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idristardis · 7 years ago

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The Writing’s On The Wall - CSLB

Summary: Normally quiet and sleepy, Storybrooke, Maine has been going through the polar opposite of a crime wave. There hasn't been even so much as an incident of shoplifting in MONTHS. Until the day an anonymous graffiti artist starts leaving murals and street art all over prominent town buildings. Who's behind it? Why don't the townspeople want to press charges if/when the "vandal" is caught? And what does all of this have to do with Sheriff Emma Swan and local bakery owner Killian Jones?

Rating: Mild T (mainly for a little kissin’ and a little swearin’)

Word Count: 15,000 on the nose!

Possible triggers: I’m not really sure I’d consider these triggers, but this fic does contain mentions of past!Millian and past!Gremma (both in a positive light) and past!Swanfire (in a negative light), so if none of those things float your boat, I’d recommend taking a miss on this one.

Tropes: Mutual pining, friends-to-lovers, modern au (no magic), Henry-being-too-smart-and-cute-for-his-own-good, Zelena-being-Zelena, the author makes many jokes (lovingly) at Will Scarlet’s expense.

Background pairings: Snowing, Outlaw Queen, Frozen Jewel.

A/N: It’s hard to believe this day is finally here!! I felt like I ate/slept/breathed this fic for so long and then ended up having to wait the whole month of February to post, lol. Seriously, though, it’s humbling to be the “grand finale” of the CSLB, and I only hope my work lives up to the honor. This month has once again proved the depth and breadth of talent possessed by the writers and artists in the OUAT and CS fandoms. You guys all rock and should be very proud of what you’ve achieved!!

This fic was a labor of love - and it’s the longest thing that I’ve written and completed in forever - so I am extremely excited to share it with you all. I couldn’t have done it without my amazing beta, Hollie aka @the-captains-ayebrows who helped me refine the plot and pacing in so many ways - this story wouldn’t be half of what it is without her input - and my wonderful artist, Bianca i.e. @shipsxahoy who made the beautiful banner at the top of this post and a seriously awesome gifset that you can find HERE. I also want to thank the mods and the entire team at the @captainswanbigbang for running such a wonderful CSLB event (and for putting up with my frequent down-to-the-wire check ins and over-the-top word counts). You ladies have done a wonderful job and I’m so grateful to have been a part of it!! Now, without further ado (too late!!), The Writing’s On The Wall.

Also on AO3.

February 13th - Midday...

In retrospect, Emma thought, I really should have seen this coming.

Life in Storybrooke had been quiet – almost freakishly so – for the last few months. Not that the small, sleepy coastal Maine town she called home was normally a hotbed of criminal activity, but usually there was something going on that required her to flash her badge and threaten the local riffraff with a night in one of the cells at the sheriff’s station.

But not lately. It was mid-February and quite literally nothing arrest-worthy had happened since early December when she’d locked up Will Scarlet for attempting to steal the holiday decorations off the town common.

She knew for a fact that had been the last arrest she’d made, as Scarlet’s motives had been memorable. Apparently, he’d had some half-cocked idea of holding the decorations hostage until the mayor agreed to “ransom” them back for a hefty fee. (Emma had laughed for a solid minute when he’d explained. As if Regina would ever have gone along with that).

Since then, though - nothing.

No bar fights, no petty theft, no DUIs, no domestic disturbances, no vandalism...not even any cats stuck in trees.

Emma’d had little to do except catch up on backlogged paperwork and finally start converting the sheriff’s department’s oldest files from hard-copy to digital.

In other words, she was bored out of her freaking mind.

Or she had been.

Because now, suddenly, the crime drought had ended rather spectacularly.

Emma had practically stumbled on the scene of the crime when she’d left the station a little before noon. She’d already been running late for Galentine’s Day lunch with Mary-Margaret - a longstanding tradition they’d kept up since meeting at the University of Southern Maine nearly ten years ago - when she’d seen it.

It had been hard - if not impossible - to miss.

“What the actual hell?!” Emma exclaimed, stopping dead in her tracks and staring at the building opposite the station. The response felt entirely appropriate when confronted with fifteen foot tall graffiti that absolutely hadn’t been there that morning. Whoever the culprit was, they were pretty talented, but also extremely brazen. They’d vandalized the brick wall of a two story office building in broad daylight, not twenty-five feet away from the sheriff’s station. Apparently, they didn’t care if they got caught, Emma mused. I mean, it’s beautiful, but that’s pretty damn cocky.

Sighing, Emma pulled out her phone to call Mary-Margaret and let her know she was going to be running even later for lunch, and that she’d explain when she got there.

All the while, her eyes barely strayed from the wall looming above her, adorned with a stunning multitude of simple (yet gorgeously painted) hearts in varying sizes and shades of pink, red, white, and purple.

(If she took a few more photos than were strictly necessary for the case file, that was her secret).

January 19th - Late Afternoon...

The bell above Second Star Bakery’s door jangled loudly, signaling that said door had been thrown open with considerable force. Though he would’ve liked to offer a sharp word to the culprit about the civilized way to enter a room, Killian kept his attention on the cupcakes he’d been in the middle of frosting, slowly looking up towards the source of the noise. The polite, “customer-service” smile on his face melted into something more genuine when he saw who his visitor was, and he approached the front of the shop with a spring in his step.

"Henry, what brings you by on a Friday? I wasn't expecting you till tomorrow afternoon for your usual visit with your Mum," he said, leaning on top of the display case nearest to the door and looking curiously at Henry Swan. The boy rocked slightly on his feet, shifting his weight side-to-side and averting his eyes when Killian’s gaze landed on him.

"I know, but I needed to talk to you about something and it couldn't wait any longer.” He was unusually fidgety. It struck Killian as odd, but before he could ask about it, Henry’d started speaking again. "Um...can you take a break for a few minutes?"

A tendril of concern tickled the back of Killian’s mind, but he tamped it down. Henry’d always been a good lad, and Killian was sure that, given a chance, he would explain what was on his mind. “Of course I can,” he nodded at Henry before pointing to the case in between them. “Now, how serious is this conversation? Does it require cupcakes, cookies, or eclairs?”

Henry shook his head, and his brow briefly furrowed in thought. “Pie,” he replied firmly after a few moments of careful consideration.

Killian arched an eyebrow. “Ah, that is serious,” he said, bending down and fetching the nearest pie out of the case. “Apple spice alright?”

Henry nodded and moved through the cafe tables dotting the bakery floor, heading for one towards the back. Leaving one of his sales associates, Wendy, in charge of things up front, Killian warmed a couple of healthy-sized slices of the pie and put them on a tray. Propping the tray on his left forearm, he steadied it with his good hand and carefully navigated between the tables. (Times like these always made him wish he had full use of his left hand, but an accident nearly seven years ago had taken his naval career - and much more - with it. He’d never regained full range of motion in his left hand, but he’d adapted to the injury - the other losses had been harder to recover from). Sliding into the chair opposite Henry, he waited while the boy dug into his pie.

And waited.

Though he was determined to give Henry enough time to bring up whatever was on his mind, after several silent moments stretched between them, Killian couldn’t resist nudging the conversation along. “Henry...I thought you wanted to talk. Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Though his attention had been focused solely on his pie until that moment, at Killian’s question Henry sat back in his chair with a sigh. His eyes flicked up to meet Killian’s hesitantly. “If you thought that...someone liked you...like...that way...but they hadn’t really said anything, what would you do?”

Ah, Killian thought, inwardly relieved. Girl problems. This I can handle. I think.

He folded his arms on the table and leaned towards Henry, regarding him with a grin. “Well, first things first. Are the feelings mutual?”

Henry’s gaze locked on his. Killian had the distinct (and slightly unsettling) feeling the boy was trying to read him - but what exactly he was looking for, Killian wasn’t sure. He seemed to find it after a moment, nodding thoughtfully as he replied. “I think so. I mean...” He paused to take a large bite of his pie. “...I’m pretty sure.”

“Well,” Killian scratched lightly behind his ear. “I think you have to figure that out for definite before you decide how to approach this other person. It could be pretty awkward otherwise.”

Henry put down his fork and opened his mouth as if to speak before closing it again immediately - an action he repeated twice more before a look of determination crossed his features and he blurted, “okaywellhowdoyoureallyfeelaboutmymomthen?”

The tinny strains of a Mumford and Sons tune floating out from the kitchen were suddenly the loudest noises in the entire bakery.

But the only thing Killian could hear was his heartbeat skidding to a complete halt before promptly lurching into overdrive.

“Pardon?” he asked, sure he must have misheard Henry’s (admittedly rather garbled) question - yet simultaneously sure he hadn’t. “Say that again? Perhaps with breaths between the words?”

Henry slumped back in his chair. “I said how do you really feel about my mom?”

Right, so the lad did say those words. In that order. Right.

Killian took a deep breath, trying to school his features into something closer to nonchalance than panic. (He had a feeling he failed based on the way Henry was looking at him).

“Henry,” he began cautiously, “I don’t understand...I thought you were asking me about someone at school...someone who you thought fancied you.”

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head vigorously before pausing to contradict himself. “I mean, yeah, there kinda is someone I think I might like, but that’s so not the point of this conversation,” he finished before renewing his previously abandoned attack on his pie.

“Not the point...” Killian echoed faintly, scrubbing a hand over his face and back through his hair. This was, quite literally, the last thing he’d expected when he’d opened up shop in the morning. For the first time in the slightly more than three years since he’d owned the bakery, Killian was actually glad there were hardly any customers - with the wildfire nature of Storybrooke’s gossip mill, this conversation was the last thing he wanted anyone overhearing.

He can’t know, Killian thought. He can’t.

But then why bring it up? His inner voice countered in annoyingly logical fashion.

“Henry,” he tried again, “why would you ask me that?”

Henry stopped just short of rolling his eyes. “I was just doing what you said.”

That didn’t clarify anything. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Henry asked, putting his fork down. “You said finding out if the feelings were definitely mutual was really important before figuring out how to talk to the other person. So that’s what I was doing. So,” he asked again, “how exactly do you feel about my mom?”

Killian still could not fathom that this conversation was really happening, but Henry seemed as though he could - and would - stay planted in his chair until Killian answered him, so he chose his next words carefully. “You know I care a great deal for your mother, lad. We’ve known each other for several years now - her friendship means the world to me, and I wouldn’t trade having her in my life for anything.”

Henry simply looked at him for a few moments before throwing his hands up in the air. “Friendship?! Really?! That’s what you’re going with?!”

“Aye,” he said gently. “It’s the truth, Henry.”

Now, the boy did roll his eyes. “Yeah,” he scoffed, “but not all of it...especially not when I think my mom might be in love with you.”

February 13th - Lunchtime...

“Well, whoever did this...it’s gorgeous,” Mary-Margaret mused, handing Emma her phone back after looking at the photos of the mural.

“Yeah, but...unfortunately, it’s also a crime,” Emma replied, pocketing her phone after taking one last glance at the photos. “Or it should be.”

Mary-Margaret tilted her head inquisitively. “What d’you mean?”

Emma sighed, leaning her elbows on the table and picking at her last few onion rings. “I canvassed the people who work in the building, but only a couple of the offices are actually occupied, and neither tenant was bothered by the graffiti. In fact, they really liked it.” Mary-Margaret hummed thoughtfully before Emma continued. “It’s one of the few buildings in town not owned by the immortally cranky Mr. Gold, and when I called the landlord to notify him, he’d already heard about the incident and didn’t want to press charges when and if we found the ‘artist’ in question. Said it sounded like it improved the value of his property.”

The pair sat in silence for a moment. “Well,” Mary-Margaret said eventually, “I guess that’s actually lucky for you, right?”

“How so?”

“Now that you don’t have to chase down leads on this mysterious artist-vandal, you won’t have to work late on Valentine’s Day. See? Lucky!!”

Emma chuckled and shook her head. Mary-Margaret was an eternal optimist who saw the best in everyone. Emma was convinced it was this innate decency and kindness that had led Mary-Margaret to befriend her when she was a 20 year old freshman and single mother commuting to USM’s Portland campus from some no name town an hour up the coast.

Though a junior when they’d met, Mary-Margaret had been the same age as Emma, and had slipped into her life as if she’d been there forever. The fact that Mary-Margaret had gotten a job teaching at Storybrooke Elementary after graduation, and had married Emma’s friend and co-worker David Nolan ensured she probably would be in Emma’s life for the foreseeable future. Her sunny disposition generally balanced out Emma’s more pragmatic (some would say prickly) take on things - but occasionally, they just didn’t see eye to eye, and when it came to Valentine’s Day, they couldn’t be further apart.

Of course Mary-Margaret, being so kind-hearted, would be enthusiastic about a holiday devoted to love and romance. Emma didn’t have anything against actual love and romance, but an overly commercialized holiday devoted to a sappy version of it? That she could do without. “Just because I don’t have to work late doesn’t mean I don’t have to work,” Emma replied. “It’s not that lucky.”

Mary-Margaret shrugged in response, her optimism undeterred. “Well, do you at least have any plans for tomorrow night?”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think I like where I think you’re headed with that question.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Mary-Margaret’s eyes were wide, her tone a shade too innocent.

“Uh huh,” Emma muttered. “Sure you don’t.”

Mary-Margaret frowned briefly before finishing her coffee and putting the cup down with a sigh. “I only want you to be happy, you know that, right?”

Now it was Emma’s turn to sigh. “I’ve got a wonderful family, friends who care a frankly ridiculous amount about me,” Emma raised an eyebrow, causing Mary-Margaret to chuckle, “and an amazing kid. I am happy.”

“I do know that - and I’m glad,” Mary-Margaret said, though her words were laced with concern. “But you know that’s not the kind of happiness I’m talking about. When’s the last time you went on a date?”

“I don’t need to have romantic plans on a made up holiday in order to be happy, Mary-Margaret,” Emma said, weariness creeping into her tone. They’d had similar discussions before.

“I know you don’t have to, but-”

“Besides, I’ve had dates on and off over the past few years,” Emma cut in. “You’re really talking about more than that.”

“Yeah, I am,” Mary-Margaret conceded. She paused, her gaze flicking to Emma’s before proceeding hesitantly. “It’s been almost four years since Graham died...I’m just afraid that between dealing with losing him and the impact of your past with Neal, you’ve closed yourself off. I don’t want that for you, Emma.”

Emma didn’t really have a comeback for that. Neal had been a con and a cheat, not to mention too old for her teenage self, and the only good thing he’d brought into her life had been Henry. Her history with him featured frequently in conversations about Emma’s lackluster love-life (generally with Emma tossing a good amount of expletives in his direction), but Mary-Margaret didn’t usually bring up Graham.

Graham had been everything Neal wasn’t - kind, patient, funny, and sweet. They’d fallen into an easy relationship not long after Emma’s post-college return to Storybrooke. Under the former sheriff, Art King, they and David had been co-deputies in the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department. Graham had charmed her effortlessly almost from the start. They’d been happy for about eighteen months, until he’d collapsed one day during his morning run - ripped away out of the blue by an undiagnosed congenital heart defect.

Emma took a deep breath and released it slowly. If she were being honest, she’d have to admit that after Graham’s death, she’d turned inward - protectively walling off her heart against further hurt. She hadn’t really had a serious relationship since - but the pain of losing Graham was only one reason.

Yeah, but you can’t exactly admit that the other major reason you’re not actively looking for something serious is that you’ve gone and developed feelings for Killian, Emma thought. At least, not without Mary-Margaret completely freaking out on you and trying to get you to actually do something about them.

“Emma?” Mary-Margaret’s soft voice broke through Emma’s internal musings and pulled her back to the present. “I’m sorry if I pushed - I just care about you and I want the best for you. Sometimes I get carried away”

“It’s alright, you didn’t,” Emma said, reaching out to squeeze Mary-Margaret’s hand. “Honest. But I’m really fine - and you have my word that I’m happy. I promise if that changes, you’ll be the first to know.”

Mary-Margaret nodded, squeezing Emma’s hand in return. “Deal.”

“As far as tomorrow, I wouldn’t have time for a date anyway. I’ve got to get Henry ready for the school dance and embarrass him by taking as many photos as humanly possible,” Emma said. “That’s all the Valentine’s excitement I need.”

Emma felt slightly guilty for not revealing she did, in fact, have plans with Killian after Henry went to the dance. It wasn’t a date, so technically she wasn’t lying, but she was aware if Mary-Margaret knew, she’d take it the wrong way. Emma just didn’t have the energy to convince her that movie night with Killian, beer, and a giant pepperoni pizza was completely and totally platonic.

(Not that she wanted it to be. But the one thing she wanted more than exploring a relationship with Killian was to not lose him from her life. Anything that had the potential to wreck their friendship - like the fact she’d been well on her way to in love with him for most of the past year - was firmly off limits).

January 19th - Late Afternoon...

Killian gaped at Henry, positive his jaw was on the floor. He tried - and failed - to form words several times before finally finding his voice.

“I’m fairly certain you’re mistaken,” he said. “Granted, your mother and I are very close, but we’re just friends.”

Henry shook his head. “C’mon, Killian. I’m twelve, not stupid - and I know what I heard.”

That got Killian’s attention. “What are you talking about?”

“It was a few weeks ago,” Henry explained. “Just before New Year’s Eve. It was late, and I was getting ready for bed, but I’d forgotten some of my school books in the kitchen. When I went downstairs to get them...I overheard my mom talking to Auntie Elsa on the phone.”

“Eavesdropping is bad form, lad,” Killian admonished.

“I know - and I didn’t mean to. But she sounded kinda sad and I wanted to make sure she was okay, so I stayed and listened for a few minutes...and she was talking about you.”

Killian’s stomach churned at the thought that something about him had upset Emma. Causing her any sorrow or discomfort was the last thing Killian wanted. Against his better judgment (this felt far too much like gossiping behind Emma’s back), Killian asked, “why was she upset?”

Henry averted his gaze for a moment before looking back at Killian. “She said something about not being able to change how she feels, but not being able to tell you the truth either...and something about not knowing what to do. Then she just said ‘yeah’ and ‘uh huh’ a lot while Auntie Elsa must have been talking.”

“You still shouldn’t have listened to your mother’s conversation, Henry,” Killian said. A headache was starting to form behind his temples. “But all I can ask is that you not do it again.” He pushed back his chair and stood up, gathering their plates and cups. “I’m afraid I have to get back to work, but you know you’re welcome anytime.”

“That’s it?!” Henry cried in disbelief, following Killian towards the counter. “You’re not going to do anything about this?!”

Kilian dumped their plates into a rubber kitchen tub earmarked for used dishware and turned to face Henry, crossing his arms over his chest. “What exactly do you want me to do? I don’t think what you heard means your mum’s in love with me. Just that there’s something she feels she can’t tell me right now.”

“Yeah,” Henry retorted, “It’s that she loves you!”

“Henry, listen-”

“I’m pretty observant,” Henry cut in, “and I know both of you look at each other differently than you do anybody else - by the way, you should know it’s really sappy - and you spend a ton of time together, and...you care about each other, like, a lot. Plus, you take care of each other all the time. You’re...you’re almost as coupley as the Nolans!” he finished triumphantly, as if that statement alone proved all of his points.

“Nobody’s as coupley as the Nolans,” Killian rebutted. “Henry...I want you to know I’ve heard you,” he said seriously, “but the friendship I have with you and your mum is precious to me...I don’t want to do anything to risk it.”

It was as close to an admission of feelings as he could bring himself to allow.

Henry shook his head,disappointment filling his gaze. “But don’t you think you’re losing out on something even more special if you don’t take the risk?”

Killian didn’t quite know what to say to that, and before he could come up with an appropriate response, the bell over the door was jingling once more, signaling Henry’s departure.

January 24th - Dinnertime…in Storybrooke, at least...

“H’lo?” the voice slurred out a greeting after the person on the other end of the phone finally picked up.

“Liam?” Killian asked, before catching sight of the clock and doing a quick mental calculation. “Ah, shit...sorry. You were already asleep, weren’t you?”

“Almost,” his brother sounded slightly more alert now. “You caught me just in the nick of time, little brother. Now, to what do I owe the honor of this late night transatlantic call?”

Killian bit back the automatic correction of younger brother that itched to leap off his tongue. He felt badly enough for not thinking about the time difference before calling - he didn’t want to get sidetracked by protesting a habit Liam was never likely to change. Besides, he really needed advice. “I need your opinion on something, Liam.”

“Must be important - I can hear the nerves in your voice from here,” his brother quipped.

Killian nodded, even though he knew Liam couldn’t see him. “Possibly the most important thing.”

“Ah,” Liam said knowingly. “Must be about Emma, then. Finally decided you want to tell her you’ve been in love with her for ages, but haven’t been able to actually do it yet?”

“How in the world did you guess that?!” he blurted, speaking over Liam’s chuckle. “Have you been talking to Henry?”

Liam was silent for a long moment before responding, a bit of hesitance in his voice. “Actually, Elsa.”

“What?!” Killian was truly boggled. “When?!”

“We’ve been in touch a bit since I visited you last year,” Liam said briskly, clearly trying to change the subject - though Killian definitely filed it away for further discussion later. “Anyway, she sees the way you two moon about over each other as clearly as I do. We’re both a bit puzzled at why it’s taken this long for one of you to do something about it.”

“We’re friends,” Killian replied instantly. “She’s...my best friend, actually.”

“I’m going to pretend that doesn’t hurt, Kil,” Liam said dryly. “But truth be told, you wound me.”

“Git,” Killian replied.

“Wanker,” Liam answered, the laughter bleeding into his voice at their habitual sparring. After a brief pause during which Killian could hear him yawn, Liam spoke again, his tone more serious. “So, she’s your best friend. How long have you known her?”

“Four years. You know that, Liam.”

“Aye. You met her even before you fully moved there...it was when when you visited for your mate-”

“Robin’s wedding, yeah,” Killian cut in, unsure of where his brother was going with his trip down memory lane.

“Right - he married that mildly terrifying woman, didn’t he?”

“Regina - though I wouldn’t let Robin hear you say that,” Killian replied, impatient for Liam to cut to the chase. “What’s your point?”

“My point, little brother, is you’ve known Emma for a very long time...and you’ve each had a rough go of it. Life dealt both of you shit hands...and what’s always struck me about you both is that neither of you have ever let anything stop you from fighting for what’s important to you. Why should it be any different now, when what you want is each other?”

“You’re so certain she feels the same way?” Killian asked, afraid to let himself hope.

Liam sighed, but when he spoke again, his tone was gentler. “Elsa didn’t betray any of Emma’s specific confidences, but given what she did say...I don’t think you have to worry...and if it’s any consolation, from what I observed of you two myself when I was there, I’d say she’s right.”

Killian exhaled slowly. “It’s a big leap to make. I haven’t felt this way about anyone since…”

“Milah,” Liam finished for him. It wasn’t a question. Killian had fallen hard for Milah Clarke when he’d only been a few years into his naval career. Losing her in a car accident not long after the incident that had crushed his hand and ended his career had sent Killian reeling and it had taken him a long time - and no small amount of help from Liam - to pull himself out of his grief and heal.

“Yeah,” Killian replied. “So you can see why I’m terrified of screwing it up. I just...what if I tell her I want to be with her, and she says no?”

“Mm,” Liam hummed in agreement. “You’re forgetting one thing, little brother.”

“What?” Killian asked, pressing the phone tighter against his ear, as if he could absorb Liam’s words through sheer force of will.

“You’re not with her now, and if you never say anything there won’t even be a chance of that changing. Be brave, Kil. It’ll be worth it.”

Valentine’s Day - Mid-morning...

KJ: Alright. Operation The Writing’s On The Wall is a go!

HS: Excellent! And Killian?

KJ: Yes?

HS: I’m glad you decided to take the risk. :)

KJ: Me too, lad. Me too.

HS: Oh, and Killian...I think I’m gonna take a risk too.

KJ: ?

HS: I’m going to ask Violet to dance tonight at the school’s Valentine thing. Wish me luck!

KJ: Best of luck, Henry.

Killian sent the final text, pocketed his phone, and picked up the first can of spray paint, ready to enact the plan he and Henry had concocted during ad hoc “strategy sessions” at the bakery. The lad had been persistent - showing up at Second Star after school every day for a week with different pieces of “evidence” supporting his case. All that, plus Liam’s recent advice, had convinced Killian to take action.

Thus, Operation The Writing’s on The Wall had been born.

(The name had been Henry’s idea).

Henry had also opened up a bit during their conversations about his blossoming affections for one of his classmates, Violet Clemens. Killian was touched Henry had turned to him for advice, though given the state of his own romantic affairs, he wasn’t sure he’d been able to help him very much.

He still wasn’t sure this wouldn’t end in spectacular disaster. Though he’d known deep down for some time that he’d been falling in love with Emma, because of past hurts he’d been afraid to explore it. But he’d come to realize Henry and Liam were right, he couldn’t keep holding back the truth. No matter how this turned out, he had to at least try to tell her. He didn’t know if this was the best way, but Henry had convinced him if Emma were going to take his declaration seriously, he needed to get her attention in a big way.

When did I start taking romantic advice from a pre-teen? He thought with a shake of his head. Contemplating the stretch of blank wall in front of him he hefted the can, adjusting it slightly to get a better grip with his good hand. No matter. In for a penny, in for a pound…

He raised his arm and took a deep breath. As he exhaled, he let the paint fly in graceful arcs across the brick, nearly closing his eyes as he lost himself in the rhythm of the work.

If this works, it’ll all be worth it...

Valentine’s Day - at night…

Emma shifted from foot to foot, cradling a warm pizza box in her arms and waiting impatiently for Killian to respond to her fervent knocking. After another moment or two had passed without any sign of him coming to let her in, she reached up and thumped on the door again. “C’mon, Jones!” she shouted for good measure. “The pizza’s getting cold...and so am I!!”

Finally, she heard shuffling footsteps coming down the hallway and the door to his seaside cottage swung slowly open. Killian grinned at her. “Evening, Swan. Patient as ever, I see.”

“Uggh,” she groaned, pushing past him with a good-natured bump of her shoulder against his. “I was freezing my ass off out there. Quite literally.”

He chuckled as he closed the door behind her. “Now, that would be a shame, it’s true.”

Her stomach swooped and she felt herself flush a little - to hide her reaction to his teasing, she turned and put the pizza box down on the kitchen island. Arching a brow at him. “I’d think you’d have a little more sympathy, especially considering I brought you pizza. Instead, you’re mocking me for falling prey to the vagaries of Maine winter weather.”

“Vagaries?” Killian asked, quirking his own eyebrow at her, he moved to the cabinet to get them plates. “Interesting word choice.”

She shrugged. “Hey, I do listen when you fancy-talk. Sometimes.”

He snorted and set the plates down next to the pizza. “How kind of you.”

“You know I try,” she said with a laugh before walking back to the entryway to hang up her coat. She paused as she passed back through the open plan living area, taking a moment to soak up the room’s coziness. It was one of Emma’s favorite places. An inviting, squishy-soft sofa faced a series of built in shelves crammed with books, knickknacks, and photos. The shelves flanked a squat fireplace lit with a warmly crackling fire. Killian’s television sat in one corner, and an armchair that matched the sofa was in another. Above the mantel hung a beautiful seascape that had been painted by Killian’s late mother, Alice.

(Apparently, Killian had taken after his mother artistically - though he’d long denied it, saying his talent never amounted to more than “doodling.” It frustrated Emma greatly that he’d never shown her much of his work).

When she returned to the kitchen, Killian had slipped two slices onto each of their plates and was rummaging around in his fridge for their beers. “So...what are we watching tonight?”

Killian handed her the plates, tucked a roll of paper towel under his left arm, and picked up the beers with his good hand, nodding in the direction of his television. “You can look over the selection yourself,” he murmured. “I had a bit of trouble deciding.”

“Really?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him as she moved to sit. “That’s not like you.”

He chuckled softly as he followed her and sat down on the other end of the sofa. “Yes, well,” he said, trading her one of the beer bottles for one of the plates of pizza. “Your list of off-limits movies was rather lengthy.”

She rolled her eyes. “I just didn’t want to be hit over the head for two hours with soppy romantic cliches. I get enough of those when I do movie night with Mary-Margaret. I’ve hit my quota for the year already, I think.”

“That is impressive, seeing as we’re only halfway through February,” he grinned, before taking a pull from his beer.

“Mm, well that’s Mary-Margaret for ya,” Emma concurred, leaning forward to look at the DVDs spread over the surface of the coffee table. There were action movies, a couple of selections from Marvel, and - predictably, where Killian was concerned - Star Wars. But a DVD set slightly apart from the others caught her eye. She grinned. Perfect. “Hmmm...how about that one?”

Killian nodded and got up to put Garden State in the player. They fell into a comfortable silence for a while, enjoying their pizza and beer, sometimes watching the movie and sometimes ignoring it in favor of trading their more colorful stories from the past week. (When Emma recounted the tale of her mysterious and artistic vandal, an odd expression flashed over Killian’s face, but it was gone and he was telling her about one of his amusing regulars at the bakery before she could process what had happened).

Around the point in the film when Zach Braff and Natalie Portman were standing on top of construction equipment at the bottom of a quarry and screaming their heads off, Killian glanced over at her, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “How’d it go...getting Henry ready for the dance?”

She sighed and rolled her head to the side so she could look at him without sitting up from where she was slumped into the couch. He was closer than he’d been before - the two of them had gravitated into each other bit by bit during the course of the film. “You just had to bring that up, didn’t you? Part of the point of this movie night was to help me forget that for a while.”

He chuckled, shifting closer as he spoke. “C’mon now, Swan. Surely it couldn’t have been that bad.” He nudged her shoulder gently with his own. “It must have been at least a little bit exciting.”

Emma didn’t answer immediately, staring at the television without really seeing it. Finally, she nodded, albeit reluctantly. “It was...a bit...but also kinda terrifying...realizing he’s old enough to be excited about going to school dances.” She let herself lean further into Killian, dropping her head on his shoulder. Normally, she’d hold herself back more - casually touching him made her want things she was sure she couldn’t have, and she usually made sure to only do it in the smallest of doses - but tonight she just needed the comfort of his solid presence. “Is it horribly cliched if I say it felt like he was a toddler just a few days ago?”

“Not at all, Swan,” he murmured, curling his arm around her shoulders and pulling her further into his side. This is comfortable, she thought to herself. Dangerously so. But she couldn’t bring herself to pull away, soaking up Killian’s warmth as he continued. “It’s only natural you’d feel that way since the lad’s started showing an interest in dating and-”

She jerked upright, the motion causing his arm to fall away from her. But the flicker of regret she felt at that was mixed with a much larger dose of astonishment. “Dating? Who said anything about Henry dating?! Do you know something I don’t know? Killian, has he told you he likes someone?! Who?”

The apples of Killian’s cheeks flushed ever-so-slightly pink, which Emma secretly found adorable - but she pushed down the flip-flopping sensation in her stomach and waited him out. She needed answers about Henry too badly to think about how Killian somehow became even more handsome when he was flustered.

Finally, he spoke, tilting his head down and glancing up at her from under a slightly furrowed brow. “The lad...err...he does talk to me from time to time, Swan. Without betraying his trust, I can say there are...things...of a slightly romantic nature...that an almost-teenage boy doesn’t exactly want to share with his mother,” he said softly, reaching out to rest his left hand gently on her knee, “no matter how close the two of you may be.”

