulders slumped. She glanced over her shoulder and watched him leave. Both too trapped in their own heads to notice the shadow in the corner that was watching them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Regina’s mansion

“So,” Zelena started “does anyone know what we are actually looking for?”

“Something that seems to stand out.” Regina answered her sister.

“It has to be Hansel.”

“Nicholas.” Emma corrected without looking up from the papers in front of her.

“Whatever.”

“We really need to figure out if everyone goes by their curse names or Enchanted Forest names,” said Snow.

“Almost everyone in Storybrooke is registered as their curse name so let's go with that. Those that don't have curse names will be called by their fairy-tale names.” Emma kept looking through papers as she followed the conversation.

“Can we get back to this stupid riddle?” Zelena snapped.

“It has to be Nicholas he was the only abduction that had a witness. The only one that was ‘seen’.”

“That would mean that all the other kids were seen being taken. That everyone is lying and watched her take these kids. That Henry is lying and saw Roland-”

“Wait...Roland!”, Emma finally looked up, her eyes wide and mouth agape. “It has to be Roland!” When no one seemed to get it she continued. “She also mentioned ‘reflection’. You see your reflection in the mirror."

“What?”

“Roland was taken in the middle of the day. Roland is also the only one with a parental figure attached to mirrors.”

“What the bloody hell are you going on about?”

“Regina, if you focus on Roland through your mirrors we might be able to find the kids.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Comics were clumsily strewn across the station’s floor. DVDs were thrown all around the room. The handheld was in pieces next to the wall. The cot and it’s bedding was flipped upside down and ripped apart. The abuser lay on all fours and panting. Voices and phantom noises ringing in her ears. Images flashed behind her eyelids. Her eyes burned with the tears that she held at bay. Her teeth were grinding into each other as she held back the frustrated screams that so desperately wanted to escape. The damn was about to break, the mask flaking off, the facade fading away. She was on the verge of letting it all out. Cracking her eyes open, trying in vain to catch her breath, preparing to let go. It was only when the fluorescent lights began flickering that she brought herself back from the edge of a breakdown.

Before she could lift herself off of the ground, a pair of sleek black oxfords appeared in front of her. She looked up to find a dark handsome man with a gleaming smile plastered on his face. She scrambled away from him while simultaneously trying to get to her feet. Though her movements were nervous, her eyes burned with fury.

“Such power in such a small, beautiful package.” His voice was like velvet she once wrapped herself in and longed for. Now, it only made her skin crawl.

Finally steady on her feet, she took a step back from the man before her.

“Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be here.”

He tilted his head. His eyes were full of curiosity and he seemed almost disappointed. “It seems that I’m at a disadvantage,” his disappointment faded away and he smirked, “but I have a feeling that the next we meet, the advantage will be mine.”

"What do you want?!” She demanded.

“I’ve just come to pay a visit to the newest resident in Storybrooke. Possibly make a deal?”

“Get out! You’re nothing more than a Dark One wannabe!”

The man pursed his lips. “I see a deal will not be made today. But we will make a deal that will benefit the both of us.”

The girl shook her head and snarled, “I will end you.”

“I’m sorry but that is not in your cards,” He chuckles. The lights flickered and she was once again left alone in her cell.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They all stood in front of Regina’s round, ornate mirror that once upon a time inhabited Sidney Glass. Regina raised her hand in front of the glass.

“Are we sure that this is what she meant? Mirrors didn’t work before and they might not work now,” said Zelena.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Regina said. Robin grabbed her hand and squeezed it in support. She closed her eyes and focused on the little boy she had come to care so much for. She thought of all the moments she shared with him and how she had come to think of him as her son. She poured her love and her magic into the mirror. Her fear of losing Roland and watching Robin lose the last remaining piece of his family made a tear roll down her cheek. Finally, the mirror shimmered and glowed. The looking glass rippled before landing on a scene of children running around and playing.

It’s them. It’s the kids.”

The mirror pivoted across the room and focused on Roland watching over a playpen that held three giggling infants.

“He’s okay,” whispered Regina. She squeezed Robin’s hand.

Emma smiled, “They all are.”

8 notes · View notes

snowbellewells · 2 years ago

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@once-upon-a-pirate-ship I just continue to be so wowed by this story and what you are doing with it!! You really have such an interesting adventure going on here, and my heart aches for Emma at the weight of guilt and responsibility she’s carrying on her shoulders.

Her conversation with Will in particular in this installment really tugged at the heartstrings. That he had lost his sister, while Emma is so desperately missing her brother really binds them and makes Will all the more able to understand the emotions she is trying to handle. His advice for her was right on target though. The same thing was true for Robin later as well. He’s a great support and encouragement for her and I’m glad they’ve met up with Robin and his band.

I did not see Anna coming there at the end! Not at all!! Another great twisty surprise! They are seeking she and Elsa and she comes crashing out of the woods toward them. But the knights have Elsa?!? And they’re nearby?!? I’m going to have to rush right on to Chapter 8 now…. 😳😳😳

How Restlessly the Stars Do Gleam - Chapter 7: Restless

Here's an early additional update, as promised!

This is fairly close to what I suppose you'd call a "filler chapter," but we know those are necessary for any story to build properly. That is precisely why I'm updating on Friday, too.

Story summary: After the Evil Queen kidnaps and curses her family and destroys her kingdom, Princess Emma is on the run. She boards a merchant vessel with her godmother Red, and they intend to travel to Arendelle to seek magical assistance. But when Emma discovers the dark truths aboard Captain Silver's ship, she must put a stop to his cruelty and rescue the Jones brothers from their enslavement. Emma has to find her own allies and face her fears in order to save her parents, her brother Leo, and her kingdom.

Find the first chapter here on AO3, or read this one here.

tagged readers: @kmomof4 @ouatpost @ultraluckycatnd @jrob64 @teamhook @tiganasummertree @zaharadessert

DM me or reply to this or any other updates if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

(another minor thing: I'm tweaking a few very minor details in the previous chapters on ao3 to stretch out the time a bit more. Emma is on the ship for three weeks or so before they left it, and I wanted to make that clearer, but there's no reason to reread or anything just for that)

Chapter seven summary: Emma is...worn down from all of it. Things are getting to her (she's just got PTSD, but therapy really isn't an option for her). She has some conversations. Some things happen. Let's find out what.

read chapter seven: Restless below the cut:

The fire crackled, the sound of it weaving together with the others, the voices that were warm with laughter and light conversation.

Their dinner that night had practically been a feast compared to what they’d eaten the first night in the forest; Robin’s people had more than adapted to their lives beyond the comfort of a house. They didn’t simply survive in the woods, they thrived there.

Robin had opened his arms and his resources to them, given them food and protection, tended to their wounds, all without ceremony. He’d pulled her aside when the others were busy familiarizing themselves with the newcomers, and he hadn’t been shy in sharing the details of his operation.

That was how Emma was able to sit amidst them all, seemingly calm and unaffected. She knew that there were four people circling the camp at all times, hiding in trees and preparing to signal if anything suspicious came near.

But earlier that day, her nightmare had almost become her reality. When she stood with Killian in that clearing, she’d practically been able to feel the threads of his life poised and ready to be cut by the Black Knights, and it had been her fault.

Every time she blinked now, it was not darkness that she saw, but death, his death, and when she’d cleaned her hands in the rushing water of a creek, the droplets of blood didn’t feel like the enemy’s blood, it felt like his. Perhaps not now, but one day, she would find her hands covered in his blood, and that was his fate, so long as he remained close to her.

She stood, unable to linger a moment more, finding a tree far enough from the crowd but still within the bounds of their camp. She leaned against it, almost hid behind it, her arms folding across her body as her temple rested against rough bark. She allowed her eyelids to drop for a moment, her breath escaping her in a strained sigh.

The crunching of the forest floor behind her made her eyes snap open, and she spun, her hand half-retrieving her sword before she realized who it was.

Will had stilled, holding up a hand though he looked untroubled by her instinctual reaction. “Apologies, Captain,” he said, “I should’ve announced meself.”

She huffed, shaking her head and dropping her grip on her sword as she fell back against the tree. “No need to apologize, Scarlet. I’m just a bit on edge.”

“A bit?” he asked, his brows raised high, and even in the low light from the fire far away, she could see the amusement in his expression. He crossed the rest of the way to her, his other hand moving to offer her whatever he held.

Her blades rested in his open palm, flashes of silver in the darkness. “You cleaned them?” she asked, taking the first between her thumb and index finger.

“You can’t just let a blade like that sit in blood all day,” he replied, a scoff just on the edge of his voice.

Her lips pulled up at one side, even as she glanced down to find one of the hidden pockets, sliding the knife into its case until it clicked.

Will watched her replace each blade, his face a mixture of awe and fascination. “Where can I get one of those?”