Emma considered that for a moment, swallowing down the nervous flutter caused partly by the thought of Henry taking his first steps (however tentative) into the world of dating, and partly by Killian’s proximity. She must have been lost in her thoughts for longer than she’d realized, because Killian had started speaking again, this time rather hesitantly.

“I...I do hope it’s alright he came to me Emma. You know I would have shared it with you - or urged Henry to do so himself - if I thought it were anything for you to be worried about. I hope I haven’t overstep-”

“No!” she cut him off, dropping her hand on top of his and interlacing their fingers. His eyes followed her action, seemingly transfixed by the way she’d reached for his injured hand without a second thought. “You didn’t - not at all. Killian,” she paused, waiting for him to look up at her before continuing. “I’m glad he feels he can talk to you about things like that...you have to know, I’m so glad he has you.”

“He does,” Killian agreed earnestly, his gaze never leaving hers. “You both do.”

Emma’s pulse picked up as the air around them thickened and grew warmer. Her mouth was suddenly dry and nothing could have torn her gaze away from Killian in that moment. For his part, he seemed equally transfixed, his eyes finally breaking from hers to flick down to her lips. Is he getting closer or is that me? Emma wondered. Maybe it’s both of us. Killian opened his mouth to speak again - to say what, she didn’t know - when suddenly her phone started ringing.

Craaaaaaaap.

-/-

Killian watched as Emma leapt off the couch, struggling to yank her phone out of her pocket before the caller hung up. She managed to answer it just in time, mouthing sorry at him before disappearing into his kitchen to take the call.

He flopped into the cushions with a sigh before scrubbing his hand through his hair. How the bloody hell did that happen?! One minute they’d been having a totally normal movie night, and the next they were bang in the middle of what had felt like some sort of relationship changing moment. Almost. The truly boggling thing was that they had reached that point, but not at all in the way Killian had anticipated.

Of course, if you’d gotten over your own nerves and eased into declaring your feelings the way you’d planned, things might have been very different right about now...one way or another.

Glancing over the back of the couch, Killian could see Emma pacing around the kitchen with increasing speed, her phone still glued to her ear. She was gesturing emphatically with her free hand, the tone of her voice rising in pitch. Though he couldn’t really make out what she was saying, he had no trouble catching it when she semi-growled “are you fucking kidding me, David?!”

Killian wasn’t sure whether he was grateful or disappointed that it seemed their evening were coming to an abrupt and unexpected end. The ache of his as-yet unconfessed feelings mingled unpleasantly with relief that he hadn’t done something to utterly screw up their friendship.

“Hey, I’m so sorry, but I’ve gotta run,” Emma said, striding back into the living area, her words pulling him from his reverie. “You would not believe what I’m going to have to go deal with.”

Killian got to his feet, following her towards the entryway. He leaned against the wall, watching her bundle herself back into her coat. “Scarlet?” he guessed. She nodded. “What’s he done now, then?”

She whirled to face him, her expression a picture of exasperation. “Disturbed the peace, for one. He had the oh-so-brilliant idea that serenading his ex on Valentine’s Day would be the best way to get her back. It seems that neither she, or her new girlfriend, agreed.”

“Oh dear,” Killian said with feigned sympathy, his eyebrow quirking up. “That is unfortunate.”

“Yeah,” Emma grumbled. “Ana’s neighbors didn’t take too kindly to it either, as he decided he was going to stand under her window and belt out love songs for half an hour. David’s still on scene taking statements. I get the fun job of picking Scarlet up at the hospital and arresting him once they’re done treating him.”

“What?”

“Oh, yeah...the best part is I’m also going to have to charge him with public indecency. He decided the perfect way to carry out his plan was dressed as Cupid.”

“In Maine? In February?!” Killian asked incredulously. “What was he thinking?!”

Emma shoved her beanie back down over her curls. “Who the hell knows what, or if, he’s ever thinking. Apparently, his...loincloth or whatever...was very, um, skimpy. David mentioned they’re worried about frostbite.”

“Jesus,” Killian muttered, “I actually almost feel sorry for him.”

“Yeah,” Emma nodded. “I guess his heart was in the right place...but some guys are just not cut out for grand romantic gestures. Anyway,” she looked up at him, her gaze unmistakably tinged with regret, “I’m sorry I’ve gotta cut our movie night short, especially for this nonsense...but I’d better get a move on.”

“Don’t worry about it, Swan,” he said. “I understand - duty calls. Maybe we can get lunch this week.”

“I’d like that,” she said with a soft smile before turning to leave, her reluctance to go sparking a fresh wave of hope that perhaps he wasn’t alone in his feelings.

He shivered in the burst of cold air that swept in when she opened the door, watching her go and raising a hand to wave as she jogged down the walkway towards her car.

As the door swung shut, he leaned against it, his head falling against the wood with a thunk. He scrubbed a hand over his face and back into his hair, sighing heavily.

The plan - at least this part of it - had been simple. Movie night with Emma had already been on tap before he and Henry had concocted their “operation.” Whereas Henry had argued for boldly taking romantic action, Killian had thought highlighting the familiar would be comforting - he’d theorized it would put Emma at ease.

So this had been the compromise - dramatic romantic graffiti to get her attention, and then a quiet night in where he’d reveal that he was the artist and then tell her he was more than halfway to being in love with her. Simple, right? It had proved to be anything but. He sighed again and pushed himself off the door when something Emma had said suddenly struck him. A grin spread across his face, a new version of the plan beginning to take form in his mind.

Scarlet might not be able to pull off a grand romantic gesture...but I certainly can.

February 22 - Mid-Afternoon…

“I take it you know Kristoff finally proposed?” Elsa asked, her expression discernibly wry even through their less-than-stellar Skype connection.

“Um, yeah,” Emma laughed. “If the approximately thirty texts Anna sent me over the past week hadn’t given it away, Ingrid came around the other day to share the news.”

“And to gently probe about your own love life, right?” Elsa arched a knowing eyebrow.

“Let me guess, she called you?” It wasn’t really a question. Emma knew her adoptive mother well, and she’d been expecting her visit from the moment Anna had sent her first exclamation point riddled text. It wasn’t hard to fathom Ingrid would have contacted Elsa too.

When she’d been bouncing her way through the foster system as a kid, Emma hadn’t imagined someone like Ingrid Fisher - a fierce and protective foster mother who hadn’t given up on her even when she’d run away, met Neal, and come back to Storybrooke pregnant and alone. Ingrid had adopted Emma as well as Elsa and Anna (her two orphaned nieces) and had never looked back. It hadn’t always been easy, but eventually the four of them had become the family Emma’d never dared to let herself dream of - something she was grateful for every day.

“Yup,” Elsa confirmed with a sigh. “She was fairly disappointed to hear that work’s been keeping me so busy lately. She hid it pretty well, though. I’ll give her credit.”

“Mm,” Emma hummed in agreement. “I got pretty much the same reaction when I told her I’m more focused on figuring out Henry’s love life than my own right now.”

Elsa laughed before catching herself. “Wait a minute, are you serious? Henry has a love life? When did that happen?”

“I’m not really sure,” Emma’s brow furrowed, and she reached for the cup of cocoa sitting on the kitchen table. “He hasn’t really said too much to me about it - I only found out because Killian spilled the beans when I was over at his place last week.” She took a sip of cocoa. “Apparently, Henry’s been talking to him about someone at school that he likes, and he came home from the Valentine’s dance with a goofy grin and a friendship bracelet I’ve never seen before. I’ve tried to give him his space, but…”

“I’m sure he’ll tell you more when he’s ready, Em,” Elsa reassured. “You know you’ve got a good kid there.”

“A great one,” Emma agreed. “I just...I don’t want to pull an Ingrid on him, but...I guess I’m understanding how she feels a bit more. It’s tough when your kid gets their first real crush - he’s growing up faster than I can deal with.”

Elsa looked at her sympathetically for a moment. “If anyone can make it through the terrible tween years, it’s going to be you and Henry, Emma.”

“I know. I do. Really.” She smiled at her adoptive sister gratefully. She was still a bit rattled by Henry’s burgeoning romance and the fact he didn’t seem to want to share too much about it with her, but talking with Elsa always had a way of calming her down and making her see things more clearly. “Anyway...I know you must want to hear about all the crazy things you’ve missed out on here this past week.”

Elsa laughed. “True. I know that Anna’s engagement can’t have been the only big news. I need my weekly dose of Storybrooke gossip.”

Emma spent the next forty-five minutes filling Elsa in on the happenings of their small hometown, and listening as Elsa related the news of her week in Boston. She missed her sister deeply, but was so proud of her for pursuing her legal career even though it had taken her away from home. Weekly phone or video calls were their way of staying close even when they couldn’t be in the same space and Emma cherished them.

She was just wrapping up telling Elsa about the absolute insanity that was the ongoing Will Scarlet saga when a thoughtful expression crossed Elsa’s face. “What’s that look for?”

Elsa hesitated, then looked directly at Emma, her gaze piercing even through the computer screen. “You said earlier you were at Killian’s last week, and you just mentioned you were at his place when you had to go take care of Scarlet. Did you and Killian spend Valentine’s Day together?”

“Oh,” Emma was caught short, not having expected that. “Um...kind of.”

“Kind of? What exactly does that mean, Emma?”

“You sound like Ingrid,” Emma grumbled, putting her now nearly empty mug down and crossing her arms over her stomach.

“Emma,” Elsa chided, leveling her with a look that demanded answers more effectively than anything she could have said.

“It was a movie night. Just like every movie night we’ve ever had since we’ve been friends. Nothing else,” she replied, though she couldn’t meet Elsa’s eyes.

“Huh,” Elsa responded. “Then why are you blushing and not able to look at me?”

“Jeez! Are you this persistent in court?” Emma muttered.

“Yes,” Elsa replied calmly. “Especially when I know I’m on to something. ”

“Oh my God, El!” Emma exclaimed, finally locking eyes with her. “It was a normal movie night - it was,” she reiterated at Elsa’s skeptical look, “but then...it got a little weird.”

“In what way?”

Emma shrugged. “We started talking about Henry...that’s when I found out he’s been talking to Killian about dating...and things got a little...emotional. Killian said something about always being there for both of us and...wealmostkissed,” she finished, speeding through the last few words before she chickened out.

Elsa looked thoughtful, but not surprised. “Don’t you think this invalidates your argument?”

“Huh?” She stared at her sister in confusion.

“What we were talking about at New Year’s,” Elsa said matter-of-factly. “When you claimed you couldn’t tell Killian you were in love with him because he absolutely and positively only saw you as a good friend. Seems like that’s not so much the case, is it? I mean,” she continued, “he was about to kiss you too, right?”

Emma nodded weakly. “Yeah,” she murmured.

“Oh, Emma,” Elsa sighed ”I hate to see you so twisted up about this. You’ve got to tell Killian how you feel.”

The two women simply stared at each other for a moment, Emma spoke. “What if I’m wrong though?” she asked quietly. “Or what if he does want something more too, but it doesn’t work out? He’s one of my best friends. I can’t lose him,” she finished, emotion rendering her voice little more than a whisper.

Elsa regarded Emma candidly. “First, anybody who sees the two of you together can tell how much you care about each other. When I was back home for Christmas the amount of heart eyes the two of you were making at each other was off the charts. Plus, you spent most of Ruby’s Christmas party glued to each other’s sides.” Elsa chuckled. “You’re almost more coupley than David and Mary-Margaret.”

“No one is more coupley than David and Mary-Margaret,” Emma shot back instinctively, a hint of a smile finally breaking through the tension that gripped her.

“That may be true,” Elsa conceded, “but the two of you looked pretty darn together for people who aren’t actually dating. Liam agrees with me, by the way,” she finished before her eyes widened and she clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Oh he does, does he?” Emma queried, noting that Elsa suddenly looked like she wanted to slide off her chair and out of sight. “Just how long have you two been comparing notes?”

Elsa straightened, shaking her head firmly. “Oh no...no deflecting. This is not about me.”

“Hm, countering my deflecting with evasion,” Emma mused. “That means it’s been at least a few months. Oh!” she brightened, a thought striking her. “I bet it’s been since his last visit here - you were home then for Ingrid’s birthday. Is he the real reason you’ve not had time for dating lately?”

“Emma!” Elsa said sharply, a pink blush staining her normally pale cheeks. “I will tell you all about it. Later. I promise. Right now, this is about you, and you have to remember a couple of important things.”

“I’m listening,” she murmured.

“As you yourself said, Killian is one of your best friends...and he’s Killian. Do you really think if you tried being together and - for whatever inconceivable reason - it didn’t work out, he’d just cut you out of his life? You know him better than that, Emma. That man is as loyal as they come.”

Emma pondered her sister’s words. Elsa did have a point - Killian wasn’t the sort of person who would just cut her, or Henry, out of his life if a romantic relationship between them flamed out. She thought back over their friendship - meeting him four years ago when he’d flown over for Regina’s wedding to a childhood friend of his, and re-meeting him when he’d moved back to Storybrooke to start his bakery. Graham had died in the year in between the first and second times she’d met Killian, turning Emma’s life upside down.

But Killian had been just who she’d so desperately needed back then - her other friends had all been too concerned, too worried, too much. Killian hadn’t been a total stranger, but he’d been enough of an unknown quantity that being around him had been peaceful, a way of escaping the sometimes smothering shared history she had with all the people in her life who’d known and loved Graham too. Killian had slowly revealed his own hurts and losses, and his reasons for wanting a fresh start in a fresh country. Gradually their friendship had deepened, taking on a life of its own beyond comparing the battle wounds life had given them. He’d become her rock - and over this last year, she’d realized friendship just wasn’t enough to encompass everything he meant to her. She knew it was a cliche, but she’d gone and fallen into the deep end of love with her best friend.

Cautiously, she nodded. “You may have a point,” she acknowledged. “You said there were a couple of things, though. What was the other one?”

“You already love him, Em. You’ve admitted as much to me a few different times. Those feelings haven’t gone away, have they?”

Emma shook her head. “You know they haven’t.”

“Exactly. So things between you are already different because you have made that leap - in your heart, at least. You can’t unfeel what you feel...If you tell him, either you’ll be able to work through it and let it go, or the more likely thing will happen.”

“Which is?”

“You’ll be ridiculously and disgustingly happy together and unseat the Nolans for the Cutest Couple in Storybrooke title,” Elsa finished triumphantly.

Emma rolled her eyes, but her smile grew. “That is not possible. They’ve reigned for too long. Buuuuut...I think you’re right about the rest of it.”

“I know I am.”

Emma hesitated for a moment. “I’m scared, El.”

“Of what, exactly?” her sister asked, patience coloring her tone.

Emma had the feeling Elsa knew what she was going to say, but Emma forced herself to speak anyway. “I can’t lose him the way I lost Graham.”

Elsa was silent for a few moments. When she finally spoke her tone was serious, and her question, once again, was unexpected. “Do you regret being with Graham?”

“No!” Emma’s responded instantly. “But losing him was horrible and Killian...I know it’s not fair to compare them...but he means even more to me. I don’t know how I’d cope if we were together and he…”

Elsa nodded. “If you’d known what was going to happen, would you still have gotten involved with Graham?”

Emma sighed. “Of course. I’d never trade the time we had together.”

“I thought you’d say that,” Elsa said, her tone slightly smug. “So why wouldn’t that be true for you and Killian too?” Emma looked up to find her sister smiling at her through the screen. “The prosecution rests,” she said with a grin.

“Very clever, counselor,” Emma said with begrudging admiration.

“Thank you. Now, what are you going to do about Killian?”

Emma sighed again. “I don’t know. I’ve got to think of the right way to bring it up.”

“Well, personally I’d suggest blurting it at him and then tackle-kissing him,” Elsa teased.

Emma laughed, the tension starting to leave her body. “Just because that worked for Anna and Kristoff, doesn’t mean it’s going to work for me.”

“I know,” Elsa replied. “But whatever you decide to do...don’t wait too long. For both your sakes.”

February 23 - Early morning…

Emma left the house feeling upbeat, her conversation with Elsa the day before having instilled a new sense of determination in her to finally, finally talk to Killian about her feelings.

That determination lasted all of twenty minutes, and fizzled out abruptly when she approached Second Star after dropping Henry off at school. She’d planned on walking right into the bakery, grabbing her usual order, and confidently asking Killian if he wanted to get dinner that evening - somewhere other than Granny’s. Then at dinner she would tell him - she’d spent a lot of time the night before figuring out the best way to ease into it - and hope that Elsa was right and it wouldn’t ruin their friendship.

But as she walked up to the bakery, admiring the way the warm light from inside spilled out its wide front windows into the gray wintry bleakness of the overcast day, her steps slowed and then stopped.

What if Elsa’s wrong? It’s not like this is a gigantic town - we won’t be able to avoid each other...maybe this is a mistake. Being friends is good. It’s enough.

Except the moment she spotted Killian through the windows, emerging from the back room with a tray of freshly baked muffins, the warmth that shot through her system and the fluttering feeling that burst to life in her belly proved her a liar.

You can do this, Emma.

With that final internal pep talk, she closed the remaining distance to the bakery and pushed inside. The bell over the door jangled merrily as she entered and Killian’s gaze followed the sound. As soon as his eyes caught hers, he grinned. “Why Swan, to what do I owe this pleasure? I thought you were covering the early shift this morning.”

“I am,” she replied, “but you know me...the earlier I have to go in, the more I want bear claws to offset the pain of doing paperwork. Care to help a girl out?”

“You know it, Swan,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Emma fought the urge to moisten her own in response, biting her bottom lip instead. Killian moved towards the front case and grabbed a couple of the biggest bear claws, dropping them into a light blue bag emblazoned with the Second Star logo and handing them to her. “Should still be warm - I put them out just a few minutes ago.”

“Thanks,” she said softly, swallowing hard. This is it - now or never, Emma. “Hey listen, I was wondering if you were free-”

Before she could finish, the door swung open with such force its bell didn’t just ring, it nearly flew off. A gust of icy wind followed the entrance of a statuesque and elegantly dressed redhead who made a beeline for the counter without sparing a glance at Emma or bothering to close the door. “There you are, Killian darling!” she exclaimed in a lightly accented voice. “I’m just bursting with news!”

Emma felt her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He glanced in her direction briefly before responding to the other woman. “Good morning, Zelena,” he said quietly. “Lovely to see you again. Give me just a moment and I can give you my undivided attention.”

The woman - Zelena, Emma mentally corrected - whirled around, noticing Emma for the first time. A smile, bright but tinged with something a bit frightening around the edges, lit up her face before she turned back to Killian. “Alright,” she practically purred, “but don’t keep me waiting too long.” With that, she brushed past Emma and moved towards the corner table, gracefully sinking down into one of the chairs and pulling out her phone.

Emma looked at Killian, whose attention was still on the woman in the corner. She had no idea who this woman was or why she was treating Killian with such familiarity, but suffice it to say that the big moment she’d been gearing herself up for was gone. Gesturing to the door, Emma broke the brief silence that had fallen between them. “I, uh, actually do have to get going,” she said, “but I’ll text you later, alright?”

What looked like disappointment flickered across Killian’s face, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Zelena piped up, her voice piercing the silence. “Whatever you’re doing tonight, cancel it,” she said, her words clearly aimed at Killian. “We’re going to need to celebrate and I’ve got just the place in mind.”

Suddenly, Emma couldn’t stand being in the bakery for one more moment. Barely meeting Killian’s eyes, she muttered a quick goodbye and stepped out into the coldness of the day, the freezing air seemingly penetrating her heart instantly. She thought she heard him call her name, but didn’t stop or look back. She was finding it hard to draw breath and emotions she refused to name had tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

There’s probably a rational explanation. Killian would have told you if he were seeing someone new, she tried to reassure herself. Wouldn’t he?

The uncertainty followed her all the way to the station, and she had trouble concentrating for most of the morning. She was actually grateful for the call that came in just before lunch. It seemed the artistic vandal had struck again, this time down at the Cannery.

Thankful for anything to take her mind off Killian, she picked up her radio, let David know they had a case, and headed for the docks.

-/-

As Emma bolted from the bakery, not even stopping when he called after her, Killian’s heart sank. He’d been so glad to see her, but Zelena’s somewhat unexpected appearance and ill-timed interjections had thrown everything off. He needed the large contract she was offering him - supplying baked goods for the local chain of B&Bs she owned with her partner would have a huge impact on his business - but he wished she’d shown up at literally any other time.

Turning back to her after it was clear Emma was truly gone, he mustered up a smile and agreed to meet Zelena and her partner, Cruella, at a quiet restaurant near the waterfront that evening to sign the contract and - as she put it - “celebrate properly.” As soon as they’d confirmed their dinner plans, she whirled back out the door in a flurry of red curls and a cloud of expensive perfume. He was momentarily frozen in place as he processed the events of the morning before shaking himself out of his stupor.

Before he could meet Zelena he had to finish setting out the rest of the items he’d already baked that morning, and in the afternoon he and his head bakery assistant, William Smee, had to start on several special order cakes. But first, he had a very important errand to run. He finished putting the muffins into the front case and headed back to the kitchen.

“Smee,” he said loudly in an attempt to get the other man to look up from where he was piping thin streams of melted chocolate in elaborate shapes onto waxed paper. Smee didn’t respond and Killian belatedly realized he’d popped headphones in. “Smee,” he repeated more loudly, tapping him on the shoulder. Smee startled, smudging one of the chocolate designs with the side of his hand.

“Oh dammit,” Smee muttered, dropping the piping bag on the counter and reaching for a rag. Pulling his headphones off, he glanced up at Killian. “Was that really necessary?”

“Sorry,” Killian replied, “but I need to head out a bit earlier than planned for that errand. Wendy should be in soon to cover the front, but can you finish setting everything else out and keep an eye out in case there are customers before she gets here? I’ll be back after lunch and we’ll get going on the first of those orders.”

Smee nodded. “Sure thing, boss. Hey, would you mind bringing back-”

“A tuna melt on rye and a double order of fries?” Killian guessed, and Smee nodded again. “Not a problem. See you in a bit.”

Killian took off his apron and hung it on a peg by the back door before grabbing his jacket, keys, and a satchel filled with several canisters of spray paint. Pulling his hat out of his jacket pocket, he tugged it down over his ears as he shouldered the door open and stepped out into the cold, crisp air. Walking down the alleyway that ran behind Second Star, he moved with purpose in the direction of the waterfront.

He was about to take the next step in his plan to court Emma - he only hoped it worked.

-/-

Emma stared at the back wall of the Storybrooke Cannery, her mouth slightly open in awe. Writing scrolled across the entire back wall of the building in looping, elegant lines. She’d not been immediately familiar with it, but a quick websearch had revealed it was part of a Shakespearean sonnet.

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

She gazed at the words - lines of green and gold boxed them in like a frame - for a moment longer. There was something vaguely familiar about the swoop and swirl of the writing, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on where she’d seen it before. She turned to Eric Prince, the Cannery’s day shift supervisor, with a frown. “You’re sure no one saw who did this?”

Eric shrugged. “The first shift was in full swing and all my guys were on the line - it’s pretty quiet back here unless it’s lunchtime or shift change.”

Emma nodded. “Of course,” she said, feeling a bit defeated that once again she had nothing to go on. “Do you want to press charges when we find who did this?”

Eric looked at her, then up at the graffiti. “That’s not really up to me - I kind of like it. But you’re going to have to ask the owner.”

Emma sighed. Talking to old Mr. Svendsen, whose family had run the Cannery practically since Storybrooke had first existed, was not high on her list. (He was a sweet man, but getting on in years and notoriously hard of hearing - conversations with him tended to last forever and she just did not have the time). Still, she knew she had to see this through. “Alright,” she said. “Is he in his office?”

“Uh, yep.” Eric turned towards the building and Emma followed him inside.

Emma found, after a roughly half hour conversation, that Mr. Svendsen didn’t want was to press charges. He apparently liked the graffiti, and decided it gave the building a nice change of pace.

Shaking her head as she stepped back outside, she turned to look at the graffiti once more. “I’ve got to be missing something here,” she muttered. “Twice in a month? In this town? It’s got to be the same person...but no one wants to press charges. I don’t get it.”

“Talking to yourself, Emma? That’s not good,” David said with a grin as he came around the corner of the building.

“Ha ha,” Emma rolled her eyes. “I’m just frustrated this has happened again and we’re no closer to figuring out who’s behind it than we were the first time - and that the building owner doesn’t want to press charges this time either. I mean, it is a crime.”

“Well,” David said thoughtfully, “I see your point...but this isn’t the worst thing we’ve had to deal with on the job. It’s actually kinda romantic, isn’t it?”

“Not you too!” she cried, throwing up her hands in disbelief. “That’s practically the same thing that Eric and Svendsen said.”

“Well maybe we’re onto something,” he said with a grin, falling into step beside her as she headed back towards the cruiser.

“It’s more like you all have some kind of Valentine’s hangover,” she grumbled. “We’re supposed to enforce the law, David, not admire the work of vandals.”

“I know that,” he said jovially. “But we can’t do anything if the owners don’t want to press charges...besides, you’ve got to admit, that,” he pointed over his shoulder at the graffiti, “is not just vandalism...whoever’s doing this is really good.”

“I guess,” she conceded, though privately she did agree with David. “Still wish we had some clue to go on though.”

David looked at her thoughtfully as they got in the cruiser and backed out of the parking lot. “I think that’s the real root of the problem.”

“What is?”

“It’s not that this is - technically - a crime that’s bothering you,” he replied. “You’re more upset you can’t figure out who did it.”

Emma was silent for a moment before she groaned. “Okay. Yes. Fine. There are no real clues and no one will press charges so I feel like it’d be kind of pathetic if I keep investigating anyway, and the not knowing is driving me nuts, I’ll admit it. Okay?!”

“As long as you admit it,” David said, trying - and failing - to muffle his laughter.

“You are impossible,” she said, doing her best to inject a glare into her tone since she couldn’t take her eyes off the road long enough to actually look at him.

“Yeah, but I put up with you, so…”

“You’re just asking for it, aren’t you Nolan?” she replied, teasingly. “Well, just for that, you’re buying lunch,” she said as she parked near Granny’s.

They got out and headed towards the diner, David grumbling good-naturedly. As they reached the steps, the door swung open. Before Emma knew it, she was face to face with a slightly harried looking Killian.

After their encounter at Second Star earlier in the morning, Emma had hoped to have a bit more time to process her jumbled thoughts and emotions - but as she’d been actively trying to avoid thinking about how awkward it had been, she hadn’t actually dealt with anything she’d been feeling.

All of which led to more awkwardness now. They stared silently at each other for what felt like an absurdly long amount of time. Killian recovered more quickly, breaking their shared gaze and looking down at his feet for a moment before glancing back up at her. “Swan, I’m glad I bumped into you. You left so quickly this morning, I never got to explain-”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Emma cut in, acutely aware of the fact they were standing in Granny’s open doorway and David was only a couple of feet behind her. “I had to get to work, you had plans to make. We’re both adults,” she said, dropping her voice so David couldn’t overhear her. “Not everything we do has to revolve around each other’s schedule.”

She’d been aiming for breezy and unaffected, but her tone must have come off as slightly bitter, because Killian flinched before plastering on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Right, of course. I know that, but I rather enjoy spending time with you, Swan...and I’d hoped you did too,” he muttered, before raising his voice to a more normal pitch and addressing both her and David. “Got to head back now. Smee gets disgruntled if I don’t feed him regularly,” he joked, lightly shaking the bag of food he had clutched in his hand.

He brushed past her gently, giving her one last fleeting, emotion-filled glance before heading down the steps. She didn’t have time to react before he was gone and David was urging her inside.

She muddled her way through lunch, only half paying attention to David’s theories about the art vandal and his stories about what he and Mary-Margaret had done last weekend. She responded in the appropriate places, but part of her attention was elsewhere.

She was still thinking about Killian when they headed back to the station for the rest of their shift. As they walked into the office, Emma’s phone buzzed. Fishing it out, she was a bit nervous to see a text from Killian. But when she read it, the tension she’d unconsciously been carrying leached out of her body and a smile spread across her face.

KJ: Sorry if I was a bit rude when I saw you earlier, Swan. Big business dinner tonight - that slightly scary woman you met this morning is a new client who’s been keeping me on my toes.

She breathed a sigh of relief, which was quickly followed by a cringe of embarrassment - she couldn’t believe she’d been so ready to be jealous of someone who turned out to be a client of Killian’s. She was the one who owed Killian an apology for acting so strangely that morning - but she couldn’t really apologize without explaining why she’d been out of sorts in the first place, and confessing your undying love for your best friend over text message just seemed unbearably like something out of one of Mary-Margaret’s beloved rom coms.

ES: Nothing to apologize for - I was the one who got kinda short with you. Sorry about that, btw. Hope all goes well tonight. Tell me all about it soon. Lunch tomorrow?

His affirmative response came back nearly instantaneously, and Emma smiled. Her day was suddenly looking up, and tomorrow she’d have another chance to try to change things for the better between her and Killian. This time, she wouldn’t screw it up.

Late February-Early June…

Emma didn’t screw up that second chance with Killian - but it wasn’t due to any great show of bravery on her part.

Their lunch the day after their awkward encounter at Granny’s had been interrupted by Leroy, one of the workers at the town’s mine, getting into a fight with a group of bikers. Emma had had to dash out of the diner mid-lunch, apologizing profusely to Killian. He’d understood and they’d agreed to try for a movie night the following week.

But then Henry’d come down with the flu and Emma’d spent two weeks taking care of him and all thoughts of movie nights - and confessing feelings - were strictly off the table. When Henry was finally feeling better, it was Killian’s turn to be less available. The Easter season was always busy at Second Star, and ever since he’d signed the contract to be the main bakery supplier for Zelena and Cruella’s local chain of inns, he’d been flooded with work. He’d had to hire and train two new bakers just to keep up with the orders for the inns so he and Smee could focus on the rest of the bakery’s pre-existing workload.

In the middle of all of that, Elsa had spontaneously visited for Ingrid’s birthday in late April, and, in a move that pretty much confirmed Emma’s suspicions about the two of them, Liam had turned up for an extended vacation around the same time - he’d stayed until almost the middle of May. Killian had been grateful to have the time with his brother (not to mention another set of hands in the bakery - the pair of them had practically been raised in their aunt and uncle’s bakery in England. Liam was almost as skilled as Killian, even if he’d not pursued baking as a career), but by the time Liam had headed back home to London the spring had flown by.

Emma also had been pursuing the artistic vandal all over town. In March, the side wall of the flower shop, Game of Thorns, was painted with “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more,” from Jane Austen’s Emma. April saw the convent’s garden retaining wall get decorated with a portrait of a woman. Her face was mostly hidden, but her long golden hair seemed to float on an invisible breeze and her arm was outstretched. Most striking of all, she held a vibrant crimson heart in her hand.

In May, the artist (Emma had finally given up on calling him a vandal) was back to Shakespeare. This time it was a quote from Much Ado About Nothing - “I were but little happy if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours” - covering the sidewalk in front of the middle school. The words were outlined and embellished with golden flourishes, and followed by a pair of clasped hands, the fingers interlaced. Something familiar about that image tugged at the back of Emma’s brain, but it refused to cohere into a usable clue.

Emma was still frustrated she couldn’t uncover the artist’s identity - particularly since after the art at Game of Thorns and the convent, it had become clear that whoever this artist was, they intended these messages for her. A little voice in the back of her mind had wondered - at first - if she should be creeped out by that.

But there was just something about this art that was familiar. It made her feel warm and safe, as though the artist’s emotions were bleeding through the work, reaching out, and wrapping around her. It made her feel cherished - she couldn’t bring herself to take a cynical view of it. After several pieces had appeared around town, she created a photo array of them all at the station, and spent far too many hours staring at them when she should have been working.

(If a little voice in the back of her head insisted it was Killian...well, she chalked it up to her own wishful thinking and forced herself to set the thoughts aside).

The last several months had also wrought a difference in her relationship with Killian. Though they’d never really talked about the Valentine’s Day Near Kissing Incident, and the circumstances of their hectic lives had kept Emma from making another serious attempt to discuss her feelings with him, things had slowly and subtly shifted between them.

In the few times they’d been able to spend any significant time together over the past few months, they’d been far more tactile - Killian curling an arm around her shoulder at Ingrid’s birthday party, Emma looping her arm through his as they strolled through the park, his hand on the small of her back as they listened to Liam tell stories about his work, and on and on.

They were almost testing the waters of couplehood without explicitly discussing it - afraid if they examined what they were doing too closely, they wouldn’t have the courage to actually keep doing it.

Emma wasn’t sure what had prompted it, but she was definitely enjoying it - it had made her even more hopeful that when she finally got a damn moment to make her confession, it would be well-received.

But she was beaten to the punch before she could ever put her newfound resolve to the test.

First Saturday in June…

“Hey Mom?” Henry’s voice preceded him down the stairs of their apartment, his heavy footfalls thunking from his room to the kitchen where Emma was sitting at the table enjoying her morning coffee and flipping through the Storybrooke Mirror.

“Yeah, kid?” she replied, looking up as he plopped himself down across from her.

“Could we go to the library today? Like, soon-ish? There’s a couple of books I need for a project, and uh...I really need Belle’s help finding them,” he said, fidgeting as he waited for her reply.

“Why’s it so urgent?” she asked, raising a brow expectantly. She had a feeling that she knew what was coming - she just needed Henry to say it.

“I, uh, didn’t exactly start it as soon as I should and...I can get it done in time, don’t worry!” he reassured her, “but I need to go pick up these books today if I’m going to make it happen,” he said, flashing her his best i’m-cute-and-usually-better-prepared-than-this-so-please-don’t-punish-me-for-leaving-homework-till-the-last-minute-just-this-once grin.

After holding his stare for a moment, Emma shook her head and laughed under her breath. “Sure kid.” She had no doubt Henry would create something amazing, and it really wasn’t like him to leave things late, so she wasn’t worried it would become a habit. “But why do you need me to go? Usually, you head down there on your own.”

“Yeah,” Henry agreed, “but I was kinda hoping we could go to Granny’s for pancakes after.”

“Ahhh, now the truth is revealed,” Emma laughed. She pretended to think for a moment, but really, Henry had gotten to her the moment he’d said pancakes. “Alright, kid. Let’s go.”

-/-

Emma should’ve suspected something was up when - after they’d finally left the library and headed for the diner- she started getting slightly strange looks from the townsfolk. Everyone was smiling at her, and a few people gave her a thumbs up - most disturbingly, Leroy winked at her.

Shrugging it off and following Henry into Granny’s, she noticed her son was absorbed in his phone, texting with dizzying speed. “What’s up?” she questioned as they slid into a booth.

“Huh?” he looked up for a moment before his phone buzzed and he was engrossed again. “Oh, um, it’s just Avery...we’re trying to figure out plans for tomorrow. He was asking if I could come over for the afternoon. Can I, please?”

“Maybe. If you get that project finished first, okay. Do that and then we’ll talk.”

“That’s fair,” Henry said with a grin as the waitress arrived at their table.

“I’m glad you think so,” Emma said with a chuckle. They ordered and spent the time waiting for their pancakes to arrive chatting about what Henry had done in school the prior week and some of the plans they’d already been making for his summer vacation (which, according to Henry, couldn’t start soon enough).

It wasn’t until Emma was paying their bill that Henry’s phone started buzzing again. He looked at it briefly and fired off a text before they headed out the door. As they descended Granny’s front steps, Henry spoke again. “Mom, do you mind if we walk home by the park?”

“Yeah, sure...You still need to get to your homework as soon as we get home, but I don’t see why not as long as we don’t stay too long,” she agreed. “It’ll help work off the mountain of pancakes we just inhaled.” They turned in the direction of the park, enjoying the warm breeze and dappled sunlight as it fell through the trees lining the wide streets.

Though Emma began to regret agreeing to Henry’s suggestion as even more passers-by shot odd looks and smiles her way. Seriously, what is UP with everyone today?!

She didn’t have much longer to wonder. As they approached the park, Emma saw her name, painted in large, looping curls and swoops, stretching across the sidewalk in front of the main entrance gate. An arrow, outlined in gold, pointed down the walkway leading away from the gate, and she could just make out the clustered shapes of several hearts a few feet beyond that. “What?” she asked, dumbstruck. “Henry, did you know this would be here?” she glanced back at her son, who had stopped a few feet behind her.

Well, this certainly explains all the strange looks.

“Uh, maybe?” he replied sheepishly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yes, kinda,” he corrected. “Okay, yes.”

“Wait a minute,” she turned back to face him. “Do you know who’s been behind this? Have you known the whole time?”

“Look, Mom...but don’t you want to find out who’s at the other end of that path?” he asked. “I’m going to head home and get started on my project, and,” he continued, seeing she had opened her mouth to interject, “I’ve asked Mary-Margaret to come around and keep an eye on me - so don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Go!” he smiled at her encouragingly and shooed her towards the park entrance.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of telling me every single thing later, Henry David Swan,” she warned, though the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth made her words far less stern than she’d intended. He nodded and took off down the street as she turned back to the park entrance.

She gazed at her name again for a moment before stepping into the park and onto the path. As she followed the arrow to the cluster of hearts, her pulse accelerated and a sense of nervous excitement settled over her. A little further into the park, the path diverged and she looked around in momentary confusion before spotting more words painted on the left-hand path, the one leading towards the gazebo in the center of the park.

“This is it. This is life...” she murmured aloud, reading along with the words. There was something vaguely familiar about the phrasing - it tugged at her memory, and she must have recognized it on some subconscious level, because her pulse kicked up even further.

She followed the path a bit further and saw more words painted on the old, cracking asphalt.

“...And I'm in love with you...I think that's the only thing I've ever really been sure of in my entire life…” she whispered, again reading along with the text. Another group of hearts and another golden arrow followed that part of the quote, which she now recognized was from Garden State.

In that moment, she was certain.

She’d had her suspicions - and hopes - as to who the mystery artist was. But that quote cemented it. Her steps picked up speed as she headed for the last stretch of the path, looking ahead as she approached the gazebo.

There, stretching along the last section of the pathway, were the final words. “... I don't want to waste any more of my life without you in it.” Killian stepped out from under the roof of the gazebo, a small smile on his face. “Hello, Swan,” he murmured.

She didn’t stop moving, she didn’t slow down - in fact she sped up as she got closer to him, and when she reached him, she promptly punched him in the shoulder.

“Oi!” he cried, “what was that for?”

“It was you all this time?!” she shouted. “Do you know how crazy you’ve been driving me?!”

“I’ll have to admit, I’d envisioned you saying something like that - but in a decidedly different tone,” he muttered, wincing a bit and reaching up to rub at where she’d punched him. “Look...I realize this might’ve been a rather...elaborate...way of confessing my feelings...but you have to know, Emma. It’s you...it’s been you for quite some time now, and that’s not going to change.” He raked his hands through his hair, nerves visibly increasing as her silence continued. “I’m trying to say I love you, Swan, and thinking of how to tell you has been bloody terrifying-”

“So you decided to do it in the most public way possible?” she asked, finally finding her voice. “That was a big risk.”

“Aye,” he said, taking a few cautious steps closer to her. He reached out and cupped her face in his hand, his fingers sliding just into the hair behind her ear as his thumb brushed her cheek. “But you deserved the grandest of romantic gestures, love. I was willing to take the chance.”

Her arms wound around his waist as she stepped even closer to him, until there was really no space left between them at all. She took a deep breath. Here goes. “I love you, Killian. It was you...all this time,” she continued, her tone infinitely softer and laced with her abundant affection. She pressed up on her tiptoes, whispering, “do you know how crazy you’ve been driving me?” against his mouth before sealing her lips to his.

They sank into the kiss, their embrace growing closer and closer until Emma’s arms were draped over Killian’s shoulders and his were wrapped firmly around her waist. They had difficulty parting from one another, even when breathing became a pressing issue. They dove back in for kiss after kiss, becoming lost in each other.

It’s really amazing how different this is when you love someone so deeply, Emma thought hazily as Killian nibbled at her lower lip. She gasped sharply at the sensation, his tongue flicking out and soothing the spot before darting into her mouth to curl around her own. Just like that, their kiss took on another dimension, growing more passionate, hotter, wetter, and deeper - and Emma could no longer think at all.

Long moments later, they finally drew back, but kept their foreheads pressed tightly together. As they tried to regain their breath, Emma chuckled.

“What, love?” Killian said, a soft smile on his face.

“Oh, just...clearly Henry was in on this whole thing, I know that much now,” she said, pulling back to look at him. “But you’re going to have to tell me how you pulled all of this off without anyone wanting to press charges over any of the paintings...how much of the town was part of your master plan?”

“Well, love,” he said with a grin, taking every chance he could to use her new nickname. “That sounds like a perfect story for our first date.” He turned and started walking back up the path away from the gazebo, curling his arm around her shoulders when she fell into step next to him. “Can I pick you up tomorrow night at seven?”

She looked up at him, her face feeling like it would split in two from the force of her grin. “That sounds perfect.”

One year later…

The graffiti appeared once again, after another sleepy year in Storybrooke - but this time, Emma had no doubts as to its source. One morning when she opened the door of the seaside cottage she and Henry now shared with Killian, the simple question, Will you marry me, Swan? looped its way down the front walk to the welcome sight that was Killian, down on one knee, at their gate.

(His smile was bright, his cheeks were flushed, and while one hand held a very particular type of jewelry box, the other nervously tugged at the hair behind his right ear).

Killian grinned when she used her own can of spray paint (shoved in her hand by Henry before he’d nudged her out the door) to write her simple, but perfect, response right next to his knee.

Yes.

#cslb #cslb 2018 #cs ff #captain swan #ouat ff #my fic #the writing's on the wall #this has been a labor of love #and i'm intensely proud of it #and excited to share it #but also sad to realize it's really finished #it's a bittersweet feeling to be sure #but i'm really happy with how this fic turned out #and can't wait to see what you all think!!#enjoy!!!!!!!!

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onceuponataarna · 7 years ago

Text

Do Pirates Dream of Electric Swans?

Summary: Mills Mechanics has made a fortune producing Compandroids, remarkably lifelike androids that are nearly indistinguishable from humans and designed to be a perfect companion for the wealthy people who commission them. Built to the specifications of their respective owners, Emma and Killian are no exception to this, but still find themselves drawn to each other in a way that defies all logical explanation or programming. Haunted by a sense of loss even when happily living their separate lives, their circumstances have them returned to the factory headquarters at the same time, and they are astounded to discover that the face they’ve fallen for in their dreams is that of a fellow robot. If two lovers are made to be together, can anything truly keep them apart? Do you need a soul to have a soulmate?

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: explicit sexual content

Word count: 13,155

(Also available on ff.net and ao3)

Please make sure to check out the gorgeous art done by @hencethebravery and @youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat !

Author note: After months of work and stress, here it is, my contribution to the Captain Swan Little Bang 2018! What can I say? I love androids, and I’ve had this story kicking around in my head since at least 2016 or so, but just couldn’t find the time and inspiration to put it down in writing until joining the cslb gave me a deadline to push me through that block. I need to send a big thank you out to my amazingly supportive cslb beta, @branlovesouat and to @wordsmith-storyweaver and @krustybunny for their encouragement.

————

Just like that, She was everything. He didn’t know how else to express it. One moment he was just going through the motions as required and the next he felt. There was an awareness of her, that she was something beautiful, perfect, and rare. And she was looking at him the same way he was at her.

He heard a voice over the loudspeaker behind him, “Cognition is running on full auto and he’s attuned to the female.”

“Hey, there, buddy,” greeted the technician standing nearby with a tablet. “She is a stunner, isn’t she? Well, it’s your lucky day, cause I’m pretty sure she’s the one you’ll be paired with.”

The loudspeaker sounded again. “Looking that way. I’m just finishing up the compatibility studies but I don’t think we’ll have to get one out of storage. We can just test them together.”

“Should I wait to switch her over?”

“Nah I’m almost done here. You can go to physical and cognitive.”

He watched as the tech tapped various inputs into the tablet to turn the female’s automatic functions on, and marveled as she cocked her head and stared at him, mouth dropping open in surprise.

She’d never seen him before and yet, she had no doubt that he was the one. She didn’t know any truth more complete than that. His body, his heart, whatever he was, he was hers and she was his. God she needed to be with him- to know him, feel him and taste him.

The tech laughed at the two androids reactions, nudging the male with an elbow before turning to the female. “Looks like she’s into you too. Don’t go falling in love sweetheart. He’s just a fling.”

“You’re so weird, Jefferson,” the voice over the speaker asserted.

“August, come on. In a month they’ll be practically indistinguishable from a human,” the tech responded, checking a few measurements on his tablet as he spoke. “Why is my talking to them weird?”

The security guard by the room’s door and adjacent one-way mirror laughed quietly, earning him a glare. “I’m sorry, but you’d be weird even without the talking- you know that right?”

“Whatever, Dave. Anyway, he’s completely good to go. Give me 5 and she’ll be ready too. What’s the male’s name again? Kevin? No, Kieran?”

The speaker crackled to life. “Killian.”.

“I knew it was something with a K. Killian, meet Emma. Emma, this is Killian.”

Killian drank in the sight of the female before him, letting his memory catalogue the shade of her jade green eyes, the creamy paleness of her slightly freckled skin and the bright golden blonde of the hair that cascaded down her back. Classically beautiful in an old-Hollywood kind of way, she had been built to be lean, but undeniably feminine. God, she had truly been made to be both heaven and hell in one gorgeous package.

“Compatibility’s fully in the green on all measures, Jeff. I’ll start the physical tests while you finish her up, and then we can let them get acquainted while we grab lunch. David, you need to do anything before we go?” The blonde security officer shook his head, and moved to make a final sweep of the room as the engineer and tech continued their work.

Emma inclined her head politely, taking in the nude form of the fellow compandroid beside her. His face was a masterpiece with incredible bone structure, strong cheekbones and a devastating jawline only serving to draw attention to beautiful sky blue eyes. Undeniably male, the dark hair on his head, stubbled jawline and down his sculpted chest contrasted beautifully with his fair skin. Killian was defined but not overly bulky, and had the physique of an athlete rather than a man who spent hours in the gym. The tech was fully focused on her as August began his assessment, and as he turned, stretched, and bent when prompted, Emma couldn’t help but let her gaze drop to the other masterpiece of his build.

“Are you sure we can’t get them some clothes or something?” the security guard asked as he finished rounding the room and returned to the door. “They aren’t going to be naked all the time once they get to wherever they’re going.” Emma’s gaze snapped up, but he was looking up at the security camera.

“Millionaires pay good money to bang these things,” Jefferson responded. “Don’t kid yourself, Dave, that’s, like, 80% of why anyone buys them.”

David made a vaguely disgusted sound and left the testing room as the tech laughed, putting Emma through the same basic physical tests as her male partner. “They’re both all set,” he announced as he finished, tucking the tablet under his arm. “Go ahead and switch them over to full physical and cognitive auto.” He turned to the Compandroids, smiling broadly. “Alright you two. Go ahead and get acquainted. You’ve been cleared so just do whatever comes naturally and we’ll let you know if we need you to repeat anything or if we need to see anything else at the end of the week.”

August’s voice filled the room. “Mills Mechanics test 342: Killian for U.Z. and Emma for A.P. Cameras are rolling. Security is standing by.”

The technician signaled a thumbs-up to his coworker and jogged for the door, leaving the two androids alone. Tearing his gaze from the female- Emma, he thought, with a surge of warmth- he looked around their simple surroundings, noting that she was doing the same. The room was sparse, arranged to look like a studio apartment and containing simple furnishings as well as a few random items that seemed likely to appeal to specific programming that compandroids were often given. Foregoing the idea of heading towards the tiny kitchen, as neither really needed food to function, his attention snagged on the bed. No, there would be plenty of time for that, he hoped. A woman as beautiful as this deserved to be wooed.

“So,” she began, leaning against the back of a black leather couch and giving him a very distracting view of her lithe body. “Looks like it’s just you and me for a week, so we might as well get started.” She paused a moment before blurting out, “What’s your favorite animal?

He tipped his head back and laughed at the randomness of the question, moving to stand a bit closer as he accessed his memories. “Dogs. You?”

“Swans. You have an English accent. That’s a bit unfair, isn’t it?” She shrugged, nodding in his direction. “Your turn.”

“Alright. Favorite food? Mine is pancakes.”

“Rocky road ice cream,” she announced with a grin. “No question. Alright, favorite song?”

“Vissi d’arte from Tosca.” His brows drew together in slight confusion. “That seems strangely high brow and specific. Apparently I like opera. You?”

“In My Room by The Beach Boys. Brian Wilson is an artist and I won’t tolerate you saying otherwise, Mr. Opera.” She faked offense, but the secret smile she sent him warmed his heart.

Killian’s hands went up in a placating gesture. “Alright, lass, you’ll hear no argument from me.” Looking for inspiration to keep their game going, he moved towards a shelf along the back wall of the room, which contained books in a variety of styles and languages and picked up the first that caught his eye, a collection of poems by Robert Burns, as it turned out. “Hmm, ok, who is your… least favorite author?”

An adorably puzzled look crossed her face as she joined him in perusing the titles, their shoulders mere inches from brushing. “I’m… I’m not sure I have one. I’m certain that I like books, though. Why, do you have a least favorite author?”

She smirked as a blush crept across his cheekbones and tinted his ears pink. “It seems I find Roald Dahl’s works creepy?”

The laugh that bubbled out of her was unintentional. “Isn’t that a children’s author?”

“Aye,” he admitted, slightly put out. “What of it?”

“Nothing at all,” she assured him, making a show of letting her eyes wander over his broad shoulders and down his sculpted torso before landing lower. Biting her lip with a smile, she looked back into his eyes through her lashes. “You just, well, you certainly don’t look like a child.”

He preened a bit, finding that he didn’t mind his embarrassment as much when it could make her smile and clearly didn’t inhibit her attraction to him. “You’re welcome to look your fill darling. I’m designed to be aesthetically pleasing.”

“As am I,” Emma responded, swaying her hips as she gave a little twirl and walked over to the upright piano sitting against the adjacent wall, gently pressing a few keys. “Looks like I know how to play one of these things,” she said with a wry twist of her lips. “You get any hidden talents, Killian?” His blue eyes twinkled as he quirked a suggestive brow in response. “Any musical talents?” She clarified, shaking her head in amusement as he crossed the room as well and pulled out the bench for her, allowing Emma sit and position herself. She casually began to play as she continued to speak. “I don’t think it’s always a standard thing.”

Killian picked up the acoustic guitar leaning alongside the piano, plucking out a quick melody in harmony to the tune she had been playing a moment earlier. “Apparently I play guitar?” He responded, continuing to strum lazily as he exchanged Pachelbel’s canon in D for something new. “Alas my love you do me wrong to cast me off discourteously. For I have loved you so long delighting in your company.”

Without missing a beat, she continued where he left off, piano and voice joining with him as they sang. “Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves was my delight, Greensleeves was my heart of gold, And who but my Lady Greensleeves.” She chuckled then, shaking her head again in disbelief. “Of all the things, they gave us both a folk song?” She watched the faint blush return to his cheeks as he scratched behind his charmingly pink ear.

“Seemed a bit early for something more ambitious like Bizet’s Carmen. I had to improvise. Folk tunes seemed the most likely to be universal.” He smirked mischievously, leaning in slightly to stage whisper, “and it gave me an excuse to sing something romantic to you.”

Emma mirrored his pose, and he fought to keep his eyes on hers and not let them drop to her very kissable mouth or lower to the perfect breasts that remained exposed. “Doesn’t the lady reject her suitor in that song? I’d think you’d pick something with a happier ending if you had an end goal in mind.” He watched her eyes briefly flick down to his lips as she licked her own, and he was rather glad that certain parts of his anatomy were still covered by the wooden body of the guitar.

“Maybe the lovers reconcile in my version,” he whispered.

“I think I’d like that,” she murmured back, slipping from the piano bench to lean over him and place the gentlest kiss to his lips. No longer worried about modesty, he shoved the guitar aside, and she instantly deepened the kiss as he pulled her down into his lap and gave himself over to her. One of his hands wrapped around her back while the other buried itself in her long golden hair, an action that she repeated herself as her fingers scratched along his scalp. Holding herself back, she resisted grinding down onto the hardness she could already feel under her, wanting to simply enjoy the sensation of kissing this amazing male for a moment.

Pausing briefly, he pulled back to admire the female in his arms, letting his thumb trace the gentle curve of her jaw. “You are a bloody marvel, Emma,” he said quietly, hoping she could hear the sincerity in his voice.

“And you’re everything, Killian. Everything I could have hoped for.” In spite of the extensive vocabulary she’d been given, Emma found her words failing her and instead tried to convey what she felt with her body, wrapping her arms around his neck and pouring herself into her kisses. They’d barely known each other for an hour, but something about this male just felt right, like he was the other half of a puzzle she hadn’t even realized was missing a piece. From his actions and responses, it seemed clear that he felt the same way, and she wasn’t foolish enough to question their connection when he was busy working kisses down her neck and whispering tender endearments into her skin.

“God above, darling, you’re so beautiful, so brilliant. How are you mine?” He wondered aloud. He wanted her in every way, and something in him ached with a need to show her that the bond they had was, somehow, so much more than physical. Yes, he wanted to fuck her, but a simple coupling of these bodies was only the beginning. He wanted to know everything about her, to make her laugh and smile and share parts of himself that he didn’t even realize were there.

Lifting her into his arms, Killian gently carried her to the bed and laid her upon it, stretching out beside her as they kissed. His gentle reverence didn’t seem to add up, given how quickly they’d gone from strangers to this, but felt right nonetheless. Emma knew, somehow, that giving herself to killian would be an experience that surpassed physical pleasure and became something more. His kisses remained passionate as one of his warm, rough hands moved down her back to her hip, maintaining contact but staying a respectful distance from any of her more intimate areas. She could feel the coiled tension in his shoulders, in the way his fingers tightened but didn’t dare move inwards to where her impeccably designed body was wet and ready for him. Breaking their kiss, Emma stared deep into his eyes as she gently removed his hand from its perch on her side, smiling inwardly when his look of disappointment morphed into pure arousal when she moved it between her legs and rubbed herself against his fingers.

Bloody hell, she was so wet and warm, his cock automatically responding to her clear desire. Unlike humans, Compandroids’ bodies were capable of instantaneous arousal and infinite orgasms, but he didn’t want to rush this experience. They’d have all week to fuck each other into oblivion, but Killian had an intense and undeniable need to make love to Emma properly the first time he had her. Pressing a last searing kiss to her swollen, berry-pink lips, he inched lower on the bed to let his mouth join his fingers’ exploration, letting the heavenly music of her gasps and sighs ring out in the room.

————

David watched the two carefully from his seat in the observation room, as required by his position. Plenty of his coworkers seemed to have a strange fascination with sexual encounters between Compandroids, but part of why he’d been selected as head of lab security was because, most of the time, he just didn’t see the appeal. If he were honest with himself, he’d always found watching to be slightly uncomfortable, but this couple seemed different somehow. Paired Compandroids usually ended up in bed together eventually, but he’d never seen them connect this quickly or this passionately. It was far more like watching reunited lovers than two robots who’d never come into contact before today. The bond between these two seemed disturbingly real.

He’d always wondered about the morality of what they were doing; synthetic or not, there was something unsettling about creating beings that were little more than glorified slaves for the wealthy. The company justified it with data that showed human sex trafficking had decreased with the creation of Compandriods, and the base models were little more than elaborate sex dolls. Of course, the high end models like the two being tested today were another story entirely, programmed to have the full spectrum of human emotion but unable to act against their owner’s wishes.

Until this moment, though, it had never been more than a passing thought that crept into his mind when they shipped out a new custom-built deluxe model. He’d never witnessed anything that confirmed his suspicions in his five years managing the security for newly ordered Compandroids. He’d never seen one scared or angry or even truly delighted, and any doubts had been erased by the fact that his Mills Mechanics salary had allowed him to afford the perfect ring for his (hopefully) soon to be fiancé. Watching them stare into each other’s eyes with all too convincing passion, David began to worry that he’d been right to question their work all along.

————

If this was what orgasms felt like, well, Emma wondered how humans got anything done. Her entire body arched off the bed as she came again, a giddy laugh escaping her lips when she met Killian’s lust-addled gaze. If his mouth felt this good, she could only begin to imagine how actual sex would feel.

God, she needed more of him now.

He crawled up her body, lips meeting hers in a deep, desperate kiss as he settled between her thighs. “Fuck, Emma. You’re so god damn beautiful. I want you with every fiber of my being,” he confessed, his hard length adding further emphasis to his words.

“But, I have to reciprocate first!” She argued, her excuse cut off by another sloppy kiss.

“Next time,” Killian promised, the look in his intense blue eyes promising a week of endless carnal pleasures. “I just, I really don’t want to wait to be inside you, love. If you don’t have any objections, that is.”

Wrapping her legs around his slim hips, she pulled him into the cradle of her body, feeling him respond to her enthusiastic cue as he let himself sink in inch by delicious inch until he was fully sheathed inside her, little pants escaping his lips as he shuddered. “Bloody hell,” he gasped, struggling to find his voice. “Fuck, Emma, you feel so good around me. Better than I’d even thought possible.”

She couldn’t disagree, the pleasure of joining with Killian so much more intense than she had been prepared for. He thrust experimentally, and they both shivered, nearly overwhelmed by the intensity. “More,” she begged, peppering him with frantic kisses anywhere she could reach. “God, please, Killian, make love to me.”

Their eyes met again, her words registering for a moment as he smiled almost boyishly, and then his mouth was on hers and he was gone, they were gone, utterly lost in the pleasures of each other.

————

They spent their first days alternating between random discussions and more intimate activities, exploring each other in every possible way. Although there were obvious differences in their programming, everything about them seemed strangely synchronized, and as the days passed, Emma found herself wondering if Killian could be any more perfect. He had his flaws of course, like his distaste for onion rings, but even those were charming in their own way. What surprised her even more was that he seemed to feel the same, and though he would shake his head at the sometimes unusual preferences she had been given, he still claimed to quite fancy her.

She would be lying if she said she didn’t feel the same way.

On their third day, Killian spent hours reading to her from his favorite books, always making sure to find the most romantic lines to quote. She rolled her eyes every now and then, but the rosy blush on her cheeks was more than enough encouragement to continue. As they lounged on the bed, Emma curled into his side as they snuggled under the blankets, he honestly wondered if there could be any place in the world better than right where he was. What surprised him most was how little that thought seemed out of place, given what little time they’d had together.

As he made his way through Wuthering Heights, he came upon the line “whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” The truth of that, the sentiment behind it, echoed through him as he gazed down at the beauty in his arms.

“I’ll never read this without thinking of you. I don’t know how or why,” he admitted, “but from the moment I first saw you, I have been utterly enchanted. It’s as if we were meant for each other.”

“I bet you say that to all the artificial girls,” she deflected, averting her eyes. “I know what you mean though. I felt the same way. It was like someone turned on a light. Suddenly you were there and everything changed.”

“I don’t think this is programmed Emma.” He said, tracing the curve of her cheek with his thumb. “I think it’s just us. There’s something special between you and me, beyond just following through on the mandate to interact.”

“We understand each other,” she agreed, snuggling deeper into his side. “Even if you were given horrible taste in movies.”

He snorted, digging his fingers into her ribs until she giggled. “You only know my taste is horrible because you were given incredibly pretentious taste, lass. Neither one of us has actually seen a single film, so pardon me if I don’t take your criticism all that seriously.” A gentle kiss to the crown of her head, he returned to the book and it’s ill-fated lovers.

Another few days, and Killian knew beyond any doubt that what he felt for Emma was love. it was an all consuming thought: he loved her without restraint, loved everything about her. A lifetime with her was all that he wanted for himself, and as the harsh reality of their limited time together began to close in, he started to plot ways they might escape their seemingly inevitable fate. It had obviously been wearing on her as well, if her desperate kisses and the way she held him as they made love were any indication of her feelings. Still, even if their time together was limited, she deserved to know how much he cared, and in the still, silent darkness of the night he confessed in a whisper.

“I love you, Emma.”

He heard her shaky intake of breath as she clung to him, and her whispered “and I love you. I’ve known it for days. Killian, what are we going to do? I don’t want to lose you and we only get a week,” she continued, vocalizing many of the dark thoughts that had tormented him as well. “How is that fair?”

“It’s not.” He smoothed her hair back with a gentle caress, looking into her eyes as he placed the softest kiss to her lips. “Nothing about this is fair, and yet I wouldn’t trade knowing you for the world. Our time together and what you’ve brought into my life has been a gift I never expected to receive. We may only have two days left together, but I will never stop loving you.”

“We should run. Go somewhere they’ll never find us and just live our lives together.” A sob broke her last word, and he wiped away the traitorous tear that ran down her cheek before it could drip onto the bedding.

“We should,” he agreed. “Any ideas?”

The subtle hum of the cameras continued as they talked well into the night.

————

After six days of watching Emma and Killian, David knew there was something different about them. Their connection was unlike any he’d seen in his 5 years of monitoring these trial weeks, which is why he was only slightly surprised when August came in, visibly flustered and annoyed, and whispered that David should call in some backup. The research team had been reviewing the previous night’s recordings, and had seen interactions between the couple that were far outside what was dictated by their programming, noting that the frequency had only escalated as the days passed. Mills had demanded they end the test early and separate them under the pretense of wanting to check a few settings, before things got any worse.

David’s stomach lurched as he called out on his walkie for aid and prepared to enter the room.

————

Emma woke to the sound of Jefferson entering the test room, and smiled politely at the tech through her momentary confusion. He gave her an overly bright smile before announcing, “Just here to check a few settings. Sorry to bother you, but it’ll only take a minute. Could you two get up and move apart? We think your sensors are interfering with each other or something cause I haven’t been getting a good reading the last few days.”