She laughed, straightening once the last one was secured. “I made it myself about two months ago,” she told him, “when Red and I found an abandoned village with quite the armory, amongst other things. We stayed there a week—wouldn’t risk longer than that, even though we knew the Evil Queen wasn’t able to track us anymore.”

“It’s bloody brilliant,” he said.

Emma glanced away from him, away from the camp, and into the darkness. “Yes, well,” she shrugged. “It certainly saved some lives today.”

Will was quiet for a long moment, and when she looked back, he was watching her with knowing eyes. “I s’pose that explains the solitude, then,” he muttered, moving until his back was against the wide trunk of the tree beside her, though he was angled more towards the others.

She tensed—she was always so damn tense—though she tried not to show it. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He leant casually against the tree, one foot crossed over the other with the toe pointed into the ground. “You know, I blamed myself, too. When the Black Knights killed my sister.”

Emma turned, eyes wide and questions on her lips that she was too afraid to ask. “What was her name?”

“Penelope,” he replied. She could hear that the name was nearly too heavy for him to say aloud, that the grief of it threatened to turn his tongue—and possibly his heart—to stone.

“I’m sorry.”

Will shook his head, his chest rising with the deep breath he took. “I hope you’re not convincing yourself that her death was somehow your fault.”

Emma’s lips pressed together, and her eyes trailed towards the camp, the faces of those she cared about. “Isn’t it?” she asked at last, quieter than she expected to be.

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m embarrassed to admit that I spent a few months bitter with your parents for not killing the Evil Queen when they had the chance, but I hardly had me head on straight back then.”

Her arms moved once more to fold over her chest, and she had to turn away from him, her eyes finding the treetops instead. “I’m bitter,” she confessed, “more than bitter, sometimes. Sometimes I hate them for it.”

“It’s not as though they’re responsible,” he said, and he wasn’t correcting her, or scolding her, he just spoke as if he were following along the same line of thought that she was. “They had power, at one time, to prevent it. Their kind hearts didn’t let them. But they are not the ones whose hands are pulling hearts out of bodies to kill mercilessly across the land. That’s the Evil Queen, and her alone.”

“You’re right,” Emma replied, though her voice caught at the end.

“But,” Will continued, saying the word she hadn’t, “that doesn’t stop the guilt.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

They listened to the buzz of insects that needled into the air, growing louder with the approach of summer, and it accompanied the low chatter humming from the middle of their camp. She’d been cold, so cold, when she’d first set out into the woods with Red a few months before, and it had permeated her bones, sent cutting shivers through her that some fires hadn’t been enough to stave off. It certainly wasn’t cold now, but sometimes her skin still tingled as though it were.

“I thought being on me own would help,” Will said abruptly, “that it would minimize the risk.” He paused to shift against the tree, as if the need to scan their surroundings had overpowered him. “Needless to say, it didn’t work.”

“We need people,” she added, knowing it was true.

“Even more, I think,” he said, “when we’re carrying around all that guilt. Gets too heavy.”

Emma sighed, long and weary. “Right now, it just feels selfish.”

“Selfish?” he repeated, glancing at her with furrowed brows. “We must have different definitions of the word, Captain, if you think what you’re doing is selfish.”

She looked away, her jaw tightening involuntarily. “I’m allowing people to put themselves in danger so that I have a better chance of survival.”

“No,” he snapped, though it lacked anger, “that’s not what this is. You’re fighting to take down a mass murderer, and every choice you’ve made on the way has been to further that cause. Selfish would be hiding, it would be cowardice. What you’re doing, it’s not selfish—it’s leadership. And when we save your kingdom and the others of this realm, you will understand that.”

She had no reply, because she knew he was right. Even if she didn’t feel it yet, it was true. How many times had her mother explained the sacrifices that came with ruling? How many times had she warned about difficult choices and the weight upon every decision?

Will pushed himself off the tree, his feet angled towards camp though he looked back at her over his shoulder. “That’s all I’ve to say,” he told her. “Don’t let that mind of yours keep you from your beauty sleep, Captain,” he said, heading back.

“Scarlet,” she called, and when he paused, looking at her expectantly, she added, “Thank you.”

Emma lingered only a few minutes more in her solitude, and when she slept that night, she was not haunted by dreams of the real or otherwise. It was far from a good sleep, but it was as close as she’d gotten in a while.

—

The dawn had only just broken when Emma gathered with some of the others in the largest tent just off center of their camp. The large table in the middle was covered with maps of the land, and they circled around it, the six of them joined by Robin, Little John, and Mulan.

“Now that you have had time to rest and receive treatment for your wounds,” Robin began, “I’d like to discuss how we might move forward. Emma, you mentioned that you had been seeking magical aid from Arendelle before the Evil Queen ransacked the kingdom?”

“Yes,” Emma replied. “We’ve been allies with Arendelle for years, even before we discovered that Queen Elsa had magic. We had hoped for her assistance, and we were heading towards the Dark One’s castle to find a looking glass in order to locate her.”

Robin nodded thoughtfully, considering the map before him. “What is your objective in finding Queen Elsa?” he asked. “What specific magical service might she provide?”

Her eyes flicked to Red, and a moment passed before Emma stepped around the table in search of another map. She found it partially concealed beneath some others, pulling it out so it lay where they could see.

“Nearly two months ago, Red and I found where my father had been taken,” she told them. “He is secured here—” she pointed to the place on the map, “—in a dungeon at the base of this mountain. Three outposts feed into guards outside the prison doors and within. Dozens of Black Knights walk the perimeter in a circuit from the dungeon to the western-most outpost, moving east and then returning to the dungeon.”

“Dozens?” Mulan asked, “Do you have a more specific number than that?”

Red joined Emma in front of the map, her hand moving to where Emma had indicated the center outpost to be. “This one holds the most, at least fifty at any given time. The others seem to have fewer, but not by much. Thirty, perhaps more. But there’s barracks here,” she paused, drawing a circle with her fingertip southwest of the dungeon. “It’s large, and they sleep in shifts, so it need only be half the size of the available knights.”

Killian’s hands braced on the table, his eyes narrowing at the map. “Round up, to be safe. Say the middle has sixty men, each side plus the prison has forty. That’s nearly two hundred men, not considering the ones off-duty.”

“No wonder you need magic,” Will grumbled.

“As talented of fighters as we may be, our numbers cannot withstand that kind of force,” Robin agreed.

“Queen Elsa has sufficient power for such a task,” Tink said.

Emma sighed, stepping back from the table and looking at her godmother. “If she’s in any position to help us.”

“It’s a risk, to be sure,” Robin said.

“Anyone else know of any benevolent magic users who could lend us their assistance?” Liam asked, and though his humor attempted to lighten the gravity of their situation, Emma was left with less hope than before.

Killian straightened, glancing at Emma. “You said it yourself, Captain. You’ve been allies for years. If this queen has magic that could help us, I believe it’s worth the risk. She is facing, I believe, a similar predicament to the one you find yourself in. I’m sure there could be no one more willing to fight for this cause than another who has faced its violence and lived to tell the tale.”

“He’s right,” Mulan said, “she’s invaluable. With the right forces behind her, she alone could turn this war in our favor.”

Emma hesitated, rolling it through her mind. More decisions. What sacrifices would they hold? Time? Resources? Lives?

She relaxed into her royal posture, trusting her gut. “I think we should find her. As her ally, it is my duty to ensure that she is protected and supported in times of need, even if she is unwilling to help us. However,” she said, her gaze locking with Killian’s, “if she has been thrown out by the Evil Queen, it’s likely that she will be prepared for a fight. Since she took her parents’ place, I’ve heard of Queen Elsa’s intense loyalty and the responsibility she feels for her people. I doubt she would allow this to remain unchecked.”

“You, Emma, will make an exceptional ruler,” Robin said, his eyes glimmering with fatherly pride.

“Let’s save my family and my kingdom, and then hopefully we can discover if that’s true in a decade or so when my parents step down,” she replied, bristling beneath the compliment.

“I’ll drink to that,” Will said.

Tink smacked his arm, “It’s barely past dawn.”

“Oi!” he cried, swatting her hand away.

Emma cleared her throat to silence them before turning back to Robin. “So we continue to the Dark One’s castle as planned?”

“Unless there are any objections,” he replied. “I will join you, and Little John will remain here in my absence. And I’m sure we’d never dream of keeping Mulan from the chance of a fight,” he teased, but there was no doubt of her abilities, of her skill with the sword strapped to her back.

“I should stay behind,” Tink said, curious eyes finding her. “While the injury I sustained yesterday is not life threatening, I could use more time to heal. I’d risk slowing you down.”

Emma frowned at the thought of leaving one of her own, even for a night or two. She didn’t like being separated from the ones she trusted, and though she hadn’t had the time or opportunity to grow as close to Tink as some of the others, she cared about her.

“A few days of rest will serve you well,” Robin said, turning to Emma. “She will be protected here, you have my word.”

“Of course,” Emma replied, nodding to Tink, “take the time you need.”