Killian ran a hand through his dark hair, rising and following the technician to a location marked with a small X on the wall opposite the door. “Great, thanks Killian,” he said, a slight tremor in his voice. “I’m just gonna hook you up and we’ll see what’s going on.” The cold metal of a containment cuff snapped around Killian’s left wrist, and he was about to make a filthy joke about it when he saw the door open and a team of security guards entered alongside several other men and women in lab coats. His eyes snapped to Emma, who was being escorted from the bed and towards the door, rather than to the containment cuff attached to the adjoining wall. The horrible realization hit as fear sluiced down his spine, stealing every thought but one as Emma stiffened and turned toward him, panic in her gorgeous green eyes.

“What are you do… NO!” She screamed, turning towards the far wall to see Killian had come to the same conclusion. “Killian! They’re taking me away!” She fought against the security guards who had grabbed her, unable to injure them thanks to her programming but trying instead to slip free of their grasps. Thrashing wildly, Emma turned with tears in her eyes to Jefferson as he immediately backed away from Killian. “You promised us a week! We still have another day! Please!”

“Emma!” Killian bellowed, pulling against his restraint. “Get your hands off of her!” She would be dragged from the room and out of his life without so much as a chance to say goodbye or tell her what she meant to him. There was no way for her to break free without causing damage to one of the humans, but he realized with sudden clarity that all that lay between him and Emma was the band of steel around his left wrist. It was a surprisingly easy decision. Reaching down with his free hand, Killian brutally snapped his forearm in two, tearing through the layers of synthetic tissue until he was free. He crossed the room in mere seconds, grabbing her face in his remaining hand and kissing her one last time as the entire room froze in shock. “I’d rather have 6 days with you than live without knowing you, Emma, and no matter what they do to me, I know a part of me will never forget you. I love you.”

The blonde security officer holding her right arm adjusted his grip to her shoulder, allowing her to wrap her arm around Killian and hold him close. She could taste tears on her lips, and his, as she whispered, “I love you too, and we will meet again, somehow, someday. I will find you.”

Cora Mills burst into the room, heels clacking as she screamed, “What the hell is wrong with all of you? Put him down and get her out of here.”

Emma fought as another guard brutally wrenched her away, watching in horror as an additional security officer moved in and hit Killian with a jolt from a restraining rod that instantly took him offline. “Nooooo!” Emma screamed, feeling like she was being ripped in two as they dragged her out the door. “Killian!”

————

There were days that David really hated his job, and this was one of them. He flinched as his harpy of a boss screeched out her orders, redoubling his efforts to subdue the inhumanly strong female in his arms as she clawed towards the male lying motionless across the room.

An elbow to his gut swiftly brought his musings to an end, and as he focused again on the tear stained face of the beautiful model in his arms, who continued to cry out in tones laced with despair and desperation, he decided a transfer would be the next paperwork he filed. Working in the loading docks would be less glamorous, but watching the male literally disconnect an arm in his effort to reach the sobbing female was a sight he never wanted to experience again. He suddenly felt a deep sense of regret, and knew the whiskey bottle would be calling his name tonight.

They were robots, he knew, but even so, he couldn’t help but wonder- did you really need a soul to have a soulmate?

————

David sat in the control room an hour later, the bone-deep exhaustion that followed a surge of adrenaline pulling at him as he monitored the post incident huddle. The cup of coffee in his hands had gone cold, but gave him a distraction from the tense argument in the room between the business end of the company and the brilliant product developers responsible for making their products function.

“What do you want me to say?” August asked, his usually calm demeanor laced with frustration. “I ran all the usual diagnostics per protocol before I started. They’re considered compatible.”

“Compatible?” Cora Mills keyed up the details of the analysis on her tablet, stabbing at the compatibility rating with one of her crimson-lacquered nails as she showed the room the results. “Compatible doesn’t even begin to cover it. The only way they’d score higher would be if you paired two of the same damn model, which, may I remind you, could never happen with our deluxe models because we only make one of each!”

David studied the screen, where 99.999% flashed in bold red; despite the staggering differences in their programming, the two Compandroids were a perfect match on every level.

Mills placed her hand against her forehead, briefly composing herself before returning to the issue at hand. “We will deal with the aftermath of this later. In the meantime, you need to get those two finished and prepped for shipment. Wipe their memories, twice if needed, to erase every trace of this, and reload their programming from scratch.

“But Ms. Mills!” interjected one of the designers, who looked almost giddy in contrast to the rest of the room. “This is something completely unheard of. They were developing new behaviors and emotions we can’t even begin to code yet and bypassed key elements of their programming to get back together. Surely we can take a few extra days to study what happened. It may be breakthrough. Imagine! Androids with real, independent consciousness!”

“This isn’t a senior research project, Dr. Whale, it’s a business,” she snapped. “We’re here to sell people their perfect companions- which are things, in spite of how they outwardly appear. Other people can disappoint you, but part of the beauty of our creations is that they don’t have that capacity. We give them the illusion of free will of course, to make them more authentic, but that is it. Why would we even want to incur the risk of anything more? Now, everyone, fix it!” She turned to leave in a swirl of barely contained rage, calling over her shoulder as she left the room, “And for god’s sake check the numbers a little more carefully next time. I won’t have a repeat of this incident.”

————

Emma blinked rapidly in the bright light of a sterile exam room. It was so cold in here, and she didn’t recognize the faces of any of the people around her. Where was she? Where was… “Killian!” She felt panic grip her as she scanned the room again. “Where is he? Is he ok? Please, tell me he’s alright!”

“Shit,” one of the men with a lab coat cursed. “That didn’t work at all. Ok two memory wipes isn’t enough for her either. How about him? Does he still remember?”

Another man spoke, and she recognized him as August, the engineer she’d heard over the loudspeaker. “He’s better after two. He can’t remember her name but he definitely remembers a beautiful blonde. He’s not sure if she’s some kind of dream girl he conjured up or a past romance. I guess it’s an improvement. I think we better wipe them all one more time just to be sure. Three times for each should do it. God only knows what kind of trouble it’ll start if they mention each other or, hell, go off searching for one another.”

Emma just stared at the room, panic gripping her like a vice until one of the engineers came over with a tablet, sitting in front of her. “Emma, dear, calm down. Killian is ok. He’s just in another room.” He showed her a video feed from a similar room, where Killian lay on a table, his arm reattached and looking so handsome and perfect that she wanted to cry. The man watched her reaction, eyes jumping from her to the screen and back again as he mumbled, “I still think erasing your memories is a mistake. You two are the biggest breakthrough in AI that we’ve ever seen.”

“No, please, don't” she pleaded. “I love him. Let me just see him. I have to know he’s ok.” She rose, pushing the men out of the way as she ran for the door. If she could just find him, maybe they could escape after all. Maybe she could make him remember her.

“God damn it, Victor! Not again!” August yelled, and then everything went dark.

————

The next time Emma opened her eyes, the face staring into hers was strangely familiar. “Arthur?” She questioned, confirming that the handsome middle aged man in front of her was indeed the man she had been designed for.

His answering smile confirmed her assessment, though a touch of sadness infused everything about him. She knew everything about this man, and though she didn’t truly know him yet, she hoped that she could make him happy. Arthur Penn, founder of the Pendragon Tech company, had come into wealth and success early in his life when his inventions had revolutionized computers and technology, making him a household name. He and his equally photogenic wife had been staples in both business and politics, championing causes and companies they believed in while raising their family. Nobody could have predicted her sudden death at only 55, or his immediate retirement and retreat from the public eye that followed; his son had successfully taken over the company in his absence, though Emma knew the two rarely spoke.

He ushered her out of the large wooden crate she’d arrived in and into his cozy living room, sitting beside her on the couch as he stared into her jade green eyes in the low firelight. “I’d hoped they could make me a companion who would remind me of the good old days, someone like Grace Kelly, but you, Emma, are far more than I’d ever hoped for.” He reached a tentative hand towards her, hesitating before turning her chin this way and that, admiring the craftsmanship that went into Mills Mechanics finest products. “I have been alone for nearly a year, and I'm… I’m not ready for what lies outside my door, not yet. But I hope that, perhaps, spending my days with you might help me.” He closed his eyes, brow furrowing as he struggled to contain his emotions, and she leaned over to place a tender kiss to his cheek. His soft, shaky sigh in response let her know that her programming had indeed prepared her for a life with this broken, brilliant man.

The weeks passed easily, and their early steps towards familiarity quickly led to a relationship based on a shared love of art, technology, and literature as she filled his lonely days with conversation and companionship. It was a gentle affection, rather than passion and romance, but it was genuine and most days she contented herself with knowing that she made Arthur’s life immeasurably better. They were more akin to friends or perhaps even a father and daughter for the first two months, until the day that he leaned over and brushed a kiss to her lips at the end of Gone with the Wind. She could see in his eyes what he needed from her, and let him lead her to his elegant bedroom for a gentle coupling that was in truth closer to making love than anything else, though he would never call it that. It was a shared moment, a renewing of their bond, something she couldn’t describe as exhilarating or passionate, but rather two friends giving each other comfort and pleasure. He’d already had the great love of his life, and while he undoubtedly enjoyed his days with Emma and cared for her, she would never replace his dear departed Gwen.

That night, while Arthur slept peacefully beside her, Emma dreamed. She dreamt of eyes bluer than the clearest sky and love deep as the ocean, passionate and unrestrained. She dreamt of his hands on her skin, of his mouth, of their bodies joined as he made love to her and moaned her name long and dirty into her ear. Waking with a start, Emma could only assume it was her prior activity that had conjured up such odd images and sensations, as she had no memories to speak of before Arthur. Perhaps someone had made an error in her programming, she thought, though she wasn’t sure if she hoped she could forget the dream or if she wanted to treasure it.

She dreamt of this unnamed, beautiful, passionate man every time she and Arthur were intimate, usually every week or two, but otherwise lived happily with him. After nine months, he took her on their first trip outside his sprawling estate, having his driver drop them off at a small bookstore in the nearby town for an hour while he browsed the shelves. It was a simple, unhurried outing, but a massive step for a man who had sequestered himself away out of grief. A week later, they had a late lunch at a small cafe, and a few days later went into the city to hear Juilliard students perform. With each passing week, she watched Arthur find himself bit by bit, the culmination of which was a final, face to face meeting with his son Martin about a year after Emma’s arrival. Martin was surprised and, it seemed, a bit disturbed to discover his father had bought himself a Compandroid, not understanding why he had refused the comfort of another human.

“Marty, I wasn’t in any shape to be out there after your mom passed,” Arthur explained, taking his son’s hand across the oak kitchen table where they’d settled. “She was my inspiration from the beginning, and I didn’t know how to go on without her. You were grieving and I’d just dumped the whole company in your lap- I couldn’t burden you. I didn’t want to exploit some poor woman just to have my emotional and physical needs met, and Emma here has helped me to find joy again without me having to worry if I’m hurting her or leading her on. I’m not looking to date again. I just… I mostly just wanted a friend.”

The explanation, it turned out, was enough, and Arthur began calling his son regularly, asking about his grandchildren and making plans to visit them in San Francisco. He brought Emma on the first trip, explaining her away as his new assistant, but began leaving the house alone more and more, eventually going as far as making a second and third visit to California without her. By two years into her time with him, Emma could see the end coming even before Arthur did, and couldn’t be sad when he finally decided to sell the mansion, return her to Mills Mechanics, and move to live near his son and his family. He apologized to her, genuinely regretful, but he admitted that he would only use her as a crutch if he brought her along, and he felt it was time for a new beginning. She smiled at him through the burning in her eyes as they joined together one last time, and wished him every happiness when she kissed his cheek and boarded the transport truck for her return to the factory.

————

“Holy shit, are you kidding me?!?”

Bright light and a shriek of delight met Killian when his crate was opened, finally providing some context for the muffled sounds of revelry that had filtered through to his auditory processors for the last hour. “Happy Birthday, Sweetheart,” came a man’s deep voice to his left. “I know you were upset when your mom and I said no dating while you’re at Julliard, but…”

“No way! You got me a Compandroid so I can focus on my singing but still kind of have a boyfriend.” Her dark eyes sparkled as she assessed him, her smile growing. “Oh my god he is SO hot.”

Sensing his cue, Killian rose from the crate’s built in chair and stepped forward, lifting the girl’s hand to his lips and brushing a kiss to her knuckles. “It’s lovely to meet you, Sula.”

“He has an accent!” She squealed, bouncing slightly in excitement. “Can I please take him back out to the party? I really want to show the girls!”

“Of course honey,” her mother cooed, mirroring her daughter’s wide smile. “Happy 18th Birthday.” Her mom and dad wrapped their arms around her, which she returned enthusiastically before grabbing Killian’s hand and yanking him towards a set of doors that ended up leading into a nightclub that was lavishly decorated for the girl’s birthday in golds and purples.

“So wait, do I have to, like, name you?” She asked, turning wide eyes towards him as they maneuvered through the crowd.

“You certainly can if you’d like, though I go by Killian at the moment, lass.”

“Killian? Nope, not gonna change that. It’s perfect.” She looked around, watching her classmates’ jaws drop as they took in the handsome man on her arm. “Shit, actually, you’re perfect.” A faint blush colored her cheeks as she leaned closer to him, whispering, “Oh my god, can I have sex with you?”

He smirked slightly at her excitement and raised a mischievous brow. “Well, I wouldn’t recommend doing so here, darling, but yes, and I’d be happy to give you a very thorough demonstration of all of my many, many talents later.” She squirmed a bit, her blush deepening. “I’m fairly confident that after a night with me, these mere boys will no longer be even a momentary temptation. Now, unless you’d like to find us somewhere private right this moment, why don’t we continue on to your friends?”

Sula’s parents had rented her an apartment just a few blocks from the school. Not wanting to flaunt her family’s wealth any more than necessary, she’d let everyone assume Killian was just her live in boyfriend. While Sula studied to be the world’s next great operatic soprano, he’d cook and clean and otherwise maintain the place for her during the day, then listen to her practice and provide her with whatever pleasure she desired once she arrived home. His devotion to her wasn’t exactly based on love; she liked him well enough, but he knew full well that she thought of him as more of a pet than a person. Still, she was so focused on achieving her goal that his presence served its purpose. Compared to his dashing good looks, manners, and undeniable prowess in bed, the other boys in her classes didn’t stand a chance.

Ursula Zeddmore could be described in many ways, including beautiful, driven, wealthy, and well-educated. Killian adored everything about the vivacious young woman. Her voice, however, was beyond words. Even before she’d begun studying with some of the finest teachers in the world, her talent had been obvious, but the months of training had enhanced and matured the classical soprano’s sound until hearing her sing could honestly be described as life changing, and indeed, sometimes was. Killian would tidy up the kitchen as she practiced each night, and would find himself humming whatever lovely piece she’d been practicing well into the next day, though the song always somehow morphed into Greensleeves by noon. He figured it was a minor flaw in his programming, but he had a fondness for the tune and was strangely comforted every time the old folk melody floated into his head.

It was less than a year into her education that Sula met Antonio at one of her recitals. An unimposing man in his mid 30’s, he’d approached the soprano afterwards, introducing himself to both her and Killian and complimenting her on her absolutely breathtaking rendition of Sempre Libera before asking if she might be interested in working with him. She’d politely declined, but accepted his card and stopped him when he made to walk away, waving her phone as she pointed to the browser’s google results. “You’re Antonio Sforza? The composer? I saw your Elizabeth I at the Met just last year!!” Clearly smitten with her, he’d brushed off her earlier dismissal with a laugh, and they’d immediately made plans to meet the following week to work on his newest opera, a modern retelling of the story of Cleopatra.

Killian could provide her with almost everything a young woman could want, but even he couldn’t stop the two musical virtuosos from falling in love. Within weeks, the composer had left his wife and declared the beautiful girl his muse, writing his opera to showcase her remarkable voice. Sworn to secrecy, Killian continued to live alone in the apartment until she finally broke the news to her parents a few months later, explaining that what she had with “Tony” was real, and that she’d continue her studies but would be marrying the brilliant, famous composer as soon as his divorce was finalized. Sula’s parents remained skeptical but agreed to send Killian back to Mills Mechanics at their daughter’s insistence. Though he knew the whirlwind love affair was likely doomed, a small part of Killian admired and envied the two. His attachment to Sula Zeddmore was removed as he was collected for transport, and he spent the ride back to the factory imagining his own passionate love affair with a breathtakingly beautiful blonde, set to the tune of Greensleeves.

————

Neal Cassidy was a professional gambler who was used to both wealth and all the trappings that came with it, and what better way to flaunt his fortune than with his very own custom-refurbished Compandroid. “Damn,” he’d breathed, scanning every inch of her before his gaze met hers. “You really are perfect. You even have green eyes just like I wanted.” She’d been programmed to love him, of course, just as all of her kind were, and to do whatever he asked of her without question. After all, “Your Perfect Companion” was what Mills Mechanics boasted, and Emma felt a rush of pride at his satisfied assessment.

The first year passed happily, and at the time, Emma had been thankful that the engineers and programming geniuses who’d designed her had found a way to give her emotions, as she felt overjoyed to belong to the charismatic man by her side. He would flirt with other women, but she didn’t worry because she knew it would be difficult to replace her. After all, she was perfect.

Neal had never been shy about parading around his “custom-made girlfriend,” going as far as to take her to fancy parties as his date. Many of his poker buddies envied him, always wanting more information about what she was like. Was she really everything the company claimed? He’d never held back, answering all their questions readily as he boasted that she was far better than any “real” woman he’d had. Most of the time, Emma honestly didn’t mind that his feelings towards her didn’t include love, but every so often she would get a strange, secret feeling that she couldn’t describe, like there was something missing from her life. At first, she’d thought it was a desire to be loved by Neal, but as the months passed she knew that wasn’t it; whatever she was looking for, it was something that even Neal couldn’t provide. In an odd way, it sometimes seemed like even her habit of rereading romantic classics like Wuthering Heights was related, and it felt a bit cruel to her that she’d be programmed to feel so empty in the absence of love. Still, whatever it was that caused the emptiness in her, it was irrelevant, and she tried to ignore it and enjoy her life with Neal, which continued to be a whirlwind of excitement, until his luck ran out. At first, he sold off the things he didn’t truly need: the Maserati, the penthouse in Miami, the expensive watches he never wore. Though she was one of his most valuable possessions, Emma tried not to fear she would be next. She was far too precious to him, he’d said, and he’d never sell her. It was only when the unpaid bills continued to mount that she learned he wasn’t as attached to her as he seemed. Eager to avoid prosecution, he drove off early one morning with the majority of his remaining wealth and never returned, leaving her alone in the empty house until she was repossessed four months later by Mills Mechanics to be refurbished, have her memory wiped again, and to be sold off to a new owner. She didn’t want to go, but of course, those emotions were overruled by her programming; Emma found herself wishing for the first time that she’d never been given emotions at all.

The driver who arrived to bring her back to the factory seemed gruff, but there was a hidden tenderness in him. “Easy, sister,” he murmured gently as he surveyed her empty living quarters with disgust and barely hidden anger. “I’m Leroy, and I’m here to take you out of here.” Wrapping a blanket over her shoulders to cover the silk negligee she was still wearing, he escorted Emma from the dismal apartment to a simple cushioned seat in the back of the transport truck. With the quick input of a few codes, she was free of the tether to an owner and wept quietly as they pulled away towards their next stop, denied even a simple goodbye from the man who had once owned not only her body but her heart.

————

Killian had been purchased next by a middle-aged divorcee. She’d wanted a handsome young stud to travel the world with, and a Compandriod had been the perfect solution- a man who would love her unconditionally, and not care a bit about the substantial fortune she’d received when her insanely successful husband had divorced her for a younger woman. Killian didn’t care about the fine lines that had begun to form on her face or that her body wasn’t as tight as it had been before having a child. He didn’t find her independence intimidating or her occasional temper unattractive. He was programmed to love her, and from the moment he laid eyes on Milah Gold, that is exactly what he did. Milah never told a soul that he wasn’t “real”, introducing him as her charming new boyfriend and treating him like a human man nearly all of the time. Sometimes, Killian wondered if he would have loved Milah even if he hadn’t been programmed to do so. She was so full of life, so determined to make every moment count. She’d take him shopping and dress him in the latest fashions, always making sure to show off his well-constructed physique and smirking at all the customer service attendants who eyed her with blatant envy when he pulled her close and kissed her breathless. He would pleasure her in bed for hours, reveling in every gasp and moan as she told him how amazing he felt, how perfect he was, and how much she loved him back.

It was so easy to forgot that he was merely a Compandroid when he was with Milah, and even his basic programming seemed to respond to the way she treated him, giving him new human characteristics. The dreams were the most obvious and troubling. At first, he found himself having the occasional sexual fantasy about a gorgeous blonde woman who was very clearly not Milah, waking hard and aroused. Soon after those started, he had nightmares as well, dreaming of this same blonde being pulled from his arms and crying out to him in despair. He hid the nature of the dreams, unsure as to why this strange beauty would be in his head when he already had someone as amazing as Milah in his life, but tried not to dwell on them too much. After all, this fantasy woman may have looked like some random actress from a classic movie, but she wasn’t real. Milah was a woman, flesh and blood. It all ended so quickly that it was still hard for him to understand. They’d returned from a week in Bali, and Milah’s bright laugh echoed off the polished marble floor as she pulled him into their apartment, her skin tanned and still smelling of the coconut sunscreen she wore as she kissed him. Their homecoming was interrupted by a cough, and they turned to find her ex-husband standing at the top of the staircase, casually perusing the Comapandriod paperwork that had come when Killian had originally been delivered a few years before. “So, this is what you’re into nowadays, Milah?” he scoffed, tossing the binder over his shoulder. “You always were a bit heartless- makes sense that you’d want a man without one as well.”

“Get the hell out of here, you bastard!” she’d yelled, launching herself towards him as Killian followed cautiously. “This isn’t your home anymore. Go back to your pretty little wife, and leave us alone.”

“Us?” he’d laughed, a sneer on his face. “You mean you and the glorified sex toy? Don’t tell me you’re delusional enough to love this… thing!“ He’d pushed Killian out of the way, and damn his programming, but it wouldn’t allow him to harm a human- even one as vile as the man before him. “Jesus, Milah, what other ridiculous shit have you been up to?”

Milah left Killian at the top of the steps and followed, stopping in front of her ex-husband and yanking on his arm as he turned away dismissively. “Get out of my house, Richard, or I’m going to call the fucking cops.”

“Call the cops on me, in the house I bought you?” He yelled, spinning to face her as he threw his arms wide in agitation. The movement caught her off balance, and she stumbled backwards, losing her footing and tumbling down the stairs. “No! Milah!” Richard cried, reaching out in desperation as Killian rushed past him in an effort to catch her before she hit the bottom. The sickening crack of her head hitting the marble floor echoed in the room as both men dropped to the ground by her side. “Call 911, you idiot!” Gold bellowed, tears in his eyes as he checked for a pulse that Killian knew full well wasn’t there. He’d known the precise moment her neck had snapped, and the woman he’d known and loved had been lost forever.

The police and ambulance had arrived quickly, along with a computer tech who accessed Killian’s recorded memories and confirmed Richard Gold’s story. It had been a horrible accident, they’d all agreed, clearing Killian for his transport back to Mills Mechanics for holding and eventual refurbishment. As he waited for the truck to arrive, he sat and wondered what the use of having inhuman strength or reflexes was when he couldn’t even save the woman he loved?

————

“It’s you.” Killian had spent years of dreaming of a beautiful, nameless woman, and here she was, not a woman at all but a compandroid like him. She was like sunshine breaking through the clouds. That was all that he could think when he was ushered into the Mills Mechanics truck with her, and despite all of the pain he was feeling, the loss of Milah and the knowledge that he would have all of his beautiful memories of his time with her wiped and would be shipped off to another buyer, he couldn’t stop staring. He knew that Compandriods were supposed to be perfect, but he’d never actually seen another one before, and her beauty was staggering. He watched her eyes raise, and saw the same fascination mirrored in her leaf green gaze. She was just as lost as he was, without an owner and about to be reconditioned and yet she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Emma stared at him, at his dark hair and exquisite features, but her gaze landed on his sky blue eyes as something in her cried out in recognition. “I…I know you. I don’t know how, but it almost feels like I’ve always known you.”

“I dreamt of you, lass. For years, over and over. How can you be real?”

Emma sighed deeply, a habit that she’d picked up and did despite not really needing to breathe. She hadn’t felt attraction like this in so long, and of course it would happen now, as she was about to lose everything that made her her. Whatever had happened to him, she supposed he was headed for the same fate, and she could tell from his resigned demeanor that he’d probably lost just as much as she had. Why had the designers given them emotions, she wondered aloud, if it would only lead to pain? “I don’t think they worried about our well being,” she heard him answer, the sadness in his soft lilting accent catching her off guard. “After all, we’re not really people, are we?” His sparkling eyes met hers, a sad half-smile tilting the corner of his mouth. “I’m Killian. or at least, I will be for a few more hours. After that…” he trailed off, a slight shrug acknowledging their inevitable fate. “Emma. At least, that’s what he called me.” She looked over him again, appreciating the care that obviously went into the creation of each Compandriod. “What was it like, where you were?“

He sighed quietly, dropping his eyes to the ground and chuckling humorlessly before answering. “It was good. I almost forgot that I wasn’t human.” His gaze roamed her face briefly before he asked her the same question. “Oh, I knew exactly what I was every minute of every day. Which was fine until…” she trailed off, suddenly feeling shame and briefly annoyed that the programmers had decided to include that pesky emotion, before shrugging it off and continuing. “Honestly, it was kind of a relief when they came to get me. It may not last long, but at least I can belong to nobody but me for a few hours. Maybe next time I’ll be enough.”

“Don’t say that, love. You may have belonged to someone who didn’t appreciate you, but the flaw was with him, not you.”

“How do you know that?” She asked, regarding him cautiously. “Are you sure we’ve never met?”

“I’d remember meeting you.” He looked at her again, marveling at how familiar she was in spite of the fact that he was absolutely certain that he’d never seen her before. “But there is something between us. Do you feel it? “The pull? Like you can’t help but want to know more about them and at the same time it’s like you’ve known each other forever.” He watched her lick her lips and blush, and couldn’t help but follow the lovely pink flush that colored her cheeks and continued down to her barely covered chest. “And then there’s the other part. Like my body knows you too.”

“Does it always happen when two of us get close? I’ve never felt this before.” “I don’t think so,” she responded, accessing her memories. “I met another Compandriod once, on a gambling trip to Monte Carlo, and felt nothing whatsoever. Maybe it’s because we’re not tethered to an owner. I don’t know what this is, but I don’t think it’s something they designed, at least, not consciously.”

“I don’t care why it’s there,” he breathed, reaching out to tuck a bit of her golden hair behind her ear. “It’s as if…” he trailed off, and seemed to be searching for a thought, his eyes snapping to hers as he clearly found it. “Whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same.”

She shuddered, her body seeming to recognize the quote just before her mind did. Not pausing to question her decision, she grabbed the lapels of the designer leather jacket he wore, crashing her lips against his in a display of unbridled passion unlike any he’d ever seen. His hand tangled in her hair as he returned the kiss, something electric coursing through him as they lost themselves in each other. She abruptly leaned back, pulling the thin silk nightdress over her head and revealing every detail of her perfectly crafted form to his gaze. His cock twitched to life instantly, his programming responding to her unabashed desire as he surged forward to capture her lips again, rutting against her as she slid the jacket from his shoulders and deftly unbuckled his belt. They may be destined to forget these lives, but she would live every moment she had left to the fullest, and right now, she wanted to be with Killian far more than she’d wanted Neal, or any other man she could have been compelled to desire. As she finally freed his cock, she couldn’t help the involuntary moan that slipped past her lips at his size. Just like the rest of him, his cock was absolutely perfect. She had been built to be tight, and could be stimulated by nearly any man as a result, but she could only begin to imagine the pleasure she’d feel from what she saw before her. She dropped to her knees as he continued to shuck his clothes, closing her lips around his length and sucking with all her strength, knowing that his body could take it more than an average human’s; she felt a fresh rush of lubrication between her legs when he quietly cursed.

“Fuck, Emma. That’s- I’ve never felt anything like it. God, love, please don’t stop.” She continued to suck him with inhuman precision, her soft tongue caressing him as she took every inch deep into her throat. Milah had enjoyed sucking his cock, but it had been nothing like this. He thanked his designers for giving him incredible stamina, and honestly pitied human men for a moment, knowing they’d never be able to truly experience all the pleasure she could produce. Still, the compulsion to give in return remained, and he enjoyed the blowjob until he felt the sensations just beginning to become overwhelming, then stopped her, lifting her into his arms and above his shoulders, nesting his face into her perfect little cunt. Everything about her had been designed to be flawless, it no exception, sculpted beautifully and smelling absolutely delicious. When his tongue swiped through the artificial lubricant she produced, the exquisite taste was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and he couldn’t stop himself from laying her gently on a pile of their discarded clothes and practically devouring her. They had clearly programmed him to be amazing at oral sex, and every teasing movement of his lips and tongue was done with such skill that she worried her circuits might overload from the pleasure. “Please,” she begged him, arching her back as another orgasm washed over her. “I need to feel you inside me.” He kissed his way across her belly, over her beautiful breasts and up her neck until he was hovering over her, the tip sliding over her entrance teasingly as their lips met. “I want you.” he whispered, his eyes dropping to where their bodies were nearly joined. “Fuck, Emma, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.” She arched against him, letting the tip slip just slightly into her, and it was the affirmation he needed, his hips thrusting forward to work his cock into her. Another curse escaped his lips as she moaned in pleasure at the feeling of his girth stretching her. “You’re- bloody buggering hell- you’re so tight.” He worked his cock deeper, the hot, wet walls of her perfectly designed sheath squeezing every inch as he held himself above her. “God, I could die a happy man with your cunt around me.” His breath came in pants against her neck as pleasure coursed through her. “Let me fuck you, lass. Please tell me I can move.” “Killian,” she moaned, wrapping her legs around his hips. “Please.” He pulled out and slammed back into her, suddenly feeling a sensation unlike anything he’d ever experienced. His eyes snapped to hers, seeing the shock and delight there mirroring his own. Their pleasure circuits were coming into contact with each thrust, doubling the sensation for each of them and causing the whole world to narrow to where they were joined. A few more experimental thrusts confirmed it, and from there it was a ballet of positions and methods, both of their bodies capable of unlimited releases and craving more of the unprecedented sensations. He wondered if they had accidentally been designed this way, to only feel this kind of pleasure with another of their own kind. Fucking her was more than just physical pleasure; for him, it was like coming home.

For her, it was like finally being whole. Truly satisfied and wanting the same for him, she rode him to a last orgasm, both so exhausted and overstimulated afterwards that they collapsed beside each other. They rearranged their clothes to form a crude mattress on the hard metal floor of the trailer, and curled up beside each other, fingers intertwined.

They wouldn’t have much time together, but they could love a lifetime’s worth in just a few hours. ————

“Holy shit, Leroy, you’re right. It’s them.” David, now the security foreman for the shipping department, shook his head as he peered into the video monitor, seeing the trailer’s occupants huddled together in an intimate embrace. “Yeah,” the driver answered, his usual gruff countenance softening slightly. “I didn’t put it together until I came out from the hotel this morning and found them like this. Poor things. I kind of feel bad for them.”

“Who are they?” The foreman’s assistant asked, leaning in to check out the couple on the screen. “Hell of a story.” Leroy answered. “About 4 years ago, we had an incident in the lab. These two-“ he pointed at the video feed, “literally stopped production for a whole day because after being tested, they wouldn’t be separated and had to be together.” He shook his head again, grumbling. “We had to memory wipe them 3 times, and eventually had to remove him so we could finish production on her without angering the client, because even a glimpse of him was enough to undo everything. He got finished and shipped out a few weeks later. As you can imagine, the great Cora Mills was less than thrilled. I can only imagine what she’d say if she saw this.” The two watched the figures on the screen begin to stir, taking a moment to assess the trailer before embracing in a heated kiss. David turned off the monitor, walking away with a huff. “I can’t watch that. I was actually there when it all went down. It still gives me nightmares” He stared out the window, watching a storm gathering on the horizon. “You guys might as well get going. It looks like it’s going to be an ugly night and I don’t think they ever got those damn generators down here working after the last storm. The power always goes out the moment it starts raining, and if that happens I have to herd everyone out asap because the cameras go out too and you know how paranoid they are.”

“Yeah, especially after that Will guy tried to smuggle one of the Compandroids out to be his girlfriend,” Leroy chuckled, waving goodbye as he grabbed his things from a locker and walked out to his car.

As he nodded his farewell to Leroy and the rest of the crew, a thought crept into David’s mind. It was stupid and dangerous, likely to get him fired if he didn’t do it just right, but once it was there, he couldn’t shake the idea. For four long years, he’d awakened drenched in sweat next to his beautiful wife, heart racing as he remembered dreaming that it was her being ripped away from him, just as Emma had been dragged from Killian. He would lay awake for hours afterward, torn apart by guilt as he watched her sleep peacefully.

What they had done that day was wrong. He’d known it then, and hadn’t even tried to do anything, too shaken to think straight. He’d transferred away from the lab, but it wasn’t enough. He hadn’t been able to help them. Maybe this was fate’s way of remedying that.

David watched the last few workers drive off, and went about his nightly rounds as always, waiting for the inevitable power failure than seemed to accompany every storm of late. He made a show of securing the computer files and checking the locks on the transport that still held the Compandroid lovers and would until the lab. He was just about to give up, deciding that maybe his ridiculous plan was a momentary loss of sanity, when the power cut just as he was leaving. He thrust his hand into the door, blocking the latch before it clicked into place, and rushed to the truck. Throwing the doors wide, he gazed down at the two startled faces that stared back in shock.

“Come on,” he whispered. “If you want your best chance of getting out of here together, follow me.” They scrambled out of the truck, grabbing their clothes as they dropped to the ground beside him. “Bend the rod, just there,” he instructed, pointing to a piece of the door. “With any luck, it’ll look like you got out yourselves when the security crew shows up for you in the morning.”

————

Emma looked up at Killian, seeing the same mixture of giddy hope, confusion, and cautiousness that she was feeling. She didn’t know why one of the security guards would help them escape, but she wasn’t about to ask questions just yet. Grabbing the bar, she began to pull, feeling the steel bend as he joined her and their combined effort twisted the metal to the side.

“Yeah, that should be good,” the strange blonde man assured them as he pushed the doors back into place. “Now quickly, let’s go.”

Grabbing Emma’s hand, Killian followed the man through the darkness and out the door, racing through the empty parking lot as the rain pelted them. They slipped into the back of an old SUV, ducking low when the man hissed. “Stay down. I can see security doing their rounds one lot over. Without the lights, they won’t be able to see you if you just stay hidden.” Covering Emma’s wet, nude form with his own, Killian flattened himself as much as he could as their driver put the SUV into gear and they left Mills Mechanics behind.

————

David kept checking his mirrors, silently praying that the ruse had worked as he motored away from the warehouse. After 5 of the most stressful minutes of his life, he breathed out a sigh of relief and pulled off the main highway onto a wooded access road. “It’s ok,” he assured the two huddled lovers, “you can sit up now.”

They sat upright slowly, and a glance in his rear view mirror reminded him that he had two very naked beings in the back of his truck. “Uh, you should probably get dressed. There’s a duffel in the back there somewhere with some clothes in it. My wife Mary Margaret and I are what you might call outdoor enthusiasts. She’s amazing with a bow. Anyway, um, we always have random supplies in the truck. You’ll probably find a few things in there that will work.” He opened his wallet as well, handing a stack of bills to Killian while Emma pulled a white turtleneck over her head and shimmied into some jeans. David worried for a moment; the pants were a favorite of Mary Margaret’s, but he knew she’d forgive him for donating them to a homeless girl, and these two were as homeless as they came. Killian slipped on the jeans he’d retrieved from the transport, stuffing the money into a pocket before he donned his own shirt as well.

“Ok, head for somewhere up north- Canada, wherever. The cold won’t affect you and will keep you running longer. Your tracking devices aren’t activated right now, but they’re in your wrists,” he opened the glovebox and passed them a pocket knife. “They’re about an inch square and green. Take them out before sunrise and leave them somewhere in the woods. If you…”

He was interrupted by the female, who had reached out to grab his shoulder. “Stop. Why are you doing this?”

————

Emma stared at this unknown human, who seemed to taking a massive risk just to help her and Killian break free. Since they’d arrived at the facility just before the end of the day, they hadn’t even come into contact with this man before he’d opened the transport, and she had to know why he would do something so risky.

The man turned to her, smiling sadly. “Because you may not remember me, but I remember you. Both of you. And what I’m doing is something I should have done 4 years ago.”

A chill made her shiver, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “What do you mean?”

Killian grabbed her hand in his, feeling the tension radiating off her. How did this man know them? And what did he mean by 4 years? He had been with Milah for only a bit over 26 months.

“Before I worked in the shipping department,” the man began slowly, “I was head of security for the lab. One of my jobs was to watch as they paired up Compandroids for final testing before shipping them to their owners. You two were paired, and were supposed to run through some basic interactions over a week, just like every other duo we’d tested. But that isn’t what happened.” Killian squeezed Emma’s hand as the driver paused, swallowing hard. “From the moment you were introduced, it was clear that you were different. You’re a perfect match, in every way, and within days you’d shattered all of the safety limits on your programming and had developed both consciousness and will. And you fell in love.”

Neither Emma nor Killian moved, afraid to break the spell that seemed to surround the truck as the man continued. “I’m a married man, and I know love when I see it. So did everyone else, and it scared the shit out of them. They separated you two, and tried to wipe every trace of what you’d shared from your memories, thinking it would solve the problem. Given what I saw when you arrived tonight, I don’t think they were successful. You were made for each other, and when two people should be together, nobody should keep them apart. By the time I realized just how much we’d wronged you there was nothing I could do. I’ll be damned if I make that mistake twice. My info is in the duffel, if you ever need me. I’m just sorry I can’t do more. You deserve the chance at a happy ending.”

Killian turned to Emma, his heart swelling as she did the same and their eyes met. She was never just some random woman, and his dreams weren’t fantasies. They were memories. She’d known him and loved him once before, loved him so fiercely that they’d been forced apart, but now she was his again. A smile bloomed on her lips as she stared into his eyes. “Thank you,” she said, “but that’s not really what this is.”

She leaned forward, unable to resist placing a kiss to her love’s perfect lips before she opened the door and climbed out with the duffel over her shoulder. Hands still joined, he followed her out of the truck, pulling her close as the security man rolled down the window. “Then what is it, love?” Killian asked, his familiar blue eyes stirring something deep inside her as she smiled up at him. Sending a last nod of thanks towards the vehicle behind her, Emma grinned as she gazed north into the woods.

“It’s our happy beginning.”

————

Three months later, David arrived home from his new job at the town’s Sheriff’s station to find a postcard proclaiming “Greetings from Storybrooke, Maine” had arrived at the Nolans’ house and was sitting on the kitchen table. He picked it up and glanced at it, then crossed the room and swept his wife into a kiss, declaring how much he loved her and making her giggle with delight.

“You’re in quite the mood, not that I’m complaining,” she laughed. “Good day, I take it?”

David smiled down at her, thinking of the postcard. It was blank save two handwritten words: Thank you. “Yeah,” he agreed, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders for the first time in years. “Definitely.”

————

Somewhere deep in the woods of Maine, the windows of a tiny hidden cabin glowed in the fading evening light. Two figures occasionally came into view, little more than silhouettes that came together and separated as they embraced or kissed when their paths crossed. Every so often, joyful laughter filtered out of the isolated little house, disappearing into the sounds of the forest as easily as the faint smoke coming from the chimney drifted on the pine-scented breeze to dissolve into the misty clouds above.

#cslb #cslb 2018 #cs ff #cs smut #android au #do pirates dream of electric swans #my fic #my writing

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emmakillianfan · 7 years ago

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The Recipe - A Captain Swan Little Bang Story

Summary: Chefs Emma Swan and Killian Jones both have their reasons to compete in the Culinary Championships for a large cash prize. But when they are paired as a team, they must learn to work together or it could all go up in flames. Part of the Captain Swan Little Bang 2018!

A/N: Here is my contribution to the @captainswanbigbang ‘s little bang! Thank you so much to all the mods for organizing it and for all your hard work. I was able to combine two of my greatest loves in this story - Captain Swan and culinary competitions. I could not have done it without the incredible feedback of my beta reader, @aloha-4-ever , who offered suggestions, kept me on track, and helped me change my idea when the first one turned the wrong direction. And of course this story is all the better with the incredible artistic work of @cocohook38 who made the incredible illustration of Emma and Killian as chefs. She took my idea of them in this story and made it reality. If you like her work, check out these great shirts. One of the designs is hers! Proceeds will go to Little Hearts, Big Hopes to find research for Jacobsen Syndrome, a charity supported by Jennifer Morrison. https://represent.com/store/emma-s-ugly-ducklings

Rated: Teen for a little language and mild affection

Triggers: None unless you have a food allergy

Available at: Archive and FF.net.

There was always something magical about cooking to Emma Swan. From the first time she had thrown ingredients into a pan and watched them meld into something wonderful and tasty, she had been mesmerized by the transformation that to her was pure magic. So when she aged out of the foster care system at 18, she found herself working long shifts at a diner and taking a cooking classes at a local community college.

Yet after a long day where she crafted creamy risotto that made the Italian master chefs cry at its beauty, Emma found that she was a fan of the simpler things in life. That particular night she was standing over a single frying pan with a golden brown sandwich sizzling to that perfect melted state where the butter, cheese, and bread would meld into a sinfully good grilled cheese sandwich.

“You won’t win the Culinary Championships with a sandwich,” her roommate Ruby announced, dropping her bag on the farm table they had restored during a snowy weekend when the entire city had shut down. “What? No objections that competition cooking isn’t your style?”

Emma lifted the corner of the sandwich to inspect her work. “I think we’ve already had that argument. I did my time, earned the accolades. Why would the Championships want to invite me back?”

Running a hand blindly through her dark hair, Ruby sighed. “Why wouldn’t they? You’re unbeatable. You won every freaking competition.”

Emma kept her eyes on her sandwich, pressing the slotted spatula down on it and then letting the bread rise back. “If I’m so unbeatable, then what’s the point? Nobody’s going to watch me win again. And if I lose, then I lose reputation and credibility.” Since her string of wins, Emma had found herself in the role of executive chef at one of New York’s small but popular restaurants.

Always with a flair for the dramatic, Ruby held her phone out to her friend and shook it from side to side. “Fine, I’ll read the good part anyway. They are giving you a guaranteed bonus and appearance fee.” For Ruby, food was about money. She was the granddaughter of a restaurant owner and now worked in New York with a variety of chefs to help them start their own establishments. But to Emma, she was a friend and roommate, plus part time coach and assistant if it meant she got to hang around television types.

Peeking at the underside of her sandwich again and deeming it good, she flipped it easily and finally gave her dark haired roommate some attention. “So I just show up and cook?”

“That’s the idea,” Ruby said, breaking off a piece of the cheese that Emma had sliced for the sandwiches she was making. “Everyone will be paired up with another chef. You’re not in it alone. Then when there is only one pair standing, they both get a cash prize and you compete against your partner for a chance to go against other chefs from around the country. How savage is that? Turning on your own partner. The national winner gets $500,000.” Ruby shoved the phone down into the tiny little bag she was carrying and crossed her arms. “Imagine it. No don’t imagine it. Plan on it. Think about what you can do with that money.”

With her green eyes back on the sandwich, Emma sighed. “You’re thinking Ingrid’s.”

“Yeah,” Ruby said with an emphatic nod of her head. “So what do you say? Put on those chef whites and compete?”

Emma slid the sandwich on the plate and began to prepare a second one, knowing her roommate was hungry too. “I’ll think about it.” She concentrated on the satisfying sizzle of the pan for a moment.

“That’s Emma-code for I’ll think of reasons not to do it.” Ruby looked sourly at her friend. “You’ve done these before. Why not now?”

“I told you that I would think about it. I will. I need to look at schedules, expectations, requirements, and all of those little details.” She flipped the sandwich. “Such as, who would I partner with anyway? You?”

Ruby scoffed. “I’m no chef. I help pain in the butt chefs like you start their own restaurants. But you touch the food. I draw the line at that. Anyway, I already talked to the scout slash production assistant. They said not everyone entering has a partner already. There are probably half a dozen on the show who would kill to work with you.”

It was a running joke between the roommates that Ruby was a front of the house person. She could sell steak to a vegetarian, but she couldn’t grill one to save her life. “I could just get a loan to fix the restaurant up. Seems a little more responsible.”

“What if you win? Your former foster mother left you a beautiful house on the coast of Maine. It’s huge. Imagine the restaurant we could turn it into! What else are you going to do with it?”

“The kitchen is nonexistent,” Emma reminded her, adding a bit more of the herbed butter to the pan. “There was a stove with only one working eye. The refrigerator was blowing hot air. And did you notice there were no counters? There’s not a health inspector drunk enough to give me a permit.”

“So,” Ruby said as she snagged the now completed sandwich and saluted her friend with it, “if you win the whole thing, you get $500,000. That’s more than enough to get the kitchen outfitted and the renovations complete.” Closing her eyes as she bit, Ruby smiled around the melted butter and cheese sandwich. “I take back what I said. Make these for the judges. It would win the entire thing.”

***AAA***

Two years ago the red numbers of the countdown clock glared mercilessly at Chef Killian Jones as he felt the sweat beading on his brow. The bitter stench of burned garlic wafted up from the singed pan, along with the realization that he had no time to recreate the dish for the judges. The other competitors were calmly plating mounds of food while his plates remained empty.

There were only seconds left on the clock when he balled up the logo-decorated apron and threw it over the pile of dirty pans and mixing bowls. “I quit,” he announced, ignoring the camera that followed him as he pushed through the swinging doors and past the producer, Mr. Gold, who was whisper-shouting into his headset at some unknown production assistant.

A few days later a certified letter and legal paperwork arrived at his apartment in Maine stating he was being sued for breach of contract. Known as a rebel and a fighter, Killian didn’t fight this time and eventually paid the full amount due with the only asset he had left – his beloved sailboat.

Waking up that morning in Storybrooke, Maine, he had felt that same gut-wrenching dread as he had two years before when the clock ticked down his doom in the industry. Granny’s wasn’t exactly the best of career steps, but none of the better restaurants even took his reservations after the show aired. He was grateful for the opportunity to work, even at a themed diner that served the same 40 or so customers over and over again.

“What did you do to that chicken pot pie Leroy ordered?” Granny asked, holding the swinging door between dining room and kitchen open with her hip. She was staring at Killian with her eyes peering accusingly over a pair of wire rim glasses.

“I froze some of the fresh peas and ground them fine,” he explained, rubbing his hands on the towel over his shoulder. “Dusted the dough with that and some sea salt to add a bit of bite to the dish.”

“He’s practically licking the plate, and asked for another one to go. See if you can make that old grump smile for the second time in one night, will you?”

“Aye,” he said with a grin as he turned back to the prep table and began to gather his ingredients. “I do love a challenge, particularly when it is 10 minutes until closing and the kitchen should have been shut down already.”

“He’s a paying customer,” she reminded him, letting the door bounce as she turned back to the dining room. “And you know what I always say, right?”

“A customer’s money is always good money,” he chanted wearily. “Tell him it will take a bit of time, but I’ll have it piping hot for him before he finishes his next pint.”

Killian sliced through the carrots with precision and grace, the blade of his knife catching the artificial light of the overheads. He was not a man who liked mediocrity or disorder, as a few of the line cooks had learned when their stations had not been as uniform as they should have been.

Since most of the staff was already gone for the evening, Killian worked in silence for as long as he could. There was something therapeutic in the coolness of the dough under his fingers and the scent of the vegetables, chicken, and béchamel simmering on the stove, as he worked the dough into the small round pan. He was just sliding it into the already warm oven when he heard the familiar clearing of a voice in the rectangular window between kitchen and dining.

“What can I do for you, mate?” Killian asked, taking a cloth to the buildup of flour on the steel table. “Marian craving another slice of Granny’s chocolate cake?”

Robin folded his arms on the ledge of the window and laughed. Known for his renovation techniques and business skills, he ran one of the best restoration companies on the coast. He also handled much of Killian’s business affairs since the chef had little interest in that himself. “Not yet. We don’t...well, it’s far too soon for that particular craving symptom. My news is for you, mate. I just heard from that talent scout woman. She wants you to come in for an interview about that cooking competition show. Bloody brilliant opportunity I’d say.”

“Show?” Killian asked, not remembering what his friend was talking about now. They had more than a few late night discussions with and without a few libations to keep tongues wagging. “I hope you would know better than to sign me up for some ruddy competition. Those days are over.”

Robin offered a quick reminder. “You’d get a daily fee to be there, a guaranteed $100,000 in cash and prizes for the finals to share with your partner, and of course the purse is $500,000 for the national win. More than enough to get you out of this place and running one of your own.”

“Quiet, mate, I don’t think Granny heard you plotting my escape.” Like all chefs he wanted his own menu, his own rules, but you didn’t tell your boss that while you were still trying to bring in a paycheck. “And besides. She barely lets us take a sick day without a two week notice. You think she’ll go for me disappearing to compete in a bloody reality show?”

“She will if you promise to mention the diner’s name and address enough,” Granny interrupted, her pursed lips indicating she had heard the conversation. While she had to be joking, her stern expression didn’t indicate the mirth behind the suggestion. When he froze in place at being caught discussing such an idea, she softened and almost smiled. “Killian, I’m not blind. You’re a fine chef and this place is beneath you. Go and spread your wings. If it works, you’ll probably put me out of business with whatever crazy scheme you’ve got next. If you fail, well there’s always a spot for you here.” Sighing when he didn’t jump at the opportunity, she turned toward the door and paused again. “I could just fire you and then you’d have to go, or not make rent.”

“Gold won’t want me on the show once he realizes I’m the one who left without warning,” Killian protested, returning to the duty of cleaning the counters. “It was not a pretty sight. I just gave up.”

“A mistake you won’t be making again,” Robin noted. “Baby steps, Killian. And he seems willing. Now you just have to prove him wrong about you.”

Yanking on the faucet’s hose to spray down one of the leftover pans, he grimaced. It wasn’t obvious where the scowl was directed, but part of it had to be the idea of competing again. “I am fine with the status quo. I don’t need this hassle.”

“Too bad,” Robin said, “As your agent and business partner, I already told them yes.”

“I’ll fire you,” Killian called over his shoulder. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“You’d have to pay me to make that threat work, mate. I am volunteering, and you’re doing the show.”

***AAA***

Emma was the last of the competing chefs to arrive, but as the call sheet dictated, she climbed out of the cab in party attire for an event to meet the rest of the cooks. She was hustled through a long hallway, stopping just before the room where the welcome banquet would be held.

The girlfriend of the producer, Belle French, gave her an overview of the competition as she walked on impossibly high heels past the door leading into the party.

“So about the contract,” Emma began, adjusting the strap of her red dress. “I noticed that it said, ‘chef duos in duels.’ I’m not really…”

The petite brunette nodded her head, checking the clipboard she had cradled in her arms. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just to stir up drama. Anyway, we have the perfect match for you.”

Bobbing her head affirmatively, Emma squared her shoulders. “I’ve been more of a solo chef as of late. I don’t even have a sous chef at the moment. It’s just a little…”

“We…I mean, our producer, Gold, took care of that,” the woman answered, brushing back her thick hair. “He works somewhere here in Maine. On the coast I think? Isn’t that where you’re thinking about opening a place?”

“It’s not that small of a state,” Emma remarked easily. “So do I get to meet him prior to cooking with him? I mean no offense, but I’ve seen some of the chefs on these shows. Gold doesn’t always go for quality. That Walsh you gave me last time carved the protein like he was peeling a banana. Even a monkey can break down a chicken, Belle.”

“Sure, sure,” Belle said breezily, checking her list again. “Killian’s competed before so he’s not completely green…it’s just that…well, I’ll let you meet him.”

Emma’s gut was telling her to ask why he didn’t already have a partner, especially since he was apparently fabulous. But whoever he was, he was an unknown. That led to her other question.

“And this Killian guy didn’t have a friend, wife, or someone? Or does he just suck? There has to be a reason.”

“Aye, there’s always a reason,” a new voice said as she spun to find the source. Find it she did. Standing next to one of the tables, wearing a dark henley and what appeared to be two-day stubble, was a dark haired man who must have missed the party attire memo. He flashed a too-white smile before taking a few steps toward her and sticking out a hand. “Killian Jones.”

“Emma,” she offered, knowing that he must have recognized her from the way his eyes seemed knowingly confident. “So maybe you could answer that question. Why don’t you have a partner?”

He finally dropped his hand when she didn’t shake it. “Perhaps I’m just a bit picky when it comes to partners.”

“Right, and I’m supposed to believe that. I should warn you, I’m really good at spotting a lie. And right now, buddy, you’re pinging my radar.”

She knew she must have gotten to him a bit, as he clenched his jaw, and twin splotches of red appeared on his cheeks. “It’s good to have talents, love, but I’m not the dishonest type.”

***AAA***

Having already met his partner, Killian curled his hand around the sweating glass of rum and gave a congenial nod to the bartender hired for the party. The room was only about half full of chefs who were left to mingle just out of range of the production. His own partner was chatting with two sisters who were partnered together.

Another chef named Arthur was standing near an ice sculpture talking to a married couple with a plate full of fruit tarts that were among the assortment of finger foods offered. The second married team was standing off to another side, the rust-haired woman excitedly studying every single item on the table.

He had yet to sample much of the food other than a large prawn that seemed to scream his name. The table he was standing next to at that moment was piled high with aged sausages and thinly sliced beef and lamb carpaccio. He was studying the cut on one of them when he heard the familiar voice of his partner in this adventure.

“Please tell me you’re going to do more than look at that meat,” she said, lifting a few slices with the silver tongs. “I have done at least a thousand of these competitions and the vegetarian chefs are always the first to go home.”

He felt his jaw drop slightly at the sight of her. He had been so on the defense about her doubts earlier that he had not noticed how she looked nothing like the television version of herself either. Usually on camera in her chef whites and her hair in a severe bun, she demanded respect and attention. Now, she was a vision in a red cocktail dress and loose curls down her back. “I assure you that I know how to do more than simply slice and grill a few vegetables, love.”

She laughed, a joyful sound though not quite as carefree as he thought a confident woman such as Chef Swan. “Just checking. I mean if you want to be first out, that’s fine for you, but I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

He reached over and plucked one of the sausage bites before dropping it into his mouth. A full mouth would keep him from having to make conversation for a moment. It tasted like sawdust on his tongue as he watched her study him carefully, as if she was trying to taste the spicy concoction through him. Swallowing, he managed a small but bright smile of his own. “And you think that I will be the first one out? Are you mad, love? I mean Chef, milady…”

“Chef’s fine,” she said, grimacing. “So if you’re not the vegetarian chef, then you’re...rustic Italian with strong Mediterranean flavor influences?”

He shook his head again, feeling a little more at ease with her. “Now, love, do I sound like an Italian chef?”

Her shoulders rose and fell with a silent chuckle. “I admit all the British accents are messing with my guessing game. You can’t all be cooking pub food? The judges won’t be too kind if they get half a dozen dishes of bangers and mash, or fish and chips.”

Lifting a dark eyebrow at her clearly judgmental statement, he waited until she bit off some of the charcuterie. She did not make a show of closing her eyes and preening dramatically at the savory food. Instead, she chewed rather methodically and let her eyes crinkle only slightly as she swallowed. “For such an educated palate, you seem to have a low opinion of English cuisine. It has won a reputation for being bland, which is accurate in only some cases, but that’s not what I make.”

She hummed in response. “So you’re rustic comfort food with hints of French stuffiness? Wait, that’s probably those two.” She gestured toward the two men, both of whom were newly married to their non-culinary wives, competing together.

“You seem to want to place a label on everyone. What if those labels don’t fit?”

She ran her tongue over her lip to enjoy more of the saltiness of the cured meat. Her green eyes glowed with challenge and she lifted her chin defiantly. Shifting her weight, she glanced over him as if to size him up to her standards. “I want to know what I’m up against and who I’m working with, Chef.”

“I suppose you’ll see my style when it comes to competition. You never know. I might be the expert in Asian fusion.”

She beckoned him closer with two fingers, making him breathe in the sweet scent of powder mixing with the spicy perfume over the strong wafting aromas of the food. He prayed she didn’t notice the way his eyes partially shut or how he swayed in her direction before stopping himself. “I don’t think so, Chef Jones. See that woman there?” She pointed her elbow toward a dark haired woman with her back to them. “That’s Chef Mulan. She spent seven years perfecting her skills with sushi and sashimi. I am sure you must have some skill to be on this show, but you’d never beat her in that particular way.”

Killian tilted his head and studied the woman in question. “Sounds as though you are a fan of the clichéd, Chef Swan. One’s heritage and ethnicity don’t always dictate their palate. I may have English blood in me and fancy a good serving of fish and chips from time to time, but I detest clotted cream and Yorkshire pudding.”

The blonde chef’s lips twitched into an almost smile. “I will take that under advisement,” she said, taking a step backward. “I’ll leave you to it.” She was turning around when he spoke out again.

“And what of you? Do you label yourself with some moniker that is supposed to describe your food? Molecular gastronomy perhaps or comfort food?”

She spun back that half turn to face him, those palely painted lips twitching again. “I would think you would know the answer to that by the shows and competitions I’ve done.”

“I’ve seen what the magic of the camera shows about your food, but what does the camera not show about you?” Still he persisted, enjoying that ember of a spark in her eyes when someone actually challenged her instead of just bowing to her requests and lavishing praise on her.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Chef Jones?” She finished, then turned away from him and walked over to join a raven haired woman standing near the producers. He appreciated the view of her, even in retreat.

“Perhaps I would,” he said to himself.

***AAA***

“Good job,” Ruby said in a stage whisper, resting her chin on a folded hand and keeping her eyes on the contestants still milling about. “You flustered that poor guy right before he has to cook. Need I remind you that he’s your partner? Are you trying to lose the competition, Emma?”

Emma threw back the rest of the wine in her glass, not tasting the sweet bitterness on her tongue. “He wasn’t flustered, Ruby. He was a cocky jerk who will probably chock.”

“Cocky? A chef is being cocky?” Ruby splayed her hand over her chest that was revealed by the plunging neckline of her red top. “I’m shocked. How could a chef be cocky? P.S. I know him. He works for my grandmother. Not a bad cook. You know Granny wouldn’t hire him otherwise.”

Emma was about to ask more, when August Booth summoned the contestants tapping a fork against his wine glass. While not a chef, August had been a food critic and writer for years. She’d butted heads with him, but found that she respected his opinion most of the time.

“Seriously though, he’s one of the cuter ones here. Did you see those blue eyes? Of course you did, you were standing there with him. Do you think they’re contacts?”

“I wasn’t looking that closely.”

“Right? So you ignored most of the chefs here, something you always do by the way, and ended up talking to him because…”

“We’re paired together and I was worried he’s not good enough. He happened to be standing there looking confused over a display of sausages and other meat. I thought...anyway, don’t read into it, Ruby. Do you blame me for doing a little research?”

Ruby grunted, “The only CIA you know is the Culinary Institute of America. You, Emma Swan, were checking out more than his culinary pedigree.”

Sticking her tongue out at her friend, Emma crossed over to the group of experienced and yet nervous chefs gathered around the judge and host. The cameras were already circling, capturing the uneasy energy of what was clearly going to be their first challenge.

She was right, using the remnants and leftovers of the appetizers and hors d'oeuvres they had been noshing on for the last hour, they were supposed to create two new dishes for the judges.

He had chosen some of the tuna, which he was currently marinating in the limes and coconut milk that he’d swiped from the bar. Having found bits of cucumber, he combined them with the tuna and shallots to make a tuna poke in a lettuce cup.

Emma’s knife, plastic though it might be, sliced easily through the small fruit items that she had gathered from the tables. Not stopping the motion of the knife, she gave a side glance at the table’s meager ingredients. To her left was a small bowl of a yogurt-based dip with honey on top. If she was able to scrape the honey from the dipping sauce, she could drizzle it over the sugared fruit.

“You’ll need something to cut the sweetness a bit,” he said. “The honey and the sugar, love? That’s enough to send the judges into a diabetic coma.”

Her sharp intake of breath did not deny that was what she was thinking or that he was right about the overwhelming saccharine taste that would put her on the bottom of the competition. She decided to merely acknowledge his observation with a pithy, “I’m aware.”

“No offense intended,” he chuckled, nudging a saucer holding four lemon slices in her direction. “You’re a bit of an open book. But for the sake of that infernal competition clock, perhaps you’d consider these. Might add just the right bite to the dish.”

“I thought you would going to use those with the fish. You have to use it to make your ceviche, don’t you?”

He laughed at her question, insisting that she take the lemons. “I visited the bar and was able to get a dash of lime juice and coconut milk. It will make my dish truly sing.” Wiping his hands on his apron, he dashed off again in the direction of the dessert table.

That was odd, she thought as she began the process of drizzling the honey over the mound of fruit. Hers was supposed to be the sweet component to their duo, and his the savory. What on earth could he need from the dessert table? Not wanting to spend too much time analyzing his movements or palate, she grabbed the lemon slices before he could get back and liberally doused her fruit with the tangy citrus liquid.

She let the berries and fruit rest while she inspected her ingredients again. She could have used the yogurt dip as the base for a parfait, but the assignment was to craft an amuse-bouche, something that was to tickle the tongue in a single bite, and a parfait would be considered too large and cumbersome.

Suddenly her partner was back, tossing a napkin in front of her that was piled with a few ginger snaps and sugar cookies decorated with lemon flavored royal icing. He winked as he obliterated the two ginger snaps he had kept for himself with the bottom of a shot glass before passing the glass to her. “For your tart,” he said as if they had already decided on her dish. “You can form it in that, and use a bit of that icing as a binder. I was only able to grab one, but you can slide it out and make…”

“I know how to make a tart,” she snapped, grimacing at the small glass with its crumbs still clinging to the base. “You don’t think…”

“The clock on the wall is telling me that overthinking is a luxury at this point. Best put your misgivings about me to the side and get to work on the crust. Otherwise those judges won’t find you so brilliant when they are eating a macerated berry in their bare hands.”