Robin patted Little John on the shoulder. “Good, now that’s all settled. I propose that we depart just as soon as we’ve eaten a hearty meal.”

—

The hearty meal had dragged into late morning, and Emma thought it was close to noon before they made any progress into their journey. Mulan had led the way, though Robin joined Emma just behind, and his good humor never ceased to amaze her.

“We will find all manner of magical objects in this castle, I’m sure,” he told her, anticipation alive in his voice.

“Then it may take some time for us to find what we’re looking for,” she replied, working hard not to be frustrated by the thought of another setback.

Robin hummed, unconcerned or trying to seem so. Instead of dwelling on that, he launched into a story about another magical object he’d come across in his days, and Emma didn’t mind the distraction.

When they stopped at a stream to refill canteens and waterskins a few hours later, Robin insisted that they take some time to rest and prepare for the rest of their hike until night fell. His stories had calmed her slightly, she’d found it comforting, but now that they’d stopped moving, her skin prickled with unprompted panic that she couldn’t control.

She felt as though they were targets, standing out in the open in the daylight, and the knights would descend at any moment. Every snap of a twig nearly made her flinch, and though she’d seen Robin approaching her from the corner of her eye, she still jumped when he spoke.

“You seem troubled by our pace,” he commented, keeping his voice below its usual volume. The others sat by the stream—with the exception of Mulan who stood guard—but Emma had found a log within view that kept her apart from them. Robin joined her, his eyes scanning their surroundings habitually.

“I’ll admit, I was hoping to have gotten an earlier start,” she said.

“As much as you’d like to, you cannot run ahead without ever stopping. You need time to rest, too.”

Emma shifted, crossing and uncrossing her legs. “I know. I just can’t stand not moving,” she told him.

Robin’s eyes found the ground in front of him for a long moment before he turned his gaze back to her. “I understand what you mean.”

“You think about him all the time, don’t you?” she nearly blurted, unable to stop herself from asking. “I miss my parents so much, but with Leo, it’s—”

“It’s different when you’re their protector,” he finished for her. “You feel responsible for it all, but more for your brother.”

She let out a shaky breath, feeling like she would crumble right there, shatter into bits and pieces that could never return to make a whole. “Waking up every day, knowing I failed him,” she murmured, “it makes it hard to breathe. Moving is better; it feels like progress.”

“It can’t always be,” Robin said sadly. “There is progress in rest, because it propels us forward once we’ve started again. Running at full speed without a break will only lead to exhaustion, and it will make you vulnerable to attack.”

Emma sighed, “You’re right.”

“I often am,” he replied, a playful smile on his lips. “Now, drink up, try to relax for a few more minutes, and then we will keep on till dark.”

—

She stared up at the stars, the ones she could make out between the leaves that rustled in the gentle breeze. Her mother had tried more than once to teach her all the stories, but Leo had been more interested, and she could only recall a few of the constellations. She saw one now, one that glowed steadily in the bigger opening several feet from where she lay, and it was the one of the dragon.

She’d been eleven or twelve, perhaps, when she’d stood on the balcony with her mother who had crouched down so their eyes were at the same level, and Emma could see the design in the stars that she spoke about.

It was a classic tale, one of love and loss, but it ended with victory, with True Love, with a dragon captured and displayed in the heavens. Emma wished she could remember the details now, as she lay at their camp for the night, unable to sleep yet again.

Robin and Mulan had claimed the watch, insisting that they were better rested than the others, and Emma had no energy left to fight it.

But now the tension returned to all of her muscles, and no matter how many stories she attempted to tell herself, she found no reprieve. She rose from her bedroll, snatching her canteen before meeting Mulan’s questioning gaze. Emma lifted it to signal her intent, and Mulan nodded, returning to her perusal of the forest.

Fresh water was one of the things that had drawn them to this particular spot, the stream that trickled two minutes away offered much needed replenishment of their supply. The air had been drier than usual for the time of year, and canteens had emptied quicker than they expected.

She knelt at the edge when she arrived, filling the water and taking a slow drink. When she was finished, she filled it once more, sealing it and tossing it onto the ground beside her. Her hands dipped into the rushing water, cupping to bring some up to her face. The cold did its job, grounding her, momentarily stalling the ever-present flicker of fear that lived within her.

Until movement rustled behind her.

Emma drew her dagger, cursing herself for leaving behind her sword, but when she spun, it was no one she’d ever want to hold a blade against.

Killian froze, meeting her gaze in the moonlight. He, at least, had remembered his sword. “You were gone a few minutes too long,” he told her, his voice soft. “I wanted to make sure you hadn’t come across any knights.”

She slid the blade back into her boot, pushing herself up to stand, though she did not close the space between them. Her feet were rooted to the ground, and she found no way to move them any closer.

“Thank you,” she said.

He nodded once, a single, controlled movement, and then he turned back in the direction of camp.

Disappointment rose in her chest, a bitter and ugly sensation, but she ignored it, bending instead to retrieve her canteen where she’d left it on the ground.

Fast, thudding footsteps barrelled towards her in the same direction as the stream, frantic cries pulling at her heart.

“No, no!” the voice called, “Please, no!”

A woman came into view, an oversized sword held in her hands, and she skidded to a stop twenty feet or so from Emma. Tears dampened her cheeks, and now that she was closer, Emma could see that her hands were smeared and dark—blood.

The woman’s distress turned sharply into anger fueled by fear, and she moved forward with purpose, her sword pointed to Emma. “Who are you?” she demanded, desperation in her voice while her hands trembled.

Emma wanted to take a step back, but the stream kept her from it, and turning her back to a sword was never something she would do. She swallowed, raising her hands in surrender. “My name is Emma.”

“Did you see them? Are you working with them? Tell me where they went!” she snapped, creeping towards Emma.

“Who?”

Her response was prevented by the arm that wrapped around her from behind, a blade pressing against her throat. “Drop your weapon,” Killian ordered, and the woman obeyed immediately.

“Please,” she begged, almost a sob, “please, they took my sister. Or—at least, I think they took her. They tried to take her, and she ran to keep me safe, but they attacked us anyway, and he…” She had gotten more and more emotional as she went on, and she could no longer form words.

Killian released her instantly, quick to pick up the fallen sword and pass it to Emma before he put himself between them. “Who attacked you?” he asked. Gone was the anger, the threat from when he’d first spoken to her, replaced by urgency and compassion.

“The Black Knights!”

Emma’s world shuddered, and she spun, searching for the danger, for any sign of them nearby. “Killian,” she said, her voice low in warning.

“Aye,” he agreed, not needing to hear the rest. “We’ll help you,” he told the woman. “What’s your name? Your sister’s?”

She reached up to swipe a few tears from her cheek, blood painting her face. “I’m Anna,” she said. “And Elsa—my sister’s name is Elsa.”

#OuaT au mc #OuaT ff #CS ff #how restlessly the stars do gleam #chapter seven #major CS fic rec #such a talented shipmate!!! 💕⚓️💕

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swanslieutenant · 5 years ago

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a place in time - chapter xiii

Rating and Warnings: Teen. For now.

Catch up: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12

Read on AO3

Note: *shows up nearly 2 years late with a Tim Hortons hot chocolate* - apologies for the length it took for me to get this updated. It has been a hard/chaotic two years for me and this fic is a hard one to write, but things are settling a bit, so I will try not to leave it for that long again.

thanks to all the folks over at the @captainswanmoviemarathon discord channel for welcoming me in and helping me get this finished with the many many writing sprints it took!

___________________________________________________________

Neither Killian or Emma speak as they march back to her office, their steps quick and staccato against the polished floors. The world seems to be on a tilt, like Emma is walking through a funhouse with slanted floors, with the glass doors of the offices lining the hallway like the twisted and bendy mirrors of the carnival house, warping and distorting reality all around her.

Emma supposes she should be used to this feeling by now. After all, her entire world has been on a tilt since that night down at the lake, with the sudden appearance of thousands of people.

But this time it feels different. Like her normal life, or what has been her new normal at this point, has been shattered once again. What she thought to be true, who she thought she could trust and rely on – broken, once again.

I know him from my time.

When they reach her office, after unlocking the door, she gestures Killian ahead of her. He hasn’t said a word yet, and his face is solemn, the utter shock now an icy grit. His jaw is set, his eyes steel, the cold-hearted pirate that lurks beneath his charming veneer returned full force.

“This is his doing.” His voice is shaking with rage, the words more a growl than a sentence.

“This is crazy,” Emma says, swallowing the growing bile rising in her throat as she shuts the office door behind herself. She grips the side of her desk, her knuckles turning white, as she falls heavily into her desk chair. “How – are you sure that it’s the same guy?”

“Absolutely.”

He is still sanding by the door, hands curled into fists at his side, almost vibrating with fury. There is clearly some history here, and Emma remembers the vile that Gold spoke of Killian with when the returnees first arrived, how he had demanded for him to be locked up and kept away from the others.

“Who is he, Killian? How do you know him?”

“He’s a monster.” He spits the words, and then lifts his left hand, shaking his sleeve up his arm and rubbing at the scar that encircles his wrist, ragged and rough. “See this scar, Swan? He did it to me.”

She has wondered about the scar ever since she first saw it weeks ago, and now the shadow that had darkened his expression when she mentioned it then makes sense. She is truly sick now, her stomach twisting at the thought of her boss, the man she has sat across from in meetings and who controls this entire goddamn situation, literally attacking someone to the point of leaving such a horrific scar.

“He – dear god, Killian. That looks like he tried to cut your hand off!”

“It was no mere attempt,” Killian replies hollowly, eyes darkening. “He did cut it off.”

Emma blinks at him, and then stares at his hand, clearly attached to his arm. Now fair enough, she doesn’t know a lot about surgery or how re-attaching a limb would work, but Emma sure as hell knows there is no way Killian would have had his hand re-attached or be able to use it with 1700s medicine.

“He – what? I don’t understand. But your – your hand? How was it … fixed?”

“Magic.”

Emma’s heart stutters at the word. She leans back in her chair, stunned as if she’s been slapped.

“What?”

“A witch,” Killian continues, oblivious to Emma’s reaction, and he waves his right hand airily. “Or a fairy or some other manner of creature. I suppose I never actually asked her. My crew and I had come across her once before ever meeting Gold, and we retreated to her after his attack. She was a bit prickly, but she re-attached it for me after my crew begged her to. She had only a little magic left after running into trouble of her own, and she was no expert, hence the scar, but she did her best.”

Magic, witches, fairies. Her superpower remains silent, indicating Killian is telling the truth as he sees it, but Emma can’t believe it. Abruptly, Emma feels on the edge of tears. A hand re-attached by magic?

What?

Killian seems to finally notice her thunderstruck expression. “To you, Swan, magic is a myth. In my time, it was as common as your light switches. And clearly,” he adds, holding up his hand and flexing his fingers, “it worked.”

Seriously, what the hell is her life these days? Magic? Fine, she has no explanation for why Killian is standing in front of her, two and a half centuries after he should have died. But magic? No way. Aliens or scientific advancements in time travel make more sense than magic. But then she thinks of the video Anna had shown her of her sister controlling snowflakes as naturally as could be, and well, hell, magic at this point may make as much sense as anything else.

“I don’t understand,” Emma manages finally, wrenching her mind away from the literal concept of magic to the problem in front of her. Gold, Killian, time travel, his hand. “How – why did Gold cut your hand off?”

“I stole something from him.”

… Of course he did.

Her mind starting to burst at the seams, she can only gape back at Killian as he explains his history with Gold, utterly lost for words. In Killian’s time, Gold had been a powerful landowner in England, who ventured to the New World after making a bad deal and losing his fortune. He didn’t know how long Gold had been in America before Killian heard of him, but he did know was already successful and rich in his new surroundings, a dangerous businessman who no one dared cross.

Except Killian.

“As you may remember, Swan, at that time I was a wanted man by the English Crown, having stolen and burned many of their ships. They had done their own damage to me, and it was my utmost desire at the time to ruin them in any other way I could. So, when I heard rumours of an enchanted object that Gold had brought over from England, the last of his previous fortune and a gift from the king and royal family themselves, naturally, I wanted it. Besides, my crew and I hadn’t had a good heist in months. It was a hard, cold winter, and the stormy weather had kept many ships trapped in European harbours, and my men were itching for some action.”

Even amidst her shock at this whole situation, Emma has to resist the urge to roll her eyes – pirates.

“My crew and I were moored in a town called Newport, near where his new estate was. We were restocking the Jolly Roger when I heard he’d left the town for business and would not be back for a fortnight, leaving his mansion unprotected.”

“So, you of course just waltzed in and stole it. What even was it?”

He flashes her a devious grin, a glimmer of his charming, mischievous self breaking through his dark demeanour. “I’m a hell of a pirate, love, even on land. It was only too easy to sneak into his manor. We took everything we could get our hands on, and then I found this object, the king’s gift.” Killian cups his hands, as if he was holding several apples in his palms. “It was roughly this size. I couldn’t tell you what it was called, for I’ve never come across anything like it before. I thought perhaps a music box or a small chest at first. It was circular, with the sides plated in pure gold leaf. The top of it was beautiful, no doubt painted by the finest artist to represent a dark indigo sky with white stars emblazoned upon it. I wondered if it was only the case for the true treasure within, but I could never get the damn thing to open. My crew and I tried everything we could think of – prying it, smashing it, hammering it. Nothing. It seemed empty inside, too, for when you’d knock on it, it was hollow. After all the efforts for seemingly nothing, I thought about simply selling it. But, then I heard Gold was desperate to have it returned, that he had ripped his manor apart looking for it, so I knew it was something valuable indeed.”

Emma is trying to picture the object Killian describes, and she has no idea what it could be either. Sounds to her like a little box, like something you’d find in an old antique or knick-knack store. “Okay, so what did you do with it then?”

“I buried it, somewhere safe where I knew Gold couldn’t find it.”

The entire tale is the most Killian has spoken about his past as a pirate since appearing in this time, and Emma supposes she shouldn’t be surprised it ends with a tale of buried treasure. Typical.

“Besides that,” Killian continues slowly, and he rubs one of his upper arms absently, as if recalling a past chill. “My crew didn’t like it. Once we realized we couldn’t do anything with it or allow Gold to have it again, we needed it off the ship as soon as we could.”

“Didn’t like it?” Emma echoes, her skin rippling with goosebumps. “What do you mean?”

Killian frowns, and he rubs at his chin thoughtfully. “I know you don’t believe in magic, Swan, but if you saw this, you would. Even though we couldn’t get it open, the damned thing seemed to suck the energy of the area around it. People were grumpier near it, more prone to anger, and more likely to need hours upon hours of sleep after being around it for a long time. As if it pulled their energy into itself and made them weaker, less honourable versions of themselves.”

He’s right, she doesn’t believe in magic. The thought of a strangle little box, gifted to her boss in the 1700s that caused hardened pirates to want it out of their sight, is something out of a movie. But … after all Emma has seen and all she’s heard, even just in the last few minutes, perhaps she better start believing.

“In any regard, we buried it and forgot about it for a few months until we returned one day to Newport. Gold knew my ship – hell, everyone knew my ship, then – and he was watching for it. He surprised us and thought to kill me and my crew, but realized rather quickly if we were all dead, he’d have no way to find out where the object was hidden. So instead … he thought to teach me a lesson.” He holds his left hand up again. “Hence, this.”

Emma leans back into her desk chair, sinking into the old cushion and letting out a deep breath. She’s starting to get a tight, fluttery feeling in her chest she gets when she’s becoming overwhelmed, the feeling that usually spurs her to run, run as fast as she can.

But there’s no running from this. This, this twisted world with time travel and now apparently magic, is her reality.

Killian falls silent, finally taking a seat opposite her instead of standing, fuming, by the door. But Emma doesn’t know what to say back to him, so they sit in silence for several long minutes. After all, what do you say back to someone who is telling you about their adversarial meetings in the 1740s with your boss, who was the one to cut off his hand that was then re-attached with magic?

Emma has always been a logical person; she’s had to be. There was no room for whimsy or belief in the unknown during her childhood, not when she was burned too early by a world that only showed her its dark and cruel side. Her mind is so overwhelmed, she’s not even sure how to begin processing all this. If Killian wasn’t between her and the door, she may have started running.

“So, you buried this object,” she begins, forcing herself to focus on the tangible parts of Killian’s story, though it’s not enough to not notice the irony of discussing ancient buried treasure with a pirate. “Probably in a place built over by a parking lot, or so deep underground that its lost to history, or found by a random person and sitting on someone’s grandma’s shelf –”

“That seems unlikely,” Killian muses. “I would hazard a guess it has never been found. After all, that must be why I’m here, in your time. He’s after the object again. He couldn’t get it from me then, and for whatever reason, he’s brought me here to find it.”

Emma has come to the same conclusion herself now, but she shakes her head in dismay. “I just don’t understand. If he wants this thing back so bad, why not get it from you back then, not invent time travel and wait nearly three hundred years for it?”

He shrugs, but his eyes flash. “Only the devil himself knows what madness lurks in that monster’s mind.”

Emma sighs and rubs at her eyes. If ridiculous was a line crossed back when Killian first said he knew Gold from his time, this situation is so far gone, Emma’s not even sure what to make of it anymore.

“So where is it buried? The object?”

Killian doesn’t answer, idly tracing the scar around his wrist. She watches him, wondering if he’s simply trying to remember, but when the silence stretches on, she realizes he has no intention of answering her, and for whatever reason, that hurts.

“Killian … you know you can trust me.”