She hazarded a glance at the other table where Zelena was sprinkling pistachios over chicken and Regina was using hollowed out apple as a vessel for the deconstructed apple pie. That wasn’t surprising, as Regina seemed to think apples went with everything. Mary Margaret was capping off a delicious looking shrimp toast, while David was filling tall shot glasses with a soup of some kind.

“It’s not wise to worry about the competition. One doesn’t win by worrying about what the others are doing.” Killian spooned his fish and veggies into the center of the lettuce leaf and rolled it, folding its ends delicately and placing it in the center of a saucer. He stooped down and looked over the rim of the plate to inspect it, making miniscule movements to adjust it just so.

“Do you always talk like that?” she asked, sliding out her first tart and placing it on the plate as he began the process for another of his wraps.

“Like what?”

“Like you write fortune cookie advice for a living? I was just seeing what they were making. It’s not like the judges get palate cleansers between contestants. If they taste their dishes first and they’re horrible, that can carry over to ours.” She frowned as her next tart didn’t seem as firm as the first. The last thing she would want would be for it to crumble in a judge’s hand.

“Add a bit more water to make it more dough-like,” Killian suggested, plating another of his rolled wraps. When she looked doubtful, he smiled. “I promise. I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”

She assumed it would be a mushy mess, but the couple of drops of water truly helped and allowed her to easily plate the four bites. There were only 90 seconds left before the buzzer and her hands shook from the stress of it all.

“It looks brilliant,” he whispered, his voice closer than she expected. At some point during the plating he had moved to the same side of the crowded prep table as her, sidling up beside her to the point that his whispered encouragement was warm on her ear. She gave him a nervously tight smile in return.

Filming of the judging scenes were rough, as there was more direction from the producer and retakes to get reaction shots from everyone. All the sets of chefs were told repeatedly to react but not to overly extend themselves or their emotions. “I have no use for dramatics or hysterics,” Mr. Gold told them each pointedly. “Smile, nod, and say thank you, but don’t cry, scream or throw things.”

By the time the judges approached them, Killian was shifting his stance and kept running his fingers over the stubble on his chin. Her green eyes shot over to him and half expected him to pass out as August instructed the other two judges to try his wrap after Killian explained it. His previously controlled and confident tone was replaced with his thicker accent and shakiness that did not seem natural on him at all.

“Delicious,” Emily said, the first of the judges to speak. She placed a hand over her mouth as she chewed, a delicate move that made her seem more ladylike than August’s method of robust chewing. “I’m tasting hints of coconut and...” She ran her tongue around her mouth. “I’m also getting lime? Did you marinate the tuna in lime?”

“Aye, I thought the coconut milk and lime would provide a richer flavor.” She could tell the compliment had relaxed him more, as he let his shoulders fall and there was a soft exhale as if he had been holding his breath while they ate.

“You’re known as a seafood chef, aren’t you?” August asked, not bothering to even mask the disdain. Emma had always known him to be fair with her, but he was a food critic. Criticism came naturally to him, slipping from his full lips as easily as the white lies he spouted about his credentials. Emma knew about those too and was not above making him worry she might out him as a fraud if crossed. “I would imagine you wouldn’t do so well if you had attempted something with venison or pork?”

“Most people like to put all chefs in these neat little boxes and assume we are talentless gits when it comes to anything else. I have quite a bit of experience when it comes to seafood, but I enjoy making people savor their dishes no matter the protein or accompaniment.” Killian flashed a smile that was not exactly innocent as the camera panned around to the side to capture another angle.

It was Belle’s turn to offer her thoughts. Unlike Emily Gale, she was not a chef or restauranteur. But she was well read and known in culinary circles as a foodie with a most educated palate. She dabbed at the corner of her mouth and eyed the plates in front of Emma before she spoke. “I’m liking the combination of flavors, and the addition of the cilantro gave it a kick. It’s unexpectedly good with notes of freshness one wouldn’t expect from buffet leftovers. And using ginger snaps rather than raw ginger was genius.”

“Cut,” cried the producer who clearly thought he was a director too. In his perfectly fitted suit, Mr. Gold approached the table with his signature cane in hand. “This is just too nice. I need some darkness, shade, something. Is there something you didn’t like about this man’s dish?”

Belle and Emily’s eyes darted downward as they considered this request, but it was August who spoke first. “The texture is off. The filling felt like mush in my mouth.”

Once they had all expressed some doubt about Killian’s dish and the camera crew got the shots they wanted, it was on to Emma’s contribution. She lifted her chin up a fraction of an inch and offered tight smiles as they complimented her flavors and textures. August even winked as he commented on the smart decision to cut the sweetness with the acid of the lemon.

“Good job, love,” Killian said as the cameras and judges moved on to another table. He quickly corrected himself to call her chef, but she didn’t respond right away.

“Thanks,” she finally said, not blatantly staring at the judges deliberations over the competition. “I didn’t think of the lemon and you…”

“We are a team, are we not?” he asked. “If we don’t help each other out, we won’t get very far.”

Emma nodded as she watched the judges sampled Regina’s deconstructed apple pie next and remarked over the perfectly brown color and firm yet soft texture of the dough that she had apparently made from soft rolls. Looking down at her own small tarts, Emma frowned. How had Regina browned the practically anemic-looking rolls? Their only source of heat were the votive candles used in the decor. It would not have been enough.

“Either she can conjure fireballs in her hands,” Killian whispered to her, his mind clearly on the same page as his partner, “or she had a blowtorch in her purse.”

***AAA***

Someone would probably complain, Emma thought as she slid her key into the lock at Granny’s Bed and Breakfast. One of the remaining contestants would see a conflict of interest with the teams being required to live for the week where Killian normally worked and she had connections with through Ruby. Officially, Granny was not part of the competition or crew, but she was a comforting sight to the chefs who knew her. Granny had even let Killian sneak into the kitchen and make snacks between the rounds. But at that moment Emma didn’t really care where she slept.

The impromptu round of competition at the kick off party had left both Mal and her daughter and Sean and Philip eliminated for uninspired food. During the the second round, a romantic dinner for a couple on their first date, Regina and Zelena again came in first. That challenge had resulted in Mulan and Arthur being knocked out for overcooking the duck. The duo had left arguing with each other to the end over who had turned the burner up so high.

Emma wasn’t proud of her performance yet. She and Killian had been near the middle on the first round and second place in the second round. At least they hadn’t been in the bottom, but they would need to pull out two strong showings to get through to the finals.

All the teams had been doing interviews for talking-head pieces and reshoots of critical moments until nearly midnight, followed by decompressing drinks after that. Since two of the remaining teams were married couples, and the other included a complicated relationship between two sisters, she had found herself naturally pairing off with Killian. At least that was what she told herself as she found herself laughing at his jokes and sharing witty observations.

“It hardly seems worth the trouble,” Killian had said when he opened the door to stairwell that led the back part of Granny’s and all the quaintly nostalgic rooms. “If I was assured a good night’s sleep in the near future, I might just stay awake to avoid the grogginess of competing after an hour or two’s nap.”

“You’re not totally wrong about that,” Emma said, lacing her fingers together and lifting her arms to stretch. She didn’t miss the way that Killian’s eyes focused on that bit of skin exposed by her rising shirt. “But it’s hard to resist the idea of shutting my eyes for a few minutes. Knowing me, I’ll probably sleep through my alarm though.” She lowered her arms and jokingly collapsed against the door, her forehead touching the cool wood.

“Go,” Killian said, his accent thicker with the lack of sleep. “I’ll be sure to come wake you if I don’t hear you rooting about when you should.” If she hadn’t closed her eyes for that moment, she might have noticed how he rubbed the pad of his thumb against his fingertips as if wanting to reach out and touch her.

“I don’t know that I trust you enough for that. I mean I barely trust my alarm clock. I meant what I said earlier. Thanks for your help today. I’m sorry that I doubted your abilities.”

“It’s my pleasure, Emma. Perhaps we might have a cup of coffee in the morning and discuss our game plan?”

She closed her eyes briefly. “Would that mean getting up earlier? Because no matter how cute you are, Killian Jones, you aren’t worth losing sleep over.” Later when she was in bed, eyes heavy and breathing controlled, she remembered calling him cute. It cost her another few minutes of sleep as she tried to recall his reaction to it. Sleep encompassed her before she ever had the chance to remember his pleased and yet shocked smile and sort of shuffle step that spoke of humility.

It turned out that having coffee with him didn’t require her to lose any sleep. A few moments after her alarm went off, she heard the knock on her door. He stood on the other side, freshly showered and hair damp as he ran a hand over his chin. “Just ensuring you are awake and ready to compete. We’re to gather outside the diner in a bit. I presume you’ll be there?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and squinted at him blearily. “I’m awake,” she said, her voice sounding slightly hoarse from the short time of disuse. “Are you…”

“Not a morning person, I see. No matter, Emma. I’ll get us that coffee and we can share it while we await our next assignment.”

Sure enough, when they joined the others and listened to a litany of rules about the next round, he slid a foam cup into her hand and moved his own cup toward hers as if to say cheers. “Can’t have you falling asleep in your mise en place.”

She took a sip of the warm, strong liquid, swallowing as she rolled her head back in a mocking display of supposed ecstasy over the drink. “You seem to be racking up points there, Chef. Are you trying to weasel your way into my good graces so that I’ll let you win if we’re the final two?”

“I’ve been accused of being devious, but I assure you that’s not the case here. I’m just trying to be a good teammate. And if caffeine makes you more alert and a better competitor, I have no issue in fetching it for you.”

It was not that she wasn’t grateful. She was. But she had said thank you a dozen times at least to the man who seemed half pirate and half Yoda with his sage advice and ability to understand her better than most after 24 hours of knowing each other. It made her feel both supported and inadequate in a way that made her uncomfortable. She was used to winning competitions that focused on traditional techniques and the artistry of food. This competition was a different beast with limited time and ingredients, the focus being creativity and ingenuity rather than skill and precision.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered from behind the raised cup.

“Doing what? Bringing you coffee? I thought we already established that I want you to be in top form. I’m not here to lose, darling.”

“Competing.” She noted that Zelena seemed to be gazing in their direction while pretending to listen to something her sister was saying. Tilting her head toward Killian, Emma lowered her voice further. “I know it’s about the money, but is there something more?”

“I suppose we all have our reasons,” he said, his eyes glinting as she leaned closer. “The money is as good as any for me. I competed before, you know, and walked out before I could be kicked off for a mess of a dish that should have been a slam dunk.”

She frowned. “Redemption?”

“Something like that. I paid a hefty price for my exit and wanted to buy back what was once mine.”

She didn’t get to ask him any more than that, as the instruction sheets for the next challenge were announced by August. Contestants would be left with $20 to scrounge for food on a small island about 30 minutes away. There was only one small store on the island, five homes, and otherwise only natural resources.

“We’ll be taking a ferry over to the island in just a few minutes. Pack up your knives. You’ll have an outdoor kitchen with equipment and basic seasonings on the island.” He smiled, cleared his throat and delivered the lines again, letting the cameras get him from another angle. “You’ll also have access to equipment for fishing or hunting. Not both.”

Killian gave Emma a quick glance. “Any ideas now?”

“Not so much,” Emma said, standing and slinging her knife bag over her shoulder. “You’re the seafood guy. Feel like fishing?”

***AAA***

The ride to the island was shorter than they had hoped, leaving very little time for strategizing after Mr. Gold reiterated the expectations that they should all interact more and show their dislike for the other teams. It was Ariel who noted loudly that he seemed to only talk about personalities and not the flavors or food. When they got there it was still early morning and there was nothing man-made to be seen in their direct vicinity other than the dock. The heat of the day was not even in full force, but the contestants were already shedding their chef jackets. Emma noticed that Killian’s fitted black t-shirt made him look more like a male model than a chef, and couldn’t miss his appreciative gaze at the gray tank clinging to her own defined curves.

Mary Margaret and David were the only ones who chose to hunt rather than fish, but that didn’t surprise Emma. Mary Margaret was known for her prowess with a bow and arrow and was sure to bring back some sort of protein that was unattainable to the rest. Killian admitted that he was not much use with that or a crossbow, leaving them to take the rudimentary pole, line, and hook.

“You want to fish while I check out the store for what it’s got?” Emma asked, cupping her hand over her eyes and squinting to see if she could spot the place they were told was close. “I am not expecting much, but I’d like to hit it before we worry about making camp.”

“Aye,” he said, looking over at Zelena who was going to do the fishing for the sisters. That might be worth sticking around for just to watch. “I’m not sure we have much of a list or a plan, but it’s best to be getting on with it. See if you can find some fresh vegetables for a salad.”

It was still early summer, so produce was not going to be at its peak. Still, Emma was hoping to find some lemon for the fish. Perhaps some of the homeowners would have rice or pasta that she might trade for or some sort of starch. Turning back toward Killian who was already carefully threading the fishing line, she frowned. “Do you think we might look for clams? It’s early in the season for them so they’d be small, but just imagine!”

“Brilliant! You head to that store, and I’ll see what I can do about getting some clams.”

Emma threw her chef jacket onto the pile of camping gear and darted ahead to try to beat some of the others. She ended up being second to arrive at the store that sold little more than jerky and fishing bait and lures. But she was able to get a pack of smoked bacon for less than $2, knowing that would highlight most any fish Killian caught.

As she walked along the path toward two of the houses, she slapped at a mosquito that had been buzzing about her. The marshy area of the island was a breeding ground for these nuisances that seemed to be ready to feast on her. The first family she met was nice, but had very little in terms of fresh food. Still she managed to obtain a can of creamed corn, half a bag of rice, and two rather small onions. The second family offered her some cereal--a sugary, oddly colored mess that she couldn’t imagine using, a small bottle of wine that was the type you’d find on sale at a grocery store, and two unopened cans of beer, which they gave her in exchange for her butternut squash soup recipe.

Despite the last few years in New York, Emma was sure that she had never walked so much. Her sensible chef shoes were caked with muddy wet sand and had started to rub her feet raw. Hair was escaping her expertly braid and her skin was pink from the sun and numerous slaps trying to kill the mosquitos. Worst of all, she was limping from a tumble over an exposed root.

“Catch anything?” she asked when she stumbled back to the shore, dropping down to the sand with her finds beside her.

“In the cooler there.” Next to him was a blue cooler on wheels with their names written on neon green tape. She peeked in to find ice and two blue fish. It was a disappointing haul, as blue fish tended to be on the oily side and trashy. She added the bacon and covered it all back again.

“Blue fish?”

“Aye, we’d have better luck if we were on a boat, but blue fish it is. Cut out the bloodline and it should be tasty. I was thinking we might make a taco if we had…”

“I’m afraid I didn’t get much for tacos.” She showed him the assorted items. “I was thinking maybe soup with the clams. A nice broth and steamed clams is always a good choice. And we could beer-batter the blue fish. That might be good.” Sliding her shoes off, she rubbed her feet. “There’s three more houses so we might get lucky for some other sides. I just needed a moment to rest.”

He shifted his weight and watched as his lure bobbed out ahead on the water. “Perhaps we should switch. I can go to the other three and you could see to the fishing. I’ll take the shore route so I can look for clams while I’m at it.”

“I’ll stay.” Looking over at some of their competitors, she could see that Eric had nearly filled the cooler with different fish and was well on his way to setting a record. Zelena’s container was empty, but she seemed unfazed by the lack of protein.

He bent down and helped her put some of the ice on her already swelling foot. “You’re sure you’re alright? We don’t need to call the medic team, do we?” The tips of his fingers lingered at the ends of the makeshift ice pack. “I could carry you back to the ferry.”

She refused his offer by rolling her eyes. And by the time he returned she had more than doubled their stock of blue fish by catching three more and adding two stripers while she was at it.

“You’re lucky,” Zelena had told her, with a knowing smile. “Killian’s not bad to look at in the least.” Like they had assumed, Zelena wasn’t the most adept at catching fish and had fallen face first into the sand. Yet, she had come out of the faceplant looking alluring and camera ready. Her tank top was tied just under her breasts and her damp hair was curling in a way that most women paid good money to recreate.

Emma wanted to ignore the woman who was clearly trying to get into her head with talk like that. Instead she concentrated on pulling in her line and casting it again. So what if Zelena was right? He wasn’t bad to look at. He was a good cook. He seemed like a good guy. That was the problem, she thought as the water rippled in front of her. She didn’t get nice guys. She got guys who wanted quick flings. She attracted guys who had wives and wanted to keep their trysts a secret. She got liars and scoundrels. She never got the nice guy. And she had made her peace with it.

“I found a few things,” Killian said, dumping the sack. “And…” he pulled out the other smaller sack from the loop of his belt. About 20 clams. It’ll be a feast.”

She limped over to where he was standing, ignoring the blatantly concerned look on his rugged face. “Good job,” she said, offering uncharacteristic praise. Wrinkling her nose, she pointed at some items in the sack. “Green tomatoes? Those aren’t tomatillos. What were you thinking?”

“It’s too early in the season for ripe ones. But I once knew a southern chef who taught me how to make a fantastic fried green tomato. I also thought about pickling them in some vinegar for a nice relish to go atop our beer battered blue fish.” He began to collect their ingredients. “We should go make camp, love, and get our kitchen in order. Can you walk?”

“I’ve got this,” she said, throwing one of the bags of food over her shoulder. She nearly lost her balance, but by throwing her hands up like a gymnast on an apparatus, she returned to normal. The concern in his expression was both comforting and disconcerting as she slapped his pack against his chest. “Let’s go, Chef.”

It didn’t take long to get to the camping area. Concerned about her ankle, Killian volunteered to set up the tent after getting the fire going. This allowed Emma to cut and prep the food. It didn’t get past Emma that he was instilling a lot of trust in her, as she fileted the fish instead of him. He didn’t even mention that her cuts, while good, were not at the same angle that he would have done and probably left too much yield on the bone. She appreciated that.

“It’s been a while since I cooked outside,” she said, mixing the marinade for the blue fish by hand since there was no electricity for the equipment she normally used for the purpose.

“Girl Scout camp?” he queried, looking at her curiously.

“Hardly. I was a foster kid so organized events that people paid good money to do were out of the question. I’ve done this with some friends over the years though and always remember how much I love it.”

“Aye, it’s something I always say I should do more of, but time and circumstances rarely allow for it.” He poked at the fire to stir it up a bit and peered over the lip of the pot where the clams were soaking in the broth of cornmeal, creamed corn, white wine, a little butter and a few dried herbs. “Good choice to go ahead and start our clams, love. I rather like the idea of letting the soup simmer overnight to build flavor.”

She smiled at his compliment, covering the fish in the bowl with the beer based marinade. He had managed to find a package of tortillas. While they wouldn’t be as good as homemade, they would do well for a soft fish taco.

The only thing missing was dessert, but the selections had been low. So far their one idea was to grill the two bananas they had gotten from one of the homes to make what would resemble sauteed plantains.

“It was a good find,” he said, plopping down next to her. His forearms rested on his bent legs. “Let me see your ankle.”

She frowned, closing the lid to the cooler. “It’s fine, Killian. I promise.”

“Aye, no doubt that you will deny it hurts until it bloody well falls off. But despite your protests that you are fine, as you say, and refusals to utilize the medic, I have concerns. I can see from here that the swelling is still present.” He extended his right hand and wiggled his fingers in her direction to encourage her. “I promise to be gentle.”

Frowning, she straightened her leg and extended it in his direction. Even through the soft denim of her pants, she could feel his fingers gently running down the long limb probably more than he had to in order to inspect the injury to her ankle. She didn’t protest though, even minimizing her breathing to near stillness as he pushed up on the end of her jeans. “See, it’s fine.”

“It’s still swollen and a bit warm to the touch. We should get you one of our packs to use for elevating it. Can’t do to have you limping about tomorrow when we must be at our best.” He quickly doctored up a way for her to elevate her ankle and keep it cool with ice.

Quirking an eyebrow at her as she reached down to adjust the ice over her injury, he smiled. “I suppose I should volunteer to wait on you hand and foot as it were. We have a few things leftover that we won’t be using tomorrow. Might I offer you something to eat or drink?”

She fell back onto her elbows, craning her neck to look at the sky through the canopy of trees overhead. “It feels weird to have a campfire and no s’mores. But if we had chocolate and marshmallows, we would have a good dessert option.”

“Perhaps next time.”

Her head fell to one side and she caught his gaze. “You assume there will be a next time for us to camp. I’m kind of hoping the rest of the competition will be indoors.”

He didn’t clarify what he meant. Instead, he stood up and foraged through the odd assemblage of ingredients they weren’t using. Stooping over the cooler, he frowned at the addition of the two fish she had not mentioned. “You got stripers?”

“Not enough for the competition,” she admitted, “but yeah. What do you say to using them for dinner?”

“I’d say my assessment about you being brilliant is correct.” He lifted the two fish up and waggled his eyebrows. “A feast for two it is. And I say we crack open that second beer. No sense letting it go to waste.”

Later she was holding the paper plate with the rather meager but well cooked dinner on her lap. “I’m not too much of a foodie to enjoy beer out of a can.” Reaching over, she plucked it from his hand and popped the cap. She took a long gulp of the cold and bitter beverage. “Reminds me of college.”

Chuckling, he took his own sip and settled next to her again. “I think I’d have liked to have seen that. You in your younger days, carefree, and a bit wild. It must have been a sight.”

She broke a bit of the flakey fish off with her fork. “I don’t think I was ever carefree. But I did have friends and enjoyed the occasional party.”

He had yet to bite into the food, his eyes studying her slightly sunburned face. “I would say that it is a shame that you didn’t experience that state of being carefree, but I doubt you would accept the condolences. I’m sure that your beginnings made you into who you are today.”

“And have you figured that out yet?” she asked.

“As I told you, you’re an open book in many ways,” he finally took a bite of the fish, his eyes closing briefly to assess the taste and texture of his own work. Opening them again, he met her green and curious eyes. “But I would never tell a lass that I have her all figured out. You do continually surprise me.”

“In a good way?” she asked before closing her mouth around the fork again.

“The best,” he confirmed. “I know we are only paired for a short time, but I feel like you have challenged me at each step. That’s an impressive feat for a New York City chef competing in Maine.”

“And that’s what you’ve figured out, that I’m a New York City chef?”

“Aye, that and that you love garlic and cinnamon, though not together. You worry more over what your diners are thinking of your food than the classical flavors and techniques we learned in classes. There’s something about perfect knife cuts that makes you smile. I think you probably prefer gelato to ice cream. And while you are clearly a savory chef, you have a sweet tooth.”

The tenderness in his tone and expression amazed her as she waited for the sarcastic punch to hit. It didn’t. “You might be right,” she answered so softly that he barely heard it.

“I know that you enjoy your work as an executive chef, but you have dreams that are bigger than that. Perhaps that’s the wrong word though. I think you probably have simpler dreams that involve cooking your own food in your own restaurant.” He brushed a bit of sand off his leg.

“Don’t all chefs want that? And you think you have me figured out by watching me cook?”

“By watching you in general,” he clarified, bowing his head and murmuring the words. “You are quite guarded, but there are moments, just a few, when you let the real you out to the world.”

His face was so close to hers in that moment that she barely had to lift her head to press her lips to his. If he was shocked, he did not reveal it except by a slight gasp. Slow and thoughtful, his lips moved against hers with gentle firmness. A moment later he pulled back a fraction of an inch, the blue of his eyes dark in the dim light of the fire. An errant curl that had escaped her messy braid was between his fingers as he studied her.

“Don’t,” she said, reaching up and cupping his cheek in her hand. “Don’t apologize or make an excuse. Please.”

“I wasn’t intending to,” he said, leaning his cheek further into her palm. “Perhaps you might be willing to share a bit more about your beginnings. I would be honored to know you better.”

She yawned and watched the wispy gray strands of smoke rise from the fire and disappear into the night sky. “Not much to tell. I changed home every few months and learned to travel light.”

“Never a home that stuck?”

“Well, there was one when I was about 14. A woman named Ingrid. She had a few of us she watched over. And one by one they were either reunited with their parents or found adoptive parents. I didn’t.” She was quiet for a moment, waiting for him to encourage her perhaps. While he said nothing, his eyes studied her in that attentive way he had. “Soon it was just me. She tried to adopt me, but it didn’t go through or maybe she changed her mind. I moved on to another group home and didn’t know why. It hurt. Not knowing why the one person who seemed to want me left me too. God, I should be over this. I am a grown adult now.”

“I don’t know if we ever get over not being wanted,” he answered. His arm rested on her shoulders and his hand dangled until she caught it with her own, locking their fingers together. “Wounds are made when we’re young tend to linger.”

“Sounds as though you have a few of those wounds too?”

“Nobody makes it through their youth unscathed. Some are just luckier than others, I suppose.” His thumb trailed over the fleshy part of her hand.

She tilted her head to better look at him. “Tell me?”

He gave her a short version of the loss of his mother, betrayal of a father, and loss of a brother who he had adored. There was talk of the boat that he had always wanted and the loss of it.

“You mean that Gold was the producer on that show? He sued you and you chose to come back again?”

“I’m not proud of that performance, love. He doesn’t seem that concerned though.”

Her brow creased thoughtfully. “No, he doesn’t seem concerned about much other than the drama of the competition. So if you win, you’ll buy back your boat?”

“That’s the plan. What about you? Some posh and proper bistro in New York?”

“Actually, I’m looking at a place here in Maine,” she admitted, her head hitting his shoulder as she told him of Ingrid leaving her a tall Victorian house that was way too big for her to live in and screamed out as perfect for a seaside restaurant. Her voice sounded dreamy as they discussed menus and sustainable fishing that would make the place her dream. Her eyes closed as she imagined simple elegance and clean flavors.

“As enjoyable as this moment is, love, I was just thinking that perhaps we should be considering sleep. We got precious little last night, and tomorrow…”

“You really shouldn’t be so practical,” she said, throwing back her head with a moan of frustration. “Because now I am going to think about how much I want to sleep.”

Laughter from Mary Margaret and David’s camp filled the circle of campers, while the lights of the camera crew at Regina and Zelena’s site drove away some of the feeling of purity from the experience of camping. “I don’t regret it, Emma. I just would rather kiss you without the fear that your sleep addled brain wasn’t wondering who I was or about my intentions.”

“I know who you are, Killian. You’re not the only one who has been paying attention.”

***AAA***

Mr. Gold and the judges arrived around 10 a.m. the next morning, though filming had been going on for a while. None of the teams were particularly chatty with each other as they put the finishing touches on their plates. With Emma’s limp less pronounced and the swelling going down, she was hurrying about as if there wasn’t a problem. Stirring the freshly chopped onion into the green tomato salsa, she didn’t see it when it happened, but she certainly heard it.

When she looked up, she saw Killian take about five steps back from the fire with his left hand cradled in his right. She dropped the spoon into the mixing bowl and hurried over to him. “Are you alright?”

His eyes were narrow and glassy as he stared at his hand as if it had commented some sort of offensive treachery. The towel that he normally wore over his shoulder or at his waist was haphazardly covering his hand, but Emma could already see the red splotches of blood coming through the thin fabric.

“Killian, look at me,” she said, steering him away from the fire. “Come on. I’ve got you.”

It was David who alerted the medic to the problem and Ariel who flagged down one of the production assistants. Emma didn’t move from his side until he reminded her of their task. “Get the fish. It’ll burn if we leave it too long.”

“You can’t possibly be thinking about food right now,” she hissed.

“Aye, and you are too. Go win this thing, Emma. I’ll be fine.”

Squeezing her hand on his thigh, she put on a new set of cooking gloves and checked the fish that was close to overdone at that point. His knife was on the ground, as was the lime that didn’t look quite ripe enough. She pulled the fish, and using her own knife, rough chopped the blue fish for the tacos. Her eyes and focus were on Killian, who looked to be in pain as the medic spoke to him and the production assistant in hushed tones.

Skirting around the cameraman who was capturing her own nervous reaction on tape, she grabbed for the box of salt and seasoned the clams heartily before going back to throw the premade tortillas on the grate of their makeshift grill. Killian had spoken earlier about the importance of heating them just before the judging, which would a smoky flavor. The bacon would create that as well, she thought. So with her stealthy glance still on Killian, she threw the bacon slices onto the grill grate and heated them. Once they were crispy enough, she broke them into smaller pieces and combined them in the salsa. There was still quite a bit left over and so as a last minute addition, she threw the rest of crumbled bacon into the broth.

“Chef Swan,” Mr. Gold said, his cane digging into the sandy earth. “I know you must be frantic what with your partner’s injury, but if you would be a dear.”

“What do you want?” Emma asked distractedly.

His sickening sweet smile grew wider as he watched her push back her hair with her forearm. “Dearie, you know we are filming a television show here. It’s important that we have these details, you know.”

“Look, I’ve got seven minutes left and a lot of plating to do. Can we just get on with it?”

“Of course. I just hoped we might shoot some B-roll of you doing a few things around the fire. Stirring your food? Adding some herbs or spices? You’ve got a box of salt there. Why don’t you pretend to put some in while we film?”

The exhale of her breath sent the errant hairs around her face flying as she grabbed the salt and poured some into her hand. “Can you do that again, a little slower this time?” Gold asked.

She said nothing, adding more to the heaping mound. Her head turned to get a better view of what they were doing to Killian as two EMTs were rushed in from the direction of the docks. Her stomach dropped and her hand shook as she felt the salt overflow from her cupped hand. She jerked it back and dropped the rest of the mound down to the sand. “Excuse me,” she told the producer and cameraman, pushing past them to hurry over to Killian.

“What’s going on?” she asked, staring down at his wrist and hand now covered in bandages.

“They want to get an x-ray of it, but I may have sliced my tendon,” Killian said, his jaw tight and his eyes flashing with anger. “I’m a bloody klutz to have used the knife so carelessly.”

“Oh God,” Emma said, yanking her glove off to touch him. “Are you in pain? What am I asking? Of course, you’re in pain. I’m going with you to the hospital. I want…”

“Emma, the competition…you need to be here for the judges. I’ll be fine. I’ll be back for the next round. We’ve both got plans for that money.”

Only, he wasn’t back for the next round and neither was Emma. While he was being taken to the hospital, Emma had stood alone at the table where she served the residents of the island and the judges the fish tacos, rice, and clams in the white wine broth. She had run out of time to make the dessert, but nobody could really blame her when she was working alone on a two person task. No, the complaints weren’t about the lack of sweetness. They were instead about the saltiness of the clams in their broth. She had seasoned them too much and the added bacon had made the dish so salty that it was inedible to most of the people there.

With her head lowered and bile rising in her stomach, she heard the news announced that she and Killian were eliminated from the competition.

***AAA***

“So I called that contractor about redoing the floor at Ingrid’s,” Ruby said two months later as she breezed into the kitchen of the restaurant where Emma was working. “He said he could do them next week. Great, right?” Steam from the pots and pans on the stove rose high and the clatter of plates from the wait staff echoed in the room.