“I do trust you, Swan,” he says, and his voice softens as he meets her eyes. “It’s Gold I don’t. This object, whatever its value to him, has been safe for nearly three centuries. Its secret is safest with just one person.” He pauses briefly. “For now.”

Though still stung, Emma nods. “Okay. For now.” She lets out a deep breath, and runs a hand through her hair, combing out the tangles. “Well, if this object is really what Gold is after and you’re the only person alive who knows where it is, it makes sense why Gold wanted you arrested at first.”

“He what?” Killian’s voice is sharp, his eyes flashing with anger again, and Emma winces. She supposes she hadn’t told Killian that part yet.

As his expression darkens, Emma explains how Gold had first wanted Killian detained more formally than all the other returnees due to his reaction down at the lake where he first fought and argued with the Storybrooke agents, along with his past as a pirate and wanted criminal. How, now that she knows this history, it was most likely just a ruse for Gold to be able to keep a closer eye on Killian than the others.

“That slimy bastard.”

Silently, Emma agrees. She doesn’t know what Gold is planning, but she already knows whatever it is, it isn’t good. At her last meeting with him, when he’d asked her about ‘anything odd’ with the returnees, she’d left the conversation with a pit in her stomach, the root of doubt and suspicion that has now blossomed into fully fledged mistrust and, frankly, fear.

“We have to get you out of here. Out of Storybrooke, away from Gold. It’s not safe for you here anymore.”

“I concur.”

But then Emma frowns. Regina is away today, attending meetings offsite in regards to the returnees’ release, and Emma knows there is no way she is going to get Killian discharged from here without her permission. Any other returnee, maybe, but not Killian the media magnet.

She could attempt to sneak him out, but if they are caught … well, it was bad enough that Emma was seen by the media near him during his previous escape attempt. If they are caught again when she’s aiding him in an escape attempt … she’d be re-assigned to another returnee at the very least or fired at the very worst, and Killian will be kept here, in Gold’s clutches, for even longer.

“I can’t get you out of here tonight,” she says, swallowing down the anxiety that comes with the thought. “We have to wait until Regina is here, and do it all by the books or … well, I don’t know what will happen. She’ll be back tomorrow.” Emma sighs, and rises to her feet. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to the barracks. I think you may be safer there with the guards all around.”

They leave her office, walking carefully around the corner leading to the foyer where the media conference had been. But it’s over now, all the chairs and the podium cleaned up.

The walk to the barracks is mostly in silence, both of them lost in thought. When they reach the lobby, Emma grips Killian’s arm, pausing him in his tracks.

“Don’t get into any trouble,” she warns, her voice a whisper. “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow to talk to Regina about your release.”

“When have I ever gotten into trouble?” he replies teasingly, and he rests his hand over hers briefly before moving towards the staircase. “Goodbye, Emma.”

She watches him head upstairs to his room, until he’s gone through a door and out of sight. Emma should go back to her office and get some semblance of work done, but she pauses instead. The cafeteria is just ahead of her, buzzing with the hum of conversation. It’s lunch now, and the returnees are free to move about as the media are gone. An idea has occurred to her, and instead of heading back to her office, she walks into the busy cafeteria.

Near one of the wide windows at the opposite end, Emma spots David and Mary Margaret. As she’s walking over, Mary Margaret notices her first, brightening with a wide smile and shining eyes.

“Hi Emma!”

Their enthusiasm still makes her a bit uncomfortable, but she tries to smile genuinely as she takes a seat opposite them. They are smiling widely at her, clearly thinking she’s here for a friendly chat or at least a step in the right direction for their relationship, and suddenly Emma wishes that was all she was here for. A pleasant, light conversation with the parents she lost for 28 years, returned to her miraculously by (as it’s truly appearing to be) magic.

And yet here she is instead, a dark cloud of fear and suspicion hanging over her. She glances around before speaking, not really sure who she should be on the lookout for, but in any case, the other returnees and agents are pre-occupied with their own meal or conversation. And, besides, she supposes she has an excuse to be sat here talking with David and Mary Margaret – they are, after all, her parents.

“We’ve been wanting to tell you,” Mary Margaret starts brightly, before Emma can get up the nerve to speak. “Graham told us that once the first group of returnees start to be released, he thinks David and I will be allowed out for more visits. We were hoping, well …” she trails off suddenly, uncertain, and David grasps her hand tightly, squeezing it for support. Mary Margaret smiles at him, and continues, her voice much stronger now, “Maybe we could meet you and Henry somewhere for a meal one day?”

“Oh,” Emma says, taken aback. “Um, yeah, that that would be great.”

They smile in delight, and Emma finds she does truly mean that. If they had said something like this even a few days ago, she probably would’ve scowled and made up some excuse as to why it couldn’t happen, but instead, she is already imagining them at Henry’s favourite restaurant, with him showing them his favourite dishes and desserts. “Um, Henry will be so excited to hear about that. And I want to hear more about it too, but first – I came here to ask you for a favour.”

They nod, exchanging a glance with each other, plainly thrilled that whatever this is about, Emma has decided to ask for their help. Their willingness makes Emma’s heart twinge; they’re so happy to have anything from her, even if it’s an indication of a grain of trust, that it lights up their whole expressions as if she just agreed to start calling them mom and dad.

She gives herself a quick mental shake, and focuses again. She leans forward slightly, lowering her voice so they can only just hear her. “There’s something … weird going on around here, I’m still trying to figure it all out, but I need your help in the meantime.”

David and Mary Margaret trade worried glances at her tone. “Of course,” David says firmly. “What’s going on? What is it about?”

Emma hesitates. She wants to tell them what Killian told her, but it’s not her story to share. Besides, the less people who know about Gold, the better. Instead, she says, “Can you keep an eye on Killian Jones for me for the rest of the day? Make sure he’s doing okay and keeping himself out of trouble?”

David frowns, and crosses his arms across his chest. “The pirate?” he demands, and Mary Margaret glares at him.

“It’s important,” Emma continues, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I – can’t really say much else, but it’s important.”

“Of course, Emma,” Mary Margaret says, and she elbows David, who, reluctantly, nods. “That’s no problem at all. We’ll ask him to have dinner with us tonight.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.” She then gets to her feet, and disappointment flashes across their faces. She winces. “Sorry, I have to get back to work. But, I – uh, well I’m looking forward to that dinner one day soon.”

The disappointment fades a bit, and they say their goodbyes. Emma returns to her office for the rest of the afternoon, trying to get through her stack of endless paperwork, but it’s pointless. She gets nothing done, her mind on Gold and buried treasure and even when she gets home, she’s a nervous wreck all night, unable to focus on anything at all.

Henry is his usual chatty self, but Emma can’t keep focused on what he’s saying. She has no patience for cooking tonight either, so instead orders in pizza, much to her son’s delight. As he’s munching on his fourth piece of deep-dish pepperoni, Henry pauses mid-bite, glancing at Emma’s untouched first slice.

“Mom? Are you ok?”

“Sorry, kid,” she replies, and she forces herself to smile reassuringly. “Just distracted by work. Want to play a game tonight?”

He is satisfied with that answer, and playing Clue with Henry does help to pass the time, but her heart isn’t in it and she is soundly beaten in each of the three rounds they play. When it’s finally her son’s bedtime and he’s sound asleep, peaceful and warm in his bed, Emma herself gets ready for bed.

Sleep, however, has never seemed so far away. Her mind roils with the revelations of the day, her stomach turning with nausea and anxiety. With no wink of sleep in sight, Emma sits up in bed instead. She leans against the solid wood of her headboard, and hugs her knees into her chest, watching the tree outside her window sway with the cold wind.

It’s so simple, to watch the trees, illuminated by the street lights below. They are just as they were yesterday, unchanged by the revelation of magic such as controlling snow or re-attaching hands or transporting hundreds of people through time.

She watches the trees for a while, and at one point, Emma finally drifts off, her dreams a jumble of pirate ships and bright white light.

Those dreams, however, are abruptly broken by a shrill ring of her cellphone.

Emma jolts awake, and grabs the phone from the nightstand, answering it without reading the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Emma, it’s Anna!” Her colleague’s voice is frantic and harried, and Emma sits up, her heartbeat accelerating.

“Anna?”

“You need to get back here to Storybrooke right away. It’s – it’s about Killian Jones. One of the returnees was found dead and –”

Emma swings her legs out from under the covers, the floor cold beneath her bare feet, as icy as the shot of pure panic running through her. “What? Is – is Killian –”

“No, no, he’s fine,” Anna says hurriedly, as if just realizing the implication of her words. Emma’s heart stutters again, her emotions of fear and relief in whiplash. “Well, I mean he’s not hurt, he’s not quite okay as you would say, but –”

“Anna, what the hell is going on?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean – okay, like I was saying, I was staying here tonight with Elsa, and then – well, there was a commotion maybe an hour ago and when I went to see what had happened … well, one of the returnees is dead. It’s pretty clear they were attacked … like, with a sword.”