Emma slid the pan into the oven and closed it with a resounding slam. Lifting her knife, she returned to the vegetables on the cutting board and began to chop. “Excuse me, but did we somehow come into money that I’m not aware of or something? Because last time I looked at my bank account, I was not seeing it. After I oversalted my last dish on the show, I am lucky my boss didn’t fire me.”

Ruby plucked one of the berries out of the dish waiting to be cut and popped it into her mouth. “So you’ll get a loan. It’s the American way.”

“Seriously?” Emma asked, her knife rocking against the bamboo board. “Ruby, you know this business better than I do. I can’t just go get a loan to redo a house as a restaurant. I’d need equipment, staff, food, insurance…I can’t do it. I’m going to be cooking someone else’s vision for the rest of my life.”

“Pity party, table for one,” Ruby chided, leaning her elbows onto the cold surface of the prep table. “Look, you did well on that show. I’ve been watching the raw tape. Investors are already impressed..”

“I oversalted the food, nearly burned the fish, and…”

“And they still had a hard time deciding whether or not to send you and Killian home. By the way, he’s doing better. Granny’s got him back in the kitchen on the days he isn’t doing physical therapy for his hand.”

Her non-response included spinning around to add some freshly chopped peppers to the simmering pot on the stove. Other than the tense rise of her shoulders and the shallowness of her breath, Emma’s reaction to hearing his name would have gone unnoticed by someone who wasn’t her best friend.

“When I went to visit her for her birthday, he asked about you, you know? Wanted to know how you were doing.”

“And I’m sure you told him,” Emma answered sourly. “Ruby, I screwed it up for us. He trusted me and I screwed it up. He needed that money too.” Her eyes dropped as she remembered the wistful way he had spoken about his boat and the idea of sailing along the shore with no real destination in mind. Truthfully, the thought appealed to her too.

“And that happens sometimes. It was a competition, Emma. You either win or lose. It’s not like you don’t get other chances. There’s another show that is casting right now. I could make calls. But I think we need to look at this one a little bit closer. And maybe explain why you didn’t even go to the hospital to see him when he got injured. I know you’re a great winner, Emma, but I thought you had it in you to be gracious in losing too.”

“You know why I didn’t go,” Emma said, her voice trembling. “I let him down and couldn’t face him. It was easier to just go back to what I know best and move on. I’m too much of a broken mess to even deal with screwing up like that.” It had just been a kiss, she told herself, ignoring that they had talked late into the night and she had slept with her head on his chest as he watched the fire that night. It was easier to say it meant nothing. Who would go traipsing after a guy in another state after a single kiss?

“I think he has a thing for broken messes. I don’t know if you saw it, but his eyes light up when he says your name.” Ruby’s smile grew. “It’s not even something he can hide.”

“What? With anger?” Emma tried to joke. It fell flat.

“No, I wouldn’t call it that.” Ruby dug into the designer knock off bag she carried and pulled out a DVD. “This is the raw cut of the show. Would you do me a favor and watch it? Just watch it? Even if you don’t enjoy seeing his obvious interest in you, you’ll appreciate the take down of Regina and Zelena for cheating. The look on Gold’s face when he realized his own interference was going to cost them is priceless.”

“I don’t have time for television shows,” Emma said, drowning out Ruby’s response with the blender. When she finished making the sauce, her friend was gone and the disc sat catching the light on the counter. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to watch.

***AAA***

“You could call her,” Robin suggested, passing a plate to one of the servers at Granny’s. “If you don’t know her number, you at least know where she works.”

“Are you suggesting I show up there and stalk her?” Killian asked as he slid another pancake onto the plate and doused the stack with syrup. “Hi, I’m the now one-handed git who works one step above fast food and kissed you that one time. Fancy a drink?”

“Don’t be dramatic. You have two hands.” Robin shrugged, having heard his friend’s pitiful excuses before. “And no, I was thinking more along the lines of calling her there. But if you think showing up would work better, I vote for that. Take some time off. You got that insurance settlement that is going to make a hefty downpayment on that 30-foot Catalina sailboat and your appearance fee for the show.. So why not a trip to New York?”

“No thanks, mate. Rejection is not something I would like to relive.”

“Have you always been this stubborn?”

“It’s one of my more lovable traits, mate. That and my ability to cheat at any game of poker. Speaking of which, are you hosting this week or is it John?” Killian flexed and stretched his left hand carefully as the doctors had instructed. The surgery to reattach the tendon was arduous and the recovery tough. But he was trying to do his exercises nightly and had spent hours in therapy to better use the injured appendage.

“You care for her. And from the footage the Widow Lucas’s granddaughter showed me, the woman seemed to fancy you too. I don’t know why she didn’t visit your lousy arse in the hospital. But I do suspect that a call from you wouldn’t be unwelcome.”

The ding of the bell from one of the servers indicated another order being placed. Killian reached for it and nearly faltered as his hand cramped up. Tearing it down on his second try, he grimaced. “Not now.”

***AAA***

Emma spooned some of the whipped cream onto the steaming mug of hot chocolate and watched as globs of it melted away. With a sprinkle of cinnamon on top, she curled her hands around the too hot mug and padded on sock covered feet into the living room.

Normally Ruby didn’t wait up for her unless she wanted something, but she had yet to say a single word as she sat curled up on the loveseat reading a bodice ripping romance and munching on cheese doodles. Dipping a finger into the whipped cream and licking it, Emma watched her friend expectantly. Ruby simply turned the page in her novel and chewed louder on the cheddar flavored snack.

“Fine,” Emma said, curling her legs under her and reaching for the remote. “I’ll watch the damn footage. Happy?”

Ruby said nothing and simply dragged a cheesy finger across the page in her demonstration of concentrated reading.

The large screen filled with scenes of the short time they were in the competition, Emma recognizing the efforts the contestants made. What she hadn’t noticed at the time was becoming increasingly clear on the video evidence. Killian’s eyes often lingered on hers and his smiles became brighter each time she spoke to him or showed any attention in his direction. When she smarted off at one of the judges, he was practically beaming with pride. Her own reaction wasn’t exactly subtle either.

“The interviews are even better,” Ruby said, finally dropping her book and pretense.

Ruby was right. Killian spoke of food with great respect and passion, but he was speaking of her with nearly equal reverence. His face flushed and his words stuttered when someone off camera asked if there was something going on between them.

“This isn’t making me feel better,” Emma complained, sipping down more of the chocolate drink. “Why am I even watching this? So what if he was interested in me? I clearly ruined it by getting us kicked off the show and then being too chicken to even show up to see him at the hospital.”

“Right,” Ruby said, digging her hand into the bag and pulling out another crisp puff. “I mean nothing to see here. Move on.”

Emma frowned at the screen as Regina and Zelena waxed philosophical about their differences of opinions and similar palates. Then the footage of Killian’s injury filled the screen, followed by her mistake, and then the announcement that she lost. Her finger hovered over the stop button on the remote when Ruby told her to wait. “For what?”

The image of Killian in his hospital bed filled the screen and Emma let her finger continue to hover. “It was my fault,” Killian told the camera, his expression somber and his face pale against the starched sheets of his bed. “I had already salted the broth and didn’t tell her. She didn’t know.”

“But he didn’t salt it,” Emma protested to the television. “I know. He wasn’t near the pot of broth. He was trying to cut that lime and…”

Ruby reached over and pulled the remote from her friend’s hand. “Pretty dramatic statement, right? He was trying to take the blame for your mistake.”

“That’s just…”

“Romantic?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I was going with stupid.”

“Right,” Ruby said, nodding thoughtfully. “Stupidly romantic then.”

Ruby made her watch the rest: the stunning disqualification of Regina and Zelena in the penultimate round for cheating, followed by a black screen with white typography stating that Mr. Gold had been removed from the production for his part in sneaking the women ingredients, tools, and recipes in some sort of deal for them to win and become the faces of his brand of frozen dinners, and the thrilling showdown between the married couples resulting in a close victory for David and Mary Margaret. Between the winning pair, it was Mary Margaret who won the whole thing though you couldn’t tell by the exuberant celebration. As Ruby turned off the television, Emma sank back against the cushions of her couch. “I can’t believe he did that. He could have let me take the blame; it’s my fault. I don’t get it. Why did he do that?”

Exasperated, Ruby threw the blanket covering her legs off and stood up from the love seat. “Ask him, Emma. Freaking ask him. I gassed up your car. I packed you an overnight bag. I called your boss and traded in some of that vacation time you’ve been hoarding. I was trying to trick you into going to Maine with me to see about your plans for the restaurant at Ingrid’s old house. I even lined up some investor appointments so you can do this the real way instead of the competition show way. But I’m going for the emotional appeal. Now get your ass in gear, put some hot chocolate in a thermos, and go ask him yourself.”

“Ruby…”

Her exasperated friend was jangling the car keys in front of her. “You can yell at me in the car. Let’s go. We’ll talk about the restaurant on the way.”

***AAA***

Granny’s most frequent customer had sent the meatloaf back twice, claiming it was bland. Killian was ready to kill him. A scent of burnt grease permeated the air as he directed the two line cooks to prepare the easier dishes between shouted replies from the restaurant’s proprietor.

Sashaying into the kitchen, Granny lifted the lid on the rosemary laced tomato sauce and breathed in the scent before turning her attention toward Killian. “Take a break would you? You’re clearly not on your game today.”

He dropped his mouth open to speak, but shut it in recognition that she was right. “I’m just going to take a walk.”

The older woman’s glasses swung from around her neck as she leaned over to inspect another pot simmering away. “Go on with you,” she said cheerily. “Be back in a bit?”

“Sure,” he said, wadding up his apron and pushing through the back door. He knew better than to say he was getting fresh air when all he could smell was the stench of the dumpsters. He rounded the building and was about to head east toward the docks when he saw what appeared to be the familiar blonde head of his television partner. It couldn’t be, he thought bitterly. Why would she be in Maine?

He was already at the docks by the time Granny quit hugging Emma and telling her to stop being a stranger. And he had bought a pound of fresh scallops for a dish he wanted to try by the time Granny had lectured Emma about her lack of confidence in taking chances. He was a block away when Emma ordered her favorite grilled cheese and Granny told her that she was short-handed, so cook it herself.

He caught sight of her standing at the grill before she even turned around. “Best keep your eye on it, or it will burn,” he said, not sure what else he could say in that moment that wouldn’t be clichéd or heavy handed.

She turned her head slightly to confirm his presence and then shifted her eyes back to the sandwich. “You think I don’t know how to cook something as simple as grilled cheese? I thought I was an open book.” She lifted the edge of the sandwich and studied it. “I guess not a cookbook though, right?”

“I think you traveled an awfully long way to eat a burnt sandwich.”

With a flick of her wrist the flame beneath the pan disappeared and she slid her sandwich onto the plate. It was then that he noticed she had made two. “I didn’t travel all this way just to make a sandwich I could easily do at home.”

He nodded, gesturing to the two prep cooks to take their breaks. He knew Granny wouldn’t mind. She might even understand.

Lifting the two plates high, she carried them over to the prep table in the middle of the room and gestured for him to join her. Along with the sandwiches, there were onion rings and a simple dipping sauce she had mixed just before he arrived.

“Why did you come here?” he asked as he took a seat on a stool that wobbled. “I didn’t really expect that you would show up here. I assumed you would rather forget our awful encounter.”

“This is where I could explain that I’m still going to open my restaurant here. But that’s not the reason right now. Or I could tell you how Ruby forced me. But I’m not big on following directions other than a recipe. So the shortest answer is to ask you why. Why did you try to save me when you didn’t do anything wrong? Why did you risk your reputation?” Her voice faded into a hushed stillness that seemed unnatural for a restaurant kitchen.

“And you think I have the answers?” He licked his lips nervously. “I hate to shatter the illusion, love, but I don’t. When I heard what the judges said, I felt responsible. I had distracted you. You would not normally make such an error, so I tried to take a bit of the burden from you. Even if it wouldn’t get us back in the competition on a technicality, I didn’t want you to lose your dream of opening that restaurant. And with the way Gold seemed to be playing it, investors were going to be hard to convince to fund you.”

“You traded your chance at getting your ship back for me?”

“Aye.” He met her gaze with an unwavering focus.

She nodded slightly and gave a nervous laugh. “Besides, you made that amazing striper for me. I thought I owed you.”

“Grilled cheese in exchange for striper cooked over a fire?” he asked, straddling the stool across from her. “I do hope it’s the best grilled cheese ever.”

She broken off a bit of the sandwich and popped it in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “So yeah, it’s the best thing I make. It’s the first thing I ever made actually. When I watched the bread brown and the cheese melt, it felt like I was performing magic.” She leaned back, suppressing a sigh. “And given how I screwed up whatever was going on between us, I could use a little magic right now.”

He bit into his with his dimples deepening. “I’m impressed. You make a hell of a grilled cheese and you shared a bit about your beginnings. And for the record, you didn’t screw anything up.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to the hospital,” she blurted out. “I didn’t think you would want to see me. I didn’t think you would want me…”

“I must have done a piss poor job of showing you my intentions if you could think I didn’t want you, Emma. And you owe me no apology. I was there out of my own carelessness and to the detriment of our team. You must think me a complete…”

“I think of you,” she interrupted. “And not in a bad way. Look, I know we didn’t get to know each other that much. And I know we only kissed once, but I…I want to know you too Killian.”

“And I you.”

“So any suggestions on how we do this? I’ll admit that I’m not sure of the steps here. I’ll probably screw it up.”

Standing up and circling the rectangular table, he grinned as he pulled her up to stand. “I’m sure there is a recipe, love. Or we might make it up as we go along?”

She tilted her head back to look up at him, matching his happy grin. “I think I can do that. Sometimes the best recipes are the ones you make up as you go along.”

His lips covered hers hungrily, devouring the softness. Arms around him, she melted into his embrace. And in that moment, their hearts like ingredients joined to make the perfect combination.

#cslb 2018 #cslb #cs fanfiction #cs ff #captain swan fanfiction

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prongsie · 7 years ago

Photo

There was a distinct pause in time the second she looked upon his face. Emma had seen millions of faces pass through her gates in the underworld - princesses whose beauty started wars, rogues whose greatest sin was the number of individuals they’d seduced with virile charm - but none compared to this man. There were entire oceans in his eyes, a warmth in his smile. Emma could see why the gods would look favorably upon him to grant him such mystical abilities and why an entire world of people would crave his presence.

He was beautiful.

“Are you the Healer of the Seas?” Emma asked, forcing her voice steady.

“Aye, that I am. May I ask why such a beautiful woman dressed in fine clothes is here seeking me out?”

Spring in the Valley of Death

A Captain Swan AU by @the-reason-to-sail-home

Summary: Queen Emma of the Underworld enlists the help of a magical healer when her son falls deathly ill. Killian Jones, one of the best healers alive, is Emma’s last hope. But with so many people who need him, he can’t stay down in the Underworld forever. With the help of a few pomegranate seeds, he may not have a choice. Hades and Persephone!AU.

Rating: M

Content Warnings: Light sexual situations, mentions of death and loss.

(Also available on: ao3)

My art part for the Captain Swan Little Bang!! Heavily inspired by Alphonse Mucha’s works, I wanted to pick up the elements of Queen Emma and Healer Killian, with some accents from the story itself and a little Tarot vibe.

This time I’m working with a talented writer, a WONDERFUL story, and a theme that I can’t resist it, so I was very happy to know that I was able to draw for it! I want to thank @the-reason-to-sail-home for her creation, inspiration and feedback, and @captainswanbigbang for making this event again with more amazing writers and artists! Please, go check out this beautiful story!

#cslb #Captain Swan #once upon a time #killian jones #emma swan #cslb 2018 #cs fanfic #cs fanart

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amorecolorfulmoniker · 7 years ago

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Le Cirque Noir by @the-captains-ayebrows

For the 2018 CS Little Bang! Word count ~13,400; Tumblr, AO3

Running away to join the circus is like - the biggest cliche ever, but it’s the only available solution to Emma Swan’s very immediate problem. Running from the cops and with a freshly broken heart, Emma just needs shelter, a job and a ride out of town. She never expected to stumble into a world of real magic complete with witches, werewolves and a trio of shape-shifting brothers. Beast-taming isn’t so hard when the “beasts” are really humans in disguise. Taming were-panther Killian Jones might just be another matter all together. But maybe a lost girl can find a home among the “circus freaks”.

Rating/Warnings: T for swearing, sexual innuendo, brief non-graphic description of character/animal injury

Other pairings: Jewel Queen (Liam/Regina) and slight mentions of Ruby/Mulan

I had sooo much fun working on these pieces and it was so great collaborating with @the-captains-ayebrows!!!!! I hope you all enjoy this story as much as I have!!!

#cslb #cslb 2018 #captain swan au #csff #cs edit #cs fic rec #mine

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writemyanchor · 7 years ago

Text

Along Came You

Summary: Killian Jones is a jaded NYPD detective who has been on the force for nearly ten years. He doesn’t do emotions and he certainly doesn’t do relationships. Enter Emma Swan. She’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

Rated E

Content/Trigger warnings: Strong sexual content, language, mention of minor character(s) death(s), alcohol abuse

a/n: First of all, thank you to the community @captainswanbigbang that put the CSLB together. It was so much fun interacting with artists and writers on tumblr and getting to create together. So, thank you!

Also, thank you to my amazing beta-reader @awkwardnessandbaseball who has more patience than I can understand and is so bad ass in her editing skills. She made this story SO much better.

Finally, I love my artwork! I’ve never had one for a CS fic before and @liloproductions made this beautiful one for my story that fit so well and was so perfect that I was almost shocked how spot on she got it. I’m simply in love with it.

Lastly, if you read this fic in its entirety, then you’re already really freaking awesome in my book!

Links: AO3 FANFICTION

X X

KILLIAN JONES

He pushed himself harder than he’d intended at the gym, his sweat-soaked shirt sticking to his skin. He was beat, having gotten off an 18-hour shift two nights before then jogging to and from a two-hour gym session with David. He should have ignored his best friend when he rang him at 6 o’clock that morning, but…

The elevator dinged on his floor and Killian pushed himself off the wall, grabbing his keys from his pocket as he walked down the hall towards his apartment. When he entered his place, he was surprised to find the scent of bacon and eggs as well as the faint sound of the radio coming from the kitchen. Killian kicked off his shoes and left his things by the door before rounding the corner, a pinch in his brow.

The brunette standing in front of the stove—the very reason he had answered David’s call—was currently humming along to Electric Light Orchestra’s ‘Don’t Bring Me Down’ without a care in the world, swaying her hips, completely oblivious to his presence.

He was hit with flashes of the night before. His head ached from the amount of rum he had consumed, but he could remember bits and pieces of her dancing against him. He wasn’t much of a dancer, mostly just swayed slightly, smiling like a drunken fool as she rubbed her body against him.

Killian shook his head to clear his mind before he loudly cleared his throat. The brunette jumped slightly before spinning around on her heel. She was wearing her tiny boy shorts and one of his t-shirts, which made him clench his jaw.

Had she rifled through his things while he was gone? The woman before him smiled and reached over to turn off the radio. “Hey, you,” she said, her chest heaving a bit. “I was wondering where you went.” She sauntered over to him, a seductive smile on her face as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Suddenly, Killian couldn’t breathe. “Um,” he hummed and, trying his best to remember his manners, placed his fingertips barely on her waist to push her away gently. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What’s the matter, baby?” His eyebrow rose of its own accord because he had just met this woman last night, after a pint too many, and they didn’t even know each other’s last names. “Listen, Aurora—” She almost beamed at him remembering her first name and it made something in his chest ache, but he pushed it away—“I have an early shift tomorrow morning and I have...a lot of errands to do today.” Aurora’s face fell and she took a step back. “What?” she chuckled. “Last night you said we’d...spend the weekend together.”

Killian’s jaw dropped. Had he really said that?

She took a step towards him and he took one back. Both of her eyebrows flew up this time and after a moment she said, “You’re blowing me off.” “I’m not—“ “I thought we had a good time last night.” Bloody hell. “We did, love, just...” “First, I am not your love. Second, my friend told me exactly what you were like and I didn’t listen.” She let out a sigh before looking around uncomfortably for a moment. “Let me just grab my things.” Killian ran a hand through his hair and let out a long sigh of his own as he heard Aurora rummaging around in his bedroom. About five minutes later she emerged fully dressed with her hair thrown up in a high ponytail. Killian could do nothing but watch her as she sat down in the foyer to slip on her shoes. It wasn’t until she reached for the doorknob that he finally found his voice. “For what it’s worth, I did have a good time,” he said. “I just don’t...do this.” He motioned between them pathetically.

She let out a humorless laugh before turning around to face him. “So what? You just fuck your way through New York because you have commitment issues? Guess what? We all have baggage. What makes yours any heavier than the rest of ours?” He couldn’t help but flinch at her words, but she didn’t give him a chance to respond—not that he could—before she left. She didn’t slam the door behind her like he expected, like he knew he deserved.

X X

EMMA SWAN

Emma was laying in her bed at 2 o’clock in the morning, hair thrown up in a loose bun and eating leftover pizza from the parlor down the street. She had to be up in just a few hours, but for now she didn’t care. She had finally finished unpacking and was officially moved into her new apartment— it was modest, but it was clean and in a nice neighborhood and that was all she had wanted. She didn’t think she would actually finish moving in that night, but her friend Mary-Margaret, in all her beautiful, insistent glory, had rang her doorbell at 5 o’clock that morning with a smile on her face.

“David’s at the gym and I wanted to see your new place!” was her only explanation. But she had brought coffee and bear claws and was an interior designer for crying out loud, so really Emma had no room to complain.

Emma had known Mary-Margaret back in Storybrooke, Maine. They met their freshman year of high school and had even been roommates at Boston University for four years. They only parted ways when Mary-Margaret moved to New York for graduate school. Then she met David and the two of them had been inseparable ever since, moving in together not long after.

Emma was happy for her friend—David was a good man who loved her and Mary-Margaret deserved nothing less. Although, sometimes Emma had to admit she envied her friend’s love. She knew that what Mary-Margaret and David felt for each other was deep and rare, and it was something Emma had never had.

That didn’t stop her from thinking about it, though. Perhaps it was the romantic novels she buried herself in, but Emma sometimes wondered if there was a person out there who would fit into her life like a missing puzzle piece.

She thought she might have found something close with Neal, but it turned out she had just been young and naive. She turned to casual dating through college, thinking she would ‘stumble’ across her Prince Charming one day.

But that had only led her to Walsh, the arrogant salesman; Jefferson, who flirted with everything in a dress; and of course Graham, who was so sweet and kind and good-looking to boot that Emma almost wanted him to be the one. Sadly, there had just been no spark.

Needless to say, she still hadn’t met the man that quite...did it for her. She hadn’t met her person.

Emma’s plan had never been to join Mary-Margaret in New York—she had a good teaching job at Bunker Hill Community College and a cozy little loft—but she felt maybe it was time to get out of Boston and try to get a fresh start away from everything that was familiar. So when NYU had emailed her about an opening for professors specifically in Classic Literature, she knew it was a sign.

The next day was her first day teaching and she was ready.

X X

KILLIAN JONES

“Well hello there, Casanova.”

Killian rolled his eyes as he took a seat at his desk, across from his partner David. He handed David his coffee while taking a sip of his own. Killian began aimlessly fiddling through a finished case file on his desk, hoping to distract his friend from where this conversation was obviously headed.

“Sorry for pulling you away from your lady love yesterday,” David continued, an infuriating grin on his face. “If you’d just told me you were seeing someone…”

“I’m not.” Killian couldn’t help but snap, looking up. Then his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he shook his head. “Wait, how the bloody hell did you know about that?”

David couldn’t hide his guilty face even if he tried. “Robin may have let a few details slip about your outing at the bar this weekend. So, what’s her name?” He smiled and leaned back in his chair, placing both hands behind his head.

Killian’s jaw clenched as he looked down at the papers in front of him. “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “I’m not seeing her again.”

He heard David sigh. “Isn’t that the third one night stand you’ve had this month?”

Killian couldn’t help but slam his pen on his desk. “Bloody hell, are you keeping track?”

Suddenly David leaned forward with a serious expression. “Look, Killian, you know I love you like a brother—”

“Mate, I’m going to go ahead and stop you right there. I don’t want to hear your speech about ‘meaningful relationships’ before I’ve even finished my first cup of coffee,” he said, a pleading look on his face.

David held his hands up in surrender. “I promise you this is not a speech. I just think if you met the right person—”

Killian clenched his jaw again. “Listen, Dave. I told you once we’re not discussing this. I don’t want to have to tell you again.” He fixed his partner with a hard stare, and as expected, David let out a sigh before he finally backed down, frustration clear as day on his face.

Thankfully, the awkwardness didn’t last long because their captain approached them a moment later, clearing his throat and looking between the two men curiously. Killian tore his glare away from David to meet his superior’s gaze.

“Morning, gentleman,” Captain Gold said. “Is there a problem here?”

“No,” Killian answered, fighting to keep his voice steady. He didn’t want to get on his superior’s bad side today. “I have the briefing on the Samson case whenever you’re ready.” It was easy for Killian to slip back into the role of detective; it was familiar and safe.

“Absolutely,” Gold responded, all authority. “Be in my office in ten minutes.”

Killian simply nodded and turned his attention to his computer, burying himself in his paperwork once again. Twenty minutes later, David got up and offered him another cup of coffee. When Killian raised an eyebrow, and David only nodded once in return, he knew he and his friend were on good terms again. For now.

X X

EMMA SWAN

“You are being dramatic,” Mary-Margaret said, her tone disbelieving.

“I’m really not,” Emma laughed as Mary-Margaret took the wine bottle from her hands and led her to the kitchen. “Second day of class and I already have two students asking for extensions on a paper. What is happening to the world?”

“Hey, do not ask me that,” Regina—a close friend of Mary-Margaret—chimed in. “I could go on and on.”

Mary-Margaret giggled as she uncorked the wine and filled a glass. “We don’t want that. Here, drink this,” she said, handing the full glass to Regina, who took it graciously.

“By the way, is Jones gracing us with his presence tonight?” Regina asked.

Mary-Margaret sighed, handing Emma a generous glass of wine before pouring her own. “I honestly do not know what is going on with that man,” she said, setting the bottle down. “You know I haven’t seen him since Trivia Night? Two months ago.”

“Who is Jones?” Emma asked curiously.

“Killian Jones,” Mary-Margaret said. “David’s partner.”

“Oh!” Emma recalled the few stories she heard about him from Mary-Margaret and David over the years, but she had never met him, nor seen a photo of him. “So he does exist.”

Mary-Margaret laughed and rolled her eyes.

“Who exists?” Regina’s husband, Robin, asked as he entered the kitchen. He was a few inches taller than her, with sandy blonde hair, kind eyes, and a British accent.

“Detective Killian Jones,” Regina said dramatically, wrapping her arm around Robin’s waist as he embraced her. “Heard of him?”

“Ahh yes, the elusive Detective Jones,” Robin said playfully. “I hear he lurks in subway trenches in the middle of the night, and feeds off the empty beer bottles of the Uni kids.”

Regina giggled, startling Emma and making her completely forget about the drink that was halfway to her mouth. She watched Regina snuggle closer to Robin with an almost drunken smile on her face that Emma was sure had nothing to do with the wine.

“You’re so cheesy, do you know that?” Regina murmured.

Robin looked down at her so longingly, Emma had to look away. “Only for you, my darling love bug,” he said.

Emma inexplicably felt herself blush and she quickly looked down before gulping the rest of her wine—despite it still being half full—and discreetly moved to the island to pour herself another.

Just as she was topping off her glass, she heard the distinct sound of lips smacking, so she took a large gulp of her wine and reached for a cracker on the cheese plate in front of her. Mary-Margaret appeared next to her, grabbing a tiny piece of salami and thankfully oblivious to her discomfort.

Before anyone could say another word, the doorbell rang. Mary-Margaret stepped forward to answer it, but David finally appeared from the living room and headed toward the front door. There were muffled voices and a few chuckles before footsteps approached them.

“Look who I found!” David’s booming voice entered the kitchen before he did.

Following behind him was a tall, dark-haired, incredibly handsome man. Emma Swan did not get goosebumps often, but here she was getting them at the sight of a total stranger. He was looking a bit sheepish at the attention he was now getting from everyone, and Emma took a moment to admire his crisp, dark blue button-down shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was wearing a pair of dark, tight-fitting jeans that fit so snugly around his hips and legs she briefly wondered if he got them custom-fitted. He was holding a bottle of red wine in his hands...Which brought Emma to his hands.

Maybe it was because he was so handsome, maybe because he had this air of mystery surrounding him, but his hands were so...nice. They were manly, but elegant. Long and lean, but obviously strong. And his forearms, covered in a dark dusting of hair, flexed when he shook hands with Robin, and it took a minute for Emma to realize she was actually biting her lip. She quickly stopped, but immediately after her eyes zoned in on the bit of chest hair peeking out through his unbuttoned shirt collar and she was sure she was done. Right. There.

Emma realized there were muffled voices around her, and quickly came to before someone realized she was day-dreaming. Thankfully, the man in question had his entire focus on the host, apologizing profusely for his tardiness.

“I’m just glad you’re here, Killian,” Mary-Margaret said, smiling wide. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, love,” he breathed, wrapping his arms around her in a hug, and for heaven’s sakes Emma felt a jealousy she had no right or reason to feel. Mary-Margaret was in love with David for crying out loud! And who even was this guy?

She took a moment to be relieved no one had caught her ogling, then proceeded to accidentally ogle more when Killian greeted the others.

It wasn’t until she saw...eyes...blue eyes...looking right into hers...that she finally snapped out of it.

“Um,” Emma shook her head, feeling her entire body go numb.

Thankfully Mary-Margaret saved her, with or without knowing it. “Oh, Killian, this is my best friend Emma,” she said, walking over and wrapping an arm around her. “From Storybrooke.”

Killian, who was now looking at her like a deer caught in the headlights, shook his head so minutely Emma was probably the only one who noticed. Then his face broke out in a stunning grin and he took a step forward.

“Aye,” he said, sticking his hand out. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Swan.”

Emma shook his hand, smiling slightly. His hand was warm. “You too, Mr. Jones.”

His lips twitched.

She blushed.

Who was this man?

X X

KILLIAN JONES

Emma Swan. The name had been thrown around quite a bit in the years he had known David and Mary-Margaret, but he truly wasn’t prepared for the blonde goddess that greeted him that evening. He had planned on blowing off Mary-Margaret and David’s dinner invitation that night, in no mood to sit through hours of menial small talk. But he knew he’d disappointed his friends enough times; he didn’t have too many chances left.

But that had in no way factored in Emma Swan, with her tight jeans and long, blonde hair and her heartbreakingly beautiful smile, with eyes so green he wanted to sit and stare at them for a little while to memorize all the hues.

Killian cursed himself for his ridiculous thoughts and promptly accepted the beer Robin handed him.

She’s just a woman for bloody sake, he thought, taking a heavy swig.

It only took an hour into the evening, however, to understand Emma wasn’t like any other woman he had ever met. When he spoke, she looked directly into his eyes, even when it made him uncomfortable and he had to look away. When he looked back at her, she was always still gazing at him. Her presence was far too distracting and he was aware of her the entire night. When she laughed, gods above when she laughed, Killian actually had to bite his lip to keep from groaning out loud.

Bloody hell, he had a crush on her. Like some pre-pubescent lad in preparatory school. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had a crush, if he had ever had one. Killian had never really felt emotionally attached to a person; he had always been more comfortable initiating physical relationships.

A woman had never made Killian uneasy like this and he didn’t like it.

He knew he was in big trouble when he found himself purposely not answering her the first time she called his name simply because he wanted to hear her say it again.

So after dinner, when everyone else was pretty much three sheets to the wind and eating the remaining cheesecake straight from the tray, Killian excused himself to the kitchen to get some ‘water.’

At the sink, he downed two shots of tequila, and was pouring himself a third when he felt the air in the small space suddenly shift.

His shoulders went tight.

“Drinking alone?”

Killian swallowed hard and finished pouring the shot as he let out a humorless chuckle. He threw back the drink, barely wincing at the sting, before he composed himself and turned around.

Emma was leaning across the island, and bloody Christ he could see straight down her blouse, her arms pressing together, adding to the exposed cleavage. He quickly tore his eyes away and cursed internally again.

“Can I have one?” she asked.

Killian looked back at her and she gestured to the bottle of tequila and shot glass behind him. He raised an eyebrow, but grabbed the bottle and glass, placing them on the island between them.

She frowned when he only poured half a shot and he chuckled, shaking his head as he topped it off.

“Thank you,” she said, standing up straight. Killian sighed in relief when he could no longer see down her shirt.

“Drinking alone?” he couldn’t help but tease.

“I’m not alone. You’re right here with me,” she smiled, not breaking his gaze as she threw the shot back gracefully, setting the empty glass on the countertop with a clink.

X X

EMMA SWAN

“So what’s your story, Killian Jones?” she asked, reaching for the bottle and pouring another shot.

“I beg your pardon?” Killian leaned against the sink behind him and crossed his arms.

Emma shrugged, holding up the glass. “Everyone was surprised that you came. Why is that?”

“No story, I’m afraid. Just ol’ chaps happy to see one another, I suppose.” He smiled and, despite only having met him a few hours ago, she could instantly tell he was lying.

Emma finished half the shot before sliding the half-full glass towards him. Killian quirked an eyebrow at her again, a habit she was growing to really like, before gently pushing off the sink and taking the drink. Emma watched him down the rest in one go, admiring the way his Adam's apple bobbed and his throat muscles contracted as he swallowed.

“I don’t buy it,” Emma continued, the alcohol essentially evaporating any filter she had left. “I think there’s something Detective Jones isn’t telling me.” She swayed slightly, leaning her hands on the countertop as she tilted her head at him.

Killian scratched the back of his ear and let out a nervous chuckle. “Why so curious, love?” he asked, placing the empty shot glass back on the counter between them.

She bit her lip and shrugged, reaching for the bottle of tequila and gasping when his hand suddenly covered hers.

“Enough of that, love.”

Emma looked up at the endearment, throat clenching at the fire behind his eyes.

“You call all the girls ‘love,’ love?” she challenged in a far more menacing tone than she intended.

She quirked her eyebrow and reveled in the way his mouth fell open in shock. Emma tore her hand away from his and reached for the bottle again, grabbing the shot glass with her other hand and pouring a very generous shot.

“By the way, buddy,” she added, “nobody tells me what to do but me.”

And very spitefully, Emma took the shot in one go, not even wincing, and setting the glass on the counter with a louder clink.

When she looked up, Killian was leaning back against the sink again with his arms crossed and an almost challenging look on his face before it melted into a sweet smile.

“Point taken,” he said.

“So. Are you ever going to answer my question?”

“What question was that, love?”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t play games with me.” She knew she was drunk, but he was definitely trying to be cute with her.

“But I’m quite fond of games,” he grinned, biting his lip.

Well, shit.

“What’s your favorite?” she asked almost breathlessly, her eyes glazing over ever so slightly.

“Game?” he asked quietly.

Emma shrugged and met his gaze with a small smirk, definitely enjoying this game. “Aye aye, Captain.”

His smile faded and he clenched his jaw, swallowing hard. And just like that the air in the room shifted.

She wanted him. And if she was reading that dark look in his eyes correctly, he wanted her, too.

But she didn’t have time to explore that further, because the moment she took a step to go around the counter he was standing up straight and running a hand through his hair.

“I should probably get back in there,” he said, his accent coming on thicker than before.

It snapped Emma out of her haze. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

She expected him to say something more, but instead he just gave her an insincere, tight-lipped smile before all but bolting out of the room.

Emma went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face to gain her bearings before rejoining everyone in the living room where Regina was loudly demanding more card games and Killian had occupied the lone Lazy Boy.

It might have just been her drunken haze, but Emma could swear Killian did everything in his power to stay away from her the rest of the night.

X X

KILLIAN JONES

He thought once she was out of sight, she would be out of mind. But Killian couldn’t stop seeing Emma Swan’s smile every time he closed his eyes.

He washed down two valiums with a swig of rum so he could have a dreamless sleep that night and stop thinking about her. He told himself the infatuation would fade come morning, that he’d literally sleep it all off.

Killian got up first thing in the morning and jogged the two miles to the gym, lifted weights for 45 minutes, and jogged the two miles back. By the time he was in the shower and the hot water was streaming down his tense back, he felt completely exhausted. He dressed in comfortable sweats and put some laundry away. When he was closing his dresser drawer, one of his picture frames sitting atop the drawer fell over.

Killian sighed and picked it up, but froze when he realized it was the photo of him when he had just graduated the police academy. His older brother, Liam—Killian’s throat felt like it was closing up—had saved all of his money for months to pay for their mother to make the trip to see him graduate, all the way from London. It had been her first time and only time to the States.

Killian’s jaw clenched and he snapped his eyes shut at the sudden onslaught of painful memories. He shook his head after a moment, rolled his shoulders, and opened his eyes, once again fixing his gaze on the picture in front of him.

Killian stood, smiling proudly in his uniform. His mother and brother were both at his side, beaming with pride at his accomplishment and they just looked so...happy. His mother had just gotten the news that her cancer was back, but she insisted she wouldn’t miss Killian’s ‘milestone.’

She’d come all this way to see me, just to...

Killian swallowed those memories down, shook them off, and opened the top drawer of the dresser. He shoved the picture frame underneath some t-shirts in the very back, face down, before slamming it shut. He allowed a couple minutes to recollect himself before taking a deep breath and letting it all roll off his shoulders.

x x

It was a week later that he unexpectedly saw Emma Swan again.

He and David were in the middle of staking out a hotel when Killian decided to grab a couple of coffees. When he spotted her, he quickly backed out of the coffee shop like a bloody coward, but a man and his two kids were walking in. The apologies and slight commotion attracted attention, and before he knew it his eyes were locked on breathtaking green once again.

Killian shook his head at himself, apologizing to the family one last time, before stepping in line behind Emma, who was looking at him with an amused expression. He felt his cheeks blush as he slid his hands into his jean pockets.

“Emma,” he said, enjoying the way her name sounded on his tongue more than he had any right to. “I, uh, didn’t see you there.”

Emma smiled wider and crossed her arms. “Clearly you didn’t see anyone.”

Killian couldn’t help but choke out a laugh as he scratched the spot behind his ear. “Aye, I’m a bit out of sorts when I don’t have my afternoon coffee.”

Emma nodded as the barista called her next. She smiled at Killian and quickly ordered. Killian allowed himself a brief moment to take her in because his memory of this woman did not do her justice in the slightest.

She was wearing those damn tight jeans again, which emphasized a pert bottom he hadn’t had the pleasure of admiring before, and a red leather jacket that hugged her curves so...so bloody well.

Killian heard a throat clearing and looked up to see the man with two kids looking at him with a hard glare and he realized he’d been caught staring. He felt himself blush red for the second time, before he looked down and scratched that stubborn spot behind his ear again.

At the counter with all of the sweeteners and creams, Killian tried not to stand too close to her, or let on the way her sweet perfume was making him dizzy. He blinked quickly as she asked about the case he and David were working on.

“Is it serious? Or, I’m sorry, you can’t discuss ongoing investigations with me,” she said, shaking her head as she poured an obscene amount of sugar in her coffee, followed by a generous amount of Half and Half. He couldn’t help but smile to himself as he looked back down at the coffee he was stirring with a small straw.

“It’s alright, love,” Killian finally said when he realized she was looking up at him expectantly. “It’s a harmless stakeout. Recon really, but nothing to worry about nonetheless.”

He finished fixing David’s coffee the way he liked and poured just a tiny bit of cream in his own before grabbing both coffees.

“Well, duty calls I’m afraid.” He managed a smile despite his nerves—he couldn’t help feeling like he was going to do something else to utterly embarrass himself.

Emma nodded and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. I’m just on my way to class.”

“Ah, taking the subway?” he found himself asking, even though he should have been walking away.

Emma scrunched her nose with an adorable, self-deprecating smile.

Bloody hell, Jones, adorable?

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “I’m getting used to it. It’s not too far so, baby steps.” She smiled and his heart clenched. “I miss driving my bug though. She’s just parked in the garage.”

She looked so calm and peaceful then, obviously lost in thought, and Killian had no problem taking advantage of the moment to take a mental photograph of her face.

His buzzing phone, of course, had other ideas. He cursed as he set down the coffees and grabbed it from his back pocket.

“David,” he told her, smiling apologetically.

She nodded and forced a small smile. “Yeah. You should go. I’ve gotta get going anyway.” Emma nodded again and clutched her drink closer to her chest, her smile growing smaller but still just as breathtaking. “Tell David ‘hi.’”

“As you wish.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, neither of them saying anything, before he nodded once more and finally left.

He could still smell her perfume as he sat in the patrol car beside David, sipping his coffee and unable to stop himself from thinking about the one thing he knew he shouldn’t.

X X

EMMA SWAN

“Can I ask you something?” Emma started, keeping her eyes focused on the task at hand, but her attention on her best friend seated beside her.

“Of course,” Mary-Margaret said, her voice distracted as she too was paying more attention to the menu in front of her.

They were both starving.

“Who is Killian dating again?” she asked, keeping her voice level and measured as she struggled to focus on the words and pictures before her. She zeroed in on an entree titled ‘Wacky Wahoo Tacos’ and kept reading it over and over again to try and keep her composure.

But Mary-Margaret wasn’t buying her casual attitude and Emma should have known her friend better.

“Excuse me?” she asked. Emma looked up and saw her friend looking at her with a glint in her eyes and a wide grin on her face.

Emma shook her head and rolled her eyes. “What is that look for?”

“Nothing,” she said, resting her arms on the table and leaning forward. “So. You like Killian.” And just like that, Mary-Margaret was no longer hungry.

“Um, no. I’ve just met a few of your friends this last month, and I’m refreshing my memory on all of them,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “Regina is married to Robin, right? Do they have any kids, by the way?”

Mary-Margaret shook her head, her grin somehow growing even wider. “No, they don’t have any kids yet. And Killian is not seeing anyone. As far as I know, he’s single. But nice job trying to change the subject.”

“Oh. Okay,” Emma said with a forced casualness that was almost painful. “Thanks for the information.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” she said, “but we’re not finished talking about this.”

“We are, because David is here,” Emma said, spotting him over her friend’s shoulder and smiling smugly.

Mary-Margaret greeted him happily, and Emma hugged him before he joined them, ordering a tequila shot and a Corona.

“Are we celebrating something, David?” Emma smiled as his drinks arrived.

“Long week,” he sighed, taking the shot first.

“Emma and I were just talking about Killian,” Mary-Margaret said, stirring the straw in her margarita innocently.

Maybe Emma should have also known better than to bring this topic up when her friend was already one drink in.

David’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Why were you talking about Killian?” he asked, taking a swig of beer.

Emma shook her head, trying to mask her frustration at her friend. “We weren’t. I was just asking where you were.”

“David, let’s set them up,” Mary-Margaret said wistfully.

David almost spit out his beer, and it would have been funny if Emma wasn’t so damn mortified.

“What?” David laughed uncomfortably. “You like Killian?” he asked, fixing those baby blues on her.

“No. I don’t,” she said firmly. “I was just wondering if he was seeing someone, if there was someone you guys still hadn’t introduced me to,” she babbled, shrugging like an idiot.

“He’s not, nor do I think he ever will be,” David said seriously, taking a long pull from his drink.

Mary-Margaret laughed, obviously thinking he was joking. She elbowed him gently in the side. “David.”

But Emma’s interest was piqued. She hadn’t missed David’s sudden change in posture.

“Why do you say that?” Emma asked.

“Look, Emma, just don’t get close to Killian...in that way. I just don’t think he’s the kinda guy you wanna date.” She could tell the topic was making David uncomfortable, but Emma couldn’t let it go.

“Okay, Dad,” she said, adding a light laugh to make her tone less cutting. It probably didn’t work so she took a sip of her drink to pretend she was relaxed. “I turn...mmm...29 this year? Practically a grown adult,” she couldn’t help but mock.

David sighed. “I know that, it’s just...I know Killian, okay? You don’t. His relation...sss with women, it’s…” Their eyes met and Emma raised her eyebrows dramatically. “Killian’s life is...complicated and you don’t need that.”

Part of her wanted to argue that the topic was moot, that she didn’t like him that way anyway. But Emma couldn’t deny her feelings, couldn’t push them back down. And—inexplicably—the urge to defend Killian was stronger than anything else.

“That’s a hell of a way to speak about your partner, David,” she couldn’t help but snap. David sighed, a guilt-stricken look crossing his face, but before he could respond Emma pressed on, “And thank you for telling me what I need in my life, but I think that’s unfair. Especially since Killian has been nothing but nice to me and he’s not even here to defend himself.”

“Emma…” David began again.

But that was the moment their server arrived to take their food orders. By the time their orders were taken and their menus collected, the three of them were left in the tension once again.

Emma decided to finish the conversation before it could start again. “I appreciate your concern, David, I do,” she said calmly. “But I don’t think we should talk about it anymore. Let’s just eat.”

Mary-Margaret nodded and raised her drink, looking at David with a soft smile. He nodded and forced a small smile before clinking his beer bottle with their drinks in a silent cheers.

The rest of dinner went by fairly quickly and at the end of the night, when they were saying their goodbyes at the front of the restaurant, Mary-Margaret wrapped Emma in a tight hug and whispered, “Don’t listen to David.”

Emma pulled away to look at her friend, but Mary-Margaret quickly kissed her cheek—loud and smacking—and hopped into the waiting cab before she could say anything.

She snapped out of it when David hugged her goodbye and as she watched the taxi drive away, Emma couldn’t ignore how the red brake lights morphed into blue eyes.

x x

After her British Literature lecture Thursday evening, Emma decided to stop at the supermarket a block from the subway to grab a few things.

She was looking for the cashew ice cream she liked when she saw him. He didn’t notice her, busy looking down at his phone with furrowed eyebrows, but he was clearly frustrated, his other hand clutching a basket.

All in a matter of seconds, a thousand thoughts flew through Emma’s mind.

He was so damn handsome, in his tight black jeans, black boots, and black t-shirt. His hair was slightly disheveled and when he ran his fingers through it, it turned Emma on way more than it should. She couldn’t help but bite her lip.

Quickly, she decided to turn around and just avoid him altogether, but just as she turned away from him, he was calling her name. Emma froze in place and took three deep breaths before slowly turning around.

“Hi,” she smiled, voice trembling slightly.

His crooked grin melted her insides. “Hi. How are you, love?”

She’d heard him refer to other women as ‘love,’ yet when it was directed towards her...it felt like it meant more. The way he looked at her made her feel different; different than when he looked at Regina or Mary-Margaret. It certainly wasn’t a way any other man had ever looked at her —it was as if she was the focal point of the room, and nothing else mattered.

Damn, Swan, stop romanticizing everything.

“I’m good, um, just picking up a few things on the way to the subway,” she said.

Mary-Margaret had mentioned to her in passing that Killian lived in this neighborhood, but the thought had only casually crossed her mind as she entered the store. The fact that she was actually bumping into him here was just…

Does the universe want me to keep finding you? Emma couldn’t help but wonder, tilting her head at Killian.

“It’s late to be taking the subway home,” he suddenly said, eyebrows furrowed.

His smooth, velvet voice startled her slightly, but when his words connected she couldn’t help but smile. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ve done it the last couple months without a problem. Plus,” she looked down at her watch and shook her head, “it’s only six p.m.”

“Aye, but it gets dark, love,” he said, placing his phone in his back pocket and switching his basket to the other hand.

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. This time her smile was less sincere. “I’m a grown woman.”

Killian snorted and shook his head, looking away, and it annoyed and attracted her at the same time.

Infatuation. That’s what this was. She was infatuated with him.

He, of course, was completely oblivious to the war inside Emma’s head and turned to her once again with a rueful smile.

“You know, you don’t have to assume every time somebody expresses concern for you, they’re questioning your ability as a capable adult.”

Emma swallowed, taken aback before she glanced down at his basket and noted the bottle of rum and box of crackers.

“Why, you’re an adventurous eater,” she said with a smug smile, challenging him.

Killian’s eyebrows shot up in surprise—at what, she wasn’t quite sure—and he shifted from one foot to the other with a smile, looking almost amused.

“And you are very adept at changing the subject.”

Emma shrugged and smiled sweetly. “I deal with students all day. I know how to direct a conversation.”

“Aye. And what else do you know how to do, lass?” he asked, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Her breath caught in her throat and her thighs actually clenched slightly as she stood there.

They had had conversations over the last couple of months and the flirty banter was always there, but Killian always put the brakes on it when Emma would take a step towards him, try to get closer, or instigate any type of physical contact. He even hugged Regina and Mary-Margaret when she was around, but somehow always managed to avoid hugging her without anyone noticing.

But she always noticed. And it always stung. Then she would catch his eye and it was almost as if he couldn’t help but smile at her.

Sometimes she’d push him just to see how far he would let her.

Maybe today, Emma could push a little bit harder.

She cleared her throat. “I guess...you just have to find out.” She rocked back and forth on her heels and chanced a glance at him through her lashes.

Despite her lame response, Killian took a step towards her, raising an eyebrow and looking at her with an expression that was far too salacious for a grocery store.

“Is that right?” he breathed, his voice gruff as his eyes danced across her face. His expression was a mixture of surprise, lust, and—as always—hesitation.

Emma swallowed hard. He was still nowhere near enough yet far too close.

“What are you doing?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. She felt like he was teasing her, trying to call her bluff, trying to push her.

Emma decided she was done playing games. She was attracted to him. For God’s sake, if he asked her to go home with him right now she would.

His sexy smirk was still in place. “I’m not sure what you mean, love.”

But when his tone indicated he knew exactly what he was doing, Emma could no longer control herself. She took a step forward, except she didn’t stop at one. She took the remaining steps, until there was only an inch separating them, and it clearly caught Killian off guard. He didn’t move a muscle, but she heard his breath hitch when their chests barely touched. Even with the layers of clothes between them, it somehow felt like an electric spark coursed through her at his proximity.

“Do you want to take me home?” she found herself asking.

Emma couldn’t believe that for the first time in her life, she finally said exactly what she was thinking in the moment.

“What?” Killian’s question was a mere whisper.

Emma took a small step closer, closing the miniscule space between them and startling him in the process. She was sure anyone who saw them, standing in the middle of the ice cream aisle practically writhing against one another, would assume they were both on something.

But in that moment, as impulsive as it may have been, Emma didn’t care.

“Because,” she breathed, her chest practically heaving. But his was too, “because I’d go home with you...right now...if you asked me to.”

Killian’s eyes searched hers for what felt like an eternity. She felt like she was shaking, maybe she was, but she didn’t back down. The seconds ticked by, and she couldn’t take not knowing what was going through his mind.

“Killian?”

Emma jumped back from him so quickly she was impressed she didn’t hurt herself. She looked up in time to see the owner of the voice—a petite woman in a black mini-dress and lace sandals that tied in patterns to her knees—rounded the corner and spotted him.

“There you are,” she smiled, looking down at the bag of chips she was turning over in her hands as she walked over to him. She had wavy, shiny brown hair and sun-kissed skin. She was gorgeous.

God, Emma felt so stupid and embarrassed. She had felt so victorious when she had thrown herself at this man and all along he had been there with somebody else. And a knockout, at that.

The woman touched Killian’s arm and looked up when she reached them, noticing Emma.

“Oh. Hi,” she said with a smile. “I’m Cecilia.”

“Emma.” She smiled tightly at her and crossed her arms over her chest, wishing this was just a nightmare and she could snap herself out of it.

“Nice to meet you,” Cecilia said before turning to Killian. “I’m tired. Are you ready to go home?”

Emma noticed Killian visibly flinch at her words and that was when she decided to take back control.

“Alright, Killian, it was nice seeing you. Have a good one.”

Okay, it may not have exactly been ‘taking control,’ or her most graceful exit, but Emma didn’t give a damn what she looked like to anyone else in that moment. She didn’t even wait for a response, didn’t buy a single thing, as she hauled ass out of the store. All she wanted was to get the hell away from them.

Emma didn’t look over her shoulder or stop until she was on the subway. She found an empty seat and all but fell down into it.

She had never felt so small.

X X

KILLIAN JONES

Bloody hell.

“Who was that?” Cecilia asked as they stepped out onto the curb outside the grocery store.

“Don’t worry about it,” Killian said.

Cecilia was a nice enough woman he’d known for a couple of years. She was a district attorney who used to work in New York, but was reassigned to Washington D. C. On the rare occasion she was in town, she never hesitated to call Killian.

And Killian usually didn’t hesitate to agree.

But that night, when Cecilia called and asked to take him to dinner, Killian’s response wasn’t enthusiastic as usual. It was mechanical. He needed a distraction from Emma Swan.

The night had gone like it usually did with women; they had a nice dinner, polite conversation. Then she placed her hand on his knee under the table and he put his arm around her shoulders and they both knew how the night was going to end.

Now Killian couldn’t help but curse his suggestion to stop at the market on the way home, but he was completely dry and knew he didn’t want to be caught at home without a bottle of rum. When he saw Emma, he completely forgot Cecilia.

Bloody hell, that sounded terrible, even in his own head.

But Killian had quickly realized that when Emma was in the room, he quickly forgot about everything else.

He hadn’t even bothered calling her name when she fled, only cursing himself for being so damn stupid.

“Listen,” Killian said after a moment, “I’m going to get you a cab, and pay for it, to take you back to your hotel.”

Cecilia scoffed. “What? You’re kidding, right?”

“No. I’m not.”

“Why?”

Killian shook his head and looked down the street for a taxi.

“It’s that woman, isn’t it?” she asked, her tone suddenly curious. “Killian Jones, I never thought I would see the day!”

Killian wasn’t in the mood for the teasing tone in her voice. “Please just let it go.”

Cecilia eyed him for a moment, and just when he thought she would continue, she sighed and nodded. “Alright. See you next time, then,” she said.

But Killian doubted that she would.

He hailed her a cab, but she rejected his offer to pay for it. As he watched the taillights from the taxi driving away, there was only one thing on his mind.

x x

Killian was a coward for not calling her. It had been almost a week since their awkward encounter at the grocery store and though he could have used his resources as a detective to get her telephone number, could have procured it under innocent pretenses from Mary-Margaret, something had stopped him.

It had been a long time since he had felt shame and even longer since someone made him insecure about their opinion of him.

Bloody hell, she probably thinks you’re a right git.

Thankfully, Killian saw an opportunity to forget about Emma Swan for a little while when David told them they were going drinking when their shift ended. As always, fate had other plans because after he and David took their first shot, trouble walked in in the form of Emma Swan.

“Bloody hell,” he couldn’t help but mutter.

But David didn’t notice because a second later his phone buzzed with a text as Mary-Margaret stepped inside behind Emma, looking down at her cell. He took a long pull from his beer as David turned around with a smile to wave them over.

“Hey, you,” he said, standing up to wrap Mary-Margaret in his arms before hugging Emma.

Killian chanced a glance at her, but she was careful to keep her gaze away from him, so he greeted Mary-Margaret with a warm ‘hello.’

“Don’t worry, we’re not crashing your boys’ night,” Mary-Margaret teased him. “Emma and I were just having dinner down the street so we thought we’d pop in and say ‘hi.’

“No, come on. Stay,” David said before Killian could respond. “I’ll miss you if you leave.” David snuggled Mary-Margret and gave her loud, teasing kisses on her cheek as she laughed and tried half-heartedly to fight him off.

Killian looked away, feeling like he was trespassing on a private moment. When he glanced at Emma he found she too was averting her gaze, her focus suddenly on the drinks behind the bar.

“Alright. One drink?” Mary-Margaret asked.

Emma turned to her friend when she realized she was talking to her. She smiled and gave a quick shake of her head. “I’m really tired, I think I’m just going to head out,” she said apologetically.

“No,” Mary-Margaret pleaded. “Just one drink.”

“I can’t,” she said, scrunching her nose at her best friend who, after a moment, finally sighed and relented.

“Fine, but we’re getting you a cab,” Mary-Margaret told her sternly.

As Emma began shaking her head and arguing that she was perfectly capable of taking the subway home, Killian downed the rest of his beer and set the empty bottle on the table before standing up.

“It’s alright. I’d be happy to take the subway with you,” he said before he even realized what the hell he was doing.

Emma’s head whipped around to him with the most confused expression. She began quickly shaking her head at him. “No, that’s fine, I—”

“Believe me, I’d rather be home in bed than be the third wheel with these two,” he said lightly, praying to the gods he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

When Emma seemed to realize it was the only way to get her friends off her back, she finally agreed. He didn’t miss the way Mary-Margaret smiled at Emma when she thought he wasn’t looking and he certainly didn’t miss the hard stare David gave him as he followed Emma out of the bar.

x x

They walked for about five minutes in awkward silence.

“You know,” Emma said. “I was leaving the bar to avoid you. Not to have you escort me home.”

He peeked over at her as he slid his hands into his pockets, but her arms were crossed tightly against her chest and she kept her eyes down as she walked. He turned his head away again and clenched his jaw.

“The irony,” he chuckled. When she didn’t respond, he sighed and tried another tactic. Killian stopped and grabbed her arm gently.

Emma stopped, but the glare she threw at him was enough to make him drop her arm like it was lit dynamite.

“Listen, Emma, I just wanted to apologize,” he began.

She turned to face him fully, re-crossing her arms with a shrug. “For what?”

He couldn’t help but scratch behind his ear and avert his gaze. “I just fear...you may have gotten the wrong idea the other night.”

He heard her sigh and shuffle her feet. “Killian, please, can we not do this?”

Killian looked up at her and shook his head. “Emma…”

She took a step back and held her hands up in front of her, as if to keep him away. “I said we’re not doing this, okay? It’s none of my business. Don’t worry. We’re good.”

Emma fixed him with another hard glare and he could do nothing but stare back, swallowing the giant lump in his throat. After a moment, she turned on her heel and began walking away again.

“Besides,” she threw over her shoulder, “you were just grocery shopping with your girlfriend. Picture of complete domesticity if you ask me.”

Killian all but growled as he hurried after her.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said desperately, almost bumping into her when she suddenly whirled back around to face him.

“I don’t care!” she yelled, her frustration at the tipping point.

“If you don’t bloody care, then why are you being like this?” he demanded, his own ire rising to the surface along with hers.

“Like what?” she laughed angrily.

“Hostile,” he said.

“Killian, this is as civil as I can be with you!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I practically jumped you in the middle of a grocery store—and you flirted back, by the way—and the whole time, you were there with another woman!That’s...that’s skeezy as hell, you know that right?” Her chest was heaving and she looked at him like she was completely at a loss, as if she was truly waiting for him to give her the answer she needed.

“Yes, Emma, I know that,” he said, scrambling for the right things to say. “I just...She doesn’t mean...I mean, she isn’t…” He growled in frustration as she shook her head and looked away. When she wouldn’t meet his gaze, he whispered the only thing he was thinking, “She isn’t you.”

Slowly, so slowly he thought it might be slow-motion, she turned her head to look at him. She searched his eyes for what felt like eternity and he became restless and insecure under her gaze. But he held fast and didn’t look away like he usually did, hoping to show her what he couldn’t quite say with words.

I want you.

Give me a chance.

I’m sorry.

Don’t walk away…

But she was taking too long to say something and he knew that meant something bad. With a heavy sigh and even heavier heart, Killian turned around, shoulders slumped. He slipped his hands in his pockets and wondered where the nearest liquor store was.

He only made it about halfway down the street when he felt a warm hand grab his arm. A second later, Emma Swan was stepping in front of him. But Killian had no time to respond, because she wasted no time wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his.

And by gods if there was a heaven on Earth for Killian Jones, kissing Emma Swan would be it.

X X

EMMA SWAN

Her place was closer, he said, and they ended up taking a taxi, neither of them wanting to wait the long trip on the subway.

His hand was hot on her thigh the entire way and she rested her head on his shoulder, now and then trailing kisses up his neck to his ear, reveling in the way he shivered at the touch of her lips, disbelieving that she was finally this close to him.

She barely noticed him give the driver some bills, and the ride in the elevator was silent and charged. At her apartment door she fumbled with her keys as he placed kisses on her neck and bare shoulders, his hands gripping her waist, and his hard arousal brushing against her lower back. For a moment she abandoned her keys in the lock as she moaned low and pressed back into him, biting her lip when he groaned as her backside rubbed against his growing erection. Her leggings left very little barrier between her and his jean-clad erection.

She shivered as his hand trailed down her arm, to her hand brushing against her key still dangling in the lock. Somehow while kissing her neck, Killian also managed to effortlessly unlock her front door and push it open. Emma almost stumbled inside, but Killian wrapped his arm around her waist before she could fall.

“Oh,” she sighed, falling back into him and snuggling closer when he resumed his previous ministrations.

Kicking the door shut with his foot and then flipping it locked, Killian whirled Emma around in his arms, lips curving up at her gasp of surprise. He backed her further into the apartment, leaving very little space between their bodies, and making them stumble along the way.

“Where is your bedroom, love?” he whispered against her throat, his tongue darting out to lick a trail up to her chin.

She moaned again and shamelessly rubbed herself against him, enjoying the way her hardening nipples rubbed against his hard chest through the fabric of her shirt.

“Emma,” he sighed against her cheek, sending chills down her spine. “Bedroom…”

Emma barely breathed out, “Down the hall to the left,” before she was squealing, then moaning wantonly as his hands gripped her ass firmly and lifted her off the ground.

She peppered kisses all over his face and neck, clawing at his back as he carried her to her bedroom. She trailed one hand down his arms, loving the way they flexed under her touch, the way his muscles contracted as her fingers brushed over the hair on his forearms.

She let out a huff when he tossed her on the center of her bed. She bounced as he chuckled and crawled in after her, his hands moving up her sides, firmer, more sure than before. Emma couldn’t help but cry out as his hand cupped her breast tightly, massaging it as his mouth found hers once more.

She melted into him almost instantly, her hands sliding up his shoulders and wrapping around him as she opened her mouth to his. Killian moaned as his tongue entered her mouth, dancing with hers. It felt like all of the passion and fire and urge they had been pushing down for each other the last couple of months was being poured into that kiss.

Killian moaned again when her hands fisted through his hair