Emma’s heart sinks though she’s sure she already knows. If he’s not the one dead, and the victim was attacked with a sword …

“And what does this have to do with Killian?”

“He’s been arrested for the murder.”

_______________________________________________________

The drive back to Storybrooke is a blur. She’d woken up her neighbour across the hall and half-dragged her over to watch Henry and get him off to school in the morning, only telling her there was an emergency and she had to leave right now.

When she makes it onto Storybrooke’s grounds, she careens into an empty parking spot, half out of the vehicle before she’s stopped the engine. The main returnee barracks building is bright and illuminated, and Emma marches towards it, her heart pounding heavily with each step she takes.

On the steps leading to the building, outside the main doors, stands a group of several individual Emma recognizes as police and FBI officers from their emblazoned jackets. As she approaches, one holds her hand up to block Emma’s path.

“Hold up! No one is allowed entry right now. A federal investigation is underway.”

Emma’s hands curl into fists at her side, and she digs out her identification badge from her jacket pocket. She has no time to argue. “You don’t understand, I need to get in there.”

The officers’ frown at her badge, and she opens her mouth to furiously continue, when a voice calls her name from within the main doors.

“Emma?” The guards move aside, revealing Kristoff Reinsdyr, one of the guards at Storybrooke, looking pale and frazzled. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

One of the FBI officers scowls, and looks Emma up and down. “We have orders to not let anyone else in until Commander Hua says –”

“Emma needs to come in. She’s Jones’ agent in charge of his case here.”

Kristoff gestures her forward, and Emma doesn’t wait to see if the officers complain again, though they do move out of her way finally. She and Kristoff hurry inside, where the brightness of the fluorescently lit building makes her eyes sting as he leads her towards the back staircase.

“Glad you’re here, Emma. Anna told me she called you,” Kristoff says, as they take the steps two at a time up to the fourth floor to the isolation and interview area. Emma is reminded sharply of the first time she had come up here, when she’d met Killian the first night, when he’d been belligerent and thrown in here to cool down.

The thought sets her teeth on edge. “Kristoff, what the hell is this about? Anna said there had been a murder?”

He hesitates. “Yes, it seems like it. There was some commotion around midnight in the residences. We thought perhaps it was a fight, but when we got there to see what had happened …” He trails off, and shakes his head once. “It was awful, Emma. Truly horrific.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Emma decides she doesn’t want to know. “And – they think Killian did it? Where is he now?”

“In one of the interview rooms upstairs. He was with a few of the other guards for a bit, until the FBI got here about an hour ago. Now he’s in with their commander.”

They reach the top floor, and Kristoff leads her down a cold, empty hallway to the cluster of interview rooms at the end of the corridor. Kristoff opens a small side door, into a small observation room that faces the larger interview room through one-way glass. Three FBI officers are in the room already and they frown at her, but she simply flashes her identification badge in their direction before looking through the one-way glass at the scene ahead.

Killian is seated in a similar room to the one she first met him in, his face smooth and impassive, as cold as she’s ever seen it. His wrists are bound with handcuffs, chained to the table in the centre of the room. Mulan Hua, the commander of the Boston FBI who Emma recognizes from the lake, is seated across from him, watching him with a careful, quiet gaze.

“Let’s go over this again,” she is saying, her voice strained with patience. Emma isn’t sure how long Killian has been talking to her, but by his sour expression, she knows they’ve already been over this conversation several times. “Tell me exactly what happened this evening.”

“As I have told you a thousand times since I was dragged from my bed by your deranged guards,” he snaps, drawing the words out so they are each peppered with a near growl. “I have no idea what happened. I was in my room all evening, save for dinner. All I know is what you’ve told me: a man has been found dead, and you suspect I had something to do with it.”

“Murdered,” Mulan corrects, her face solemn. “He’s not only dead, he was murdered.”

Killian rattles the handcuffs pointedly. “Not by my hand. If I’d done it, I’d bloody well confess. I may be a pirate, but I’m no coward. I’ve committed my fair share of atrocities, but I will not confess to something I did not do.”

“How do you explain the fact that your sword was found discarded nearby, stained with blood?”

It could be a damning statement, but Killian laughs, rumbling and low. “You think me fool enough to leave a murder weapon lying about where any bumbling twit can come across it? Not to mention that I haven’t had my sword since I arrived in this bloody time when your guards confiscated it, so how, pray tell, do you think I managed to get my sword back?”

Mulan sighs, irritation flitting across her features. “Well, we know how you did it. We have evidence. Video evidence of you removing the sword from the Collection Room.”

Emma’s eyes widen, and she feels abruptly like she’s been punched in the gut. They have what?

Killian, however, isn’t fazed by this bombshell; after all, he probably has no idea what a video is. “I don’t care what evidence you say you have. It’s all false, I didn’t do it and I haven’t had my sword in weeks. So, either arrest me and throw me in a dungeon, or let me go for I have nothing more to say to you.”

And at that, he falls silent. Mulan tries to get him to speak again, but to no avail. Eventually, she sighs and gets to her feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor and making Emma flinch. “Okay. You think about things, and I’ll be back with something for you to eat and drink.”

As she heads for the door, Emma sees her chance to speak with her. She darts past Kristoff and the other FBI officers in the observation room, out into the hallway, catching Mulan just as she’s shutting the door behind her.

“Commander,” Emma calls. “What the hell is going on?”

“Oh, Agent Swan, I’m glad you’re here.” Mulan breathes out heavily. Now that she’s out of the interview room, she appears tired, her face pale, her eyebrows pinched together with stress. “I’ve been wanting to talk with you. Do you have any idea why Jones would want to kill Henry Jekyll?”

“No!” Emma replies vehemently. “Killian wouldn’t kill – who the hell even is that?”

“He is another returnee. Or rather, was. He was one of Jones’s roommates when he was released from isolation. He was found dead earlier by his current roommate. He’d been stabbed several times.”

Emma stares back at her, lost for words, as Kristoff peers out of the other room, as if making sure everything is okay.

Mulan nods at him. “Officer, can you get me a sandwich and water bottle for Jones?”

He agrees, and disappears back down the hall the way he had come with Emma. Mulan turns back to Emma, and at her expression, lets out another deep sigh.

“Emma,” she says gently, almost understandingly. “I know you must have gotten close to Jones while he’s been here –” Emma inhales sharply, but Mulan doesn’t seem to notice “– since you’re his agent and all. Obviously, you don’t want to believe he could have done something like this. But you have to remember that he’s a criminal. He was an outlaw and a pirate, wanted by the British Navy at the time for treason and murder. And that’s just the recorded crimes. We really don’t know anything about him, or what he’s capable of. I’m not surprised something like this has come up, honestly.”

“I am,” Emma replies bluntly. “There is no way Killian killed someone, not when tomorrow – I mean, we are trying to get all the returnees out of here not keep them locked up longer!”

Mulan pinches the bridge of her nose, and gestures for Emma to follow her. “Come with me, take a look at what we found.”

Emma follows her into a second interview room, empty save for a steel table with a laptop on it. Mulan opens the laptop, entering her credentials to log in. It seems to take an exorbitant amount of time, Emma’s nerves fraying further with each passing second. The screen opens to a generic Federal Bureau of Investigation backdrop, and Mulan clicks on a video saved to the desktop, labelled simply ‘surveillance footage.’

“This is from back in early February,” Mulan explains, as the video loads up to reveal a room Emma recognizes as the Collection Room in the basement, where she visited once before to collect Mary Margaret, David and Killian’s belonging, with its shelves upon shelves of boxes and plastic containers.

“Security pulled it for us once we identified the sword. Watch.”

The recording is of the deserted collection room for several moments, blurry and shrouded in shadows, the time blinking in the corner of the video as 3:30 a.m. Then, grainy white light floods the room, the main door swinging open to let in the hallway light.

Through the pixelated footage, Emma recognizes Killian as he strides into the room, confident as ever. He walks to the back of the room without hesitation, to a small area behind a chain link fence which reaches to the ceiling. He disappears off camera as he steps into the fenced-in area, but he’s only hidden for a few moments before he steps back into view.

In his hands, is a sheathed sword, its handle black and simple, apparent even in the poor footage. He removes it from the sheath, and holds it up to his eye level, admiring the blade. He then re-sheathes it and slips out of the room, the light fading from the room as the door swings shut behind him.

The video stops, and Emma stares at it, dumbfounded. There it is, plain as day. Evidence of Killian retrieving the sword.

But she shakes her head as she remembers her own visit to the Collection Room more clearly. “No, no, that’s not possible. Listen, I know he couldn’t have gotten the sword. It was checked out, I remember because I went and got his other stuff and saw it on the list.”

“The list?” Mulan frowns. “What list?”

“There was a list in the Collection Room, a list of each person’s items which weren’t allowed to be checked out, but his sword had a note that it was taken out. So he couldn’t have done it, because you needed special permission to get those restricted items out. I remember because I was –”

Emma trails off, because Mulan is watching her with a skeptical frown. She clearly doesn’t believe Emma, and after all, why would she? There’s video proof of Killian getting the sword himself.

Kristoff knocks on the door to the interview room then, opening it to show the water bottle and wrapped sandwich in his hand. “Here you are, Commander.”

“Perfect,” Mulan says, closing the laptop and striding towards him. “Thank you, officer.”

She’s already back in the hallway, food in hand, marching down to the Killian’s interview room, before Emma, still stunned by the video, springs into action.

She hurries out into the hallway and, before Mulan can open the door to re-join Killian, blocks her path. Killian may be her … well, Emma’s not sure if she could even call him a friend, but whatever he is, he’s her responsibility. Returnees are always given legal counsel if they require it for any reason, including an active criminal investigation whether they are defendant or plaintiff.

“Does he have a lawyer on their way?”

“No, he declined one.”

Mulan says it calmly, but something about it is the last straw for Emma. The last twenty-four hours have nearly broken her – the video of Elsa, the knowledge that Gold is from the 1700s too, that magic is the most probable reason why all these people have shown up here, and now this: her … returnee arrested for murder and being questioned without legal counsel.

“He’s from the 1700s!” Emma shouts, and Mulan flinches in surprise. Even Killian glances over to the door, as if he heard her too. “Of course he declined one, I don’t know if they had lawyers back then. He has no idea about our laws or processes or anything. Killian doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, he needs a lawyer!”

Mulan regards Emma quietly, and she shrugs. “Well, I’ll speak to him about it again, but I doubt he’ll change his mind.”

She opens the door with the food, and as she does, Emma leans slightly around her, to peer into the room. Killian is watching Mulan enter, stony-faced, but for a moment, a single moment before the door slams shut behind Mulan, he catches Emma’s eye.

If only magic was real; maybe she could send him a telepathic message to ask for a lawyer. But, Emma’s no magician, and the door swings shut, the breeze catching her in the face and rustling her hair.

“Here,” Mulan says, her voice muffled by the door, and Emma hurries back to the other room, to the one-way glass so she can hear better. The other agents are glaring at her now with open hostility, but Emma ignores them, moving past them so she is standing directly in front of the one-way glass.

Mulan has resumed her seat, the water bottle and sandwich on the table between them, but Killian doesn’t move to reach for them.

“Listen,” she says, casting a pointed look to the one-way glass. “Before we talk anymore about this, I’m going to remind you one more time that you are allowed to have legal representation before speaking with me.”

Killian remains silent.

Mulan huffs a sigh. “Alright. Okay, so let’s go over this again, shall we?”

Killian leans forward, the handcuff chains jangling loudly against the steel table. “Commander,” he says, intently staring now at her across the table. His tone has changed, the defensive snarls replaced with a charming lilt, soothing and persuasive. “You are a smart woman, smarter than those oafs who were in here before you. You know I didn’t do this. Even if I was so idiotic to kill a man I had met only a handful of times on the eve of being released from this prison, you know as well as I that any criminal worth their salt wouldn’t leave a bloody murder weapon tied to them and them alone near a massacred body should they hope to get away with the crime. Whoever did this wanted you to find that sword, to know that it was mine so you would come to me right away and keep me locked up here.”

Mulan narrows her eyes, and she asks, only half-jokingly, “So what? Someone is setting you up?”

Killian’s gaze flicks over to the door, to where he had seen Emma, before he shrugs, as if the suggestion is ludicrous. But it’s enough to clue Emma in.

Of course. He’s right, he has no motive to kill Jekyll. But someone else does. Someone else, who has something to lose if Killian is released from Storybrooke with the rest of the returnees.

Gold.

He must’ve seen them at the news conference, must know Killian would’ve told Emma everything about their history together. Know that, of course, Emma would try everything in her power to get Killian out of here before Gold could do anything like lock him up like he had always wanted to. So he moved faster, found a way to keep him here, in his grasp where he hopes to get the location of the mysterious object out of Killian, once and for all.

“Emma?” Kristoff asks, reaching out a hand to her in concern, and Emma realizes he and the FBI officers are staring at her.

She waves them away, realization and horror roaring in her ears as loud as thunder. She is still trying to process this, when in the interview room, Killian leans back in his chair, his expression dark and cold.

“Perhaps it is time I speak with an attorney.”

#cs ff #cs mc ff #captain swan #ouat #cs fic #a place in time #hope people like this one!#it's been a long time so i'm grateful for anyone still reading

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snowbellewells · 1 year ago

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Self Promo Sunday: @cssns19 MC "Face to Face in the Broad Daylight"

(This week in reruns celebrating previous @cssns works, we have a sequel to my werewolf, alternate season two and beyond fic from 2018’s @cssns offering. This one partially exists just because I wanted to revisit these couples and enjoy a bit more of their fluffy happily ever afters. However, they also get into some new surprises and challenges, and: is Rumplestiltskin still under control, or is he back to his usual scheming and plotting? If you weren't around back then, I hope you will give this a try and enjoy. If you read it back then and choose to revisit it, I hope you'll enjoy the walk down memory lane!! Either way, I'd love to hear what you think!

Complete in 9 Parts

(Thanks once again to @branlovestowrite for the stunningly lovely cover art she did for this story as well. I still absolutely love it!!)

Also available on AO3 if that's your preference...

Summary: After finding one another and triumphing against the machinations of the Evil Queen and the Queen of Hearts, Killian and Emma, and their friends and family are ready to enjoy the happiness they've earned. However, a new threat is about to rise that may put those happy beginnings in grave jeopardy.

by: @snowbellewells

~~ prologue: altogether in one place

As a cooling breeze blew in off the water of the harbor to combat the bright heat of an early May afternoon, Killian Jones smiled easily, enjoying the trace of air over his neck and ruffling his dark hair as he headed back up the street from the docks toward the center of town. It was a perfect day for the celebration he was on his way to attend, planning to meet Emma and Henry at the pretty little two bedroom cottage not far from the harbor that they moved into some weeks past, before the three of them walked the rest of the way to Granny’s together. The rest of their family and several friends were doubtless already gathering at the diner’s outdoor tables for the planned picnic. It was Mother’s Day, and the first which Emma would be able to spend with her mother, and with her boy as well. Killian smiled fondly at the tentative joy mixed with nervous anticipation on his love’s face as they’d spoken of it laying side-by-side that very morning. His heart had warmed right along with dawn’s first rays peeking through the curtains, glad that Emma could have her loved ones surrounding her, as she always should have. Though his own mother had been gone so long that he only retained the barest memories of a gentle voice singing to him and the twinkle in kind, loving eyes, he still felt not a fiber of his being to be jealous or begrudging of the wealth of love and belonging his lady had found. Emma deserved it all, and more besides.

It helped, he admitted to himself as he neared the front walk, their yard surrounded by white picket fence that he could now see Emma leaning on casually with Henry at her side, that he too had been welcomed into the fold gladly. With the wolf born inside him, his horribly checkered and painful history, and how long he had wandered alone in the world, Killian could never have imagined being accepted as a part of something so good, nor feeling that he mattered to others again. Despite his stunned disbelief, however, he could only continue to be grateful.

As he drew nearer, Henry caught sight of him and waved enthusiastically, a wide grin stretching across his face. “Hey, Killian!” the youth called out. “Are you ready for this?”

“Aye, lad, of course,” he answered with a chuckle, smiling to Emma as well, his heart swelling still further at the blush which rose on her cheeks as he waggled his eyebrows playfully. He turned his attention back to Henry quickly, not wanting the young man to feel dismissed, but instead leaning forward to whisper secretively to Henry, “We wouldn’t want to miss your grandma’s famed cherry chess pie, now would we?”

Henry agreed emphatically with Killian’s winking query, then scampered on ahead of them as Killian pulled Emma into a quick embrace while she stretched up to press a chaste kiss to his lips before they joined hands and followed her son the rest of the way to Granny’s before they were late.

Not many minutes later they were turning into the front seating area of the diner, entering under the arch and being greeted from all sides by family and friends. Ruby bounded over to gleefully wrap Emma in an exuberant hug, whispering in his love’s ear that she wanted to hear what they’d been up to at the new house in a blatant enough way to have the blond blushing once again. Killian followed Henry’s urging over to his grandparents’ table, shaking David’s hand and easing into conversation with Emma’s father thankfully.

He liked the people gathered around him very much, but so often in the past he had kept to the shadows, on the outskirts of society, either due to prejudice and ostracism or his own attempts to insure others’ safety from the beast within him. Having at last found his home in Storybrooke, and also a peace within himself that he had rarely known, Killian felt as stable as he had ever been in both parts of himself. His wolf had room and freedom to run, even a pack of sorts with Ruby and Graham nearby, and he rarely feared the howling need to break free he had sought to hide or contain in his youth and throughout his years of bitter, aimless wandering. All that being true, he still sometimes preferred to ease into larger groups one person at a time. Once Emma’s slightly overprotective and traditional father had gotten to know him, Killian found the man quite easy to talk to and good company, so he naturally went to speak with him first.

Their friendship hadn’t taken long to develop once things had settled down around the holidays, some six months ago, after Regina, Cora, and Rumplestiltskin’s defeat. Both David and Killian served as reinforcements to the sheriff’s department when needed (though in sleepy, calm Storybrooke they rarely were) and so had spent many long afternoons when there were no calls sharing long chats, wadded up paper ball free throw contests in the desk trash cans, endless one-upping games of darts, and - if they grew truly desperate - filing of the somehow never ending stacks of paperwork. Their little town had been free of most trouble beyond cats in trees and neighboring fairy tale characters’ squabbles since Thanksgiving. None of them had forgotten that Gold was still simmering impotently in his shop (surely wanting revenge, but hands tied by the fact that his dagger forbade it, thanks to Emma’s brilliance). In fact, the citizens were enjoying an everyday normality most of them had never been able to experience before - in either this realm or the Enchanted Forest.

So, though there was often hardly enough work to keep one person busy, Graham had remained Sheriff, and kept Emma on as his deputy. Killian’s eyes found his sandy-haired fellow wolf amidst the happy crowd of partygoers, attentively leaning to whisper something in Belle’s ear where she sat talking to Granny Lucas herself, along with Nova, Leroy, Bashful, and Doc. The Sheriff was clearly happy to watch over his girlfriend, glad just to see her in high spirits, having brought her a drink and standing behind her chair to listen and look on. Graham had always been a good and competent lawman, but now that he was completely free to act of his own will and as he saw fit, it became even more clear just how kind, compassionate, and worthy a man he was. He no longer had to glance over his shoulder at each turn, fearing retribution for his choices. The townspeople liked and trusted him even more than they had before, seeing how dedicated he was to their causes and thorough in handling problems immediately and lawfully for the good of all to the best of his ability.

Watching just a moment longer, Killian saw Belle pause in her conversation, looking up over her shoulder at Graham with an adoring expression in her eyes, resting her hand over his where he had placed it on her shoulder. Something passed between them wordlessly, so slight that it went unnoticed by most around them, but to Kilian’s honed and heightened senses, it sent almost a frisson of intense feeling all the way across the space to where he stood. He didn’t know what it meant, but he found himself more than a little curious, and happy for his friends whatever the cause of their joy.

His attention was drawn back to his own immediate circle when David threw his head back in a booming burst of laughter as Henry finished relating how Killian had recently taken he, his mom, and his friends Grace, Nicholas and Ava out fishing and swimming on the Jolly. It wasn’t the first time Killian had dropped anchor in the harbor where the preteens could dive off the bow and bob in the waves to cool off while he and Emma sat in the sun watching over them and talking, but what had gotten such a reaction from his grandpa was the mental image of Ava’s disastrous practice at casting and somehow catching her hook in Grace’s hair. The ensuing noisy melee had caused quite a commotion until they’d gotten Grace free from the painful tangle, reassured Ava that they all knew it was an accident and gotten back to catching fish rather than each other.

As the afternoon wore on, Killian relaxed into the atmosphere of easy camaraderie around him, graciously complimenting his hostess on the lightness of her dinner rolls and the fine quality of her rum - to which he earned a sniff of begrudging thanks but also a sidelong smile. He exchanged a few words with Belle on the last book she had recommended to him and what he thought of it so far, and though she carried an obvious glow of satisfaction and practically radiated good humor, he was no closer to the reason that it seemed so especially prominent today, even after conversing with her. He exchanged pleasantries with Graham, and let Henry drag him into a ridiculous game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey that Snow had organized to hilarious results with the assorted dwarves’ poor aim and inebriated states by that hour of the waning day.

Despite what else he was doing however, his eyes were continually drawn back to Emma wherever she was. There was the simple fact that he couldn’t help but marvel at her beauty, for one thing. Her golden hair stood out like a beacon in any gathering, this one no exception, and the very sight of those flowing waves cascading down her back against the red leather of her favorite jacket made his hand itch to brush through its silky softness. Her long, lean form, her throaty chuckle, and the sparkle in her jade green eyes all made hunger rise in him that had him aching to pull her out of the party and into the first empty room he could find. A long life of practice made him able to rein in his desires, but it certainly didn’t slake them in the least.

He remembered too that it was nearing the full moon, which made all his more canine traits closer to the surface. As intensely protective as he would have been anyway, because he loved her, the animal instinct within demanded he be aware of his mate and her safety at all times. Especially when they were out in the open and not alone, whether or not those with them were friends and the gathering innocent. There was possessiveness as well that he could contain, but not vanquish completely. Between those two impulses warring inside his average human faćade, Killian was rather proud of himself for managing to eventually retreat to a corner table with his drink, lean back in a chair and observe the goings on around him with at least the air of calm.

Still, needless to say, he was relieved when the festivities did begin to break up an hour or so later. Many called out a friendly goodbye to him, and he waved back jovially to them. Some, like David, came over to say ‘good night’ and make plans for when they’d get together next. When Emma finally came up to him with an easy smile and an outstretched hand, asking him if he was ready to head home for the night with a teasing tilt of her head and playful “Captain?” he was on his feet in a moment. With Henry in tow, they headed back toward their house on the shore as the stars came out above.

A deep sense of satisfaction warmed Killian once again at the very idea that this could be his life, while Emma leaned into his side as they walked and Henry pointed out the various constellations that he had learned to recognize through Killian’s tutelage. It was more happiness than he once could have imagined having in his life on a regular basis. In a few days he would need to prepare for shifting about three nights in a row, as was his monthly due, but for tonight, he could sense it was still safely far enough off to take his time seeing the two most important people in his life home safely and enjoy that they saw him as one of their own.

Once they reached the front gate, Henry hurried on up the walk and into the house with a “See you tomorrow!” for his mom’s boyfriend. Alone at long last, Emma turned to him, her face tilted up to his with a devious glimmer in her expression. Only moments ago, he wouldn’t have imagined things could get much better, but when she ran her hands up his torso to rest on his chest and whispered invitingly, “Wanna come in for a nightcap, Sailor?” she blew his mind all over again.

A couple of drinks, an entire bowl of popcorn and a movie later, they were cuddled together on the couch in Emma’s living room, making out like two teenagers. Killian didn’t leave his love’s arms again until the next day dawned. Slipping out to his boat before Henry could walk up and begin scavenging through the cupboards for his breakfast cereal, Killian stooped to place a kiss on Emma’s groggy forehead as she mumbled a sleepy farewell. No one else in the house was stirring as the former pirate headed away down the walk, and he was too cheerful and relaxed to be on his guard, so the eyes watching his every move from the shadows as he moved toward the docks, went unnoticed…

~~***~~***~~

Far removed from the cheerfulness and revelry of the rest of the town and their holiday celebrations, Mr. Gold was holed up in the dim, shrouded back room of his shop, scowling silently at a clouded orb with its contents swirling inside. He hadn’t bothered to unlock or open his shop doors today, not wanting to see the idiotic smiles of the townsfolk, nor to waste effort pasting on a smile and haggling to make sales that mattered little to him, all things considered. No, all that mattered now was possessing the one item which could free him of the Savior’s binding order stoppering his Dark One powers to set things right. He would be loosed of her interfering magical hold; it was merely a matter of tracing the artifact to its hiding place and summoning an accomplice he knew was powerful enough to aid him in the ritual needed to slip the noose of his Dagger’s control, and therefore Miss Swan’s meddling command.

All the pieces were in place; once the crystal showed him where his former compatriot could be found, he would set the ball rolling. He would make Belle see sense, return her to her place by his side, where she clearly belonged. That Sheriff who had dared to try taking his place in Belle’s affections would rue ever having his heart put back in his chest. And that wretched cur ...that wolf he had nearly finished off before - and the woman who had prevented it, who had the audacity to tangle with him and think she could defeat the Dark One - both of them would pay, once and for all.

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

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @xarandomdreamx

@motherkatereloyshipper @booksteaandtoomuchtv @anmylica @stahlop @myfearless-love

@teamhook @revanmeetra87 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm

@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @bluewildcatfanatic @xsajx

@undercaffinatednightmare @caught-in-the-filter @drowned-dreamer @jonesfandomfanatic @kday426

@lfh1226-linda @linda8084 @resident-of-storybrooke @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree

@belovedcreation @eddisfargo @zaharadessert @laianely @goforlaunchcee

#self promo sunday #cs ff rerun #cssns19 #face to face in the broad daylight #cs werewolf au #ouat au mc #graham x belle #hunted beauty #is that a possible ship name?#prologue

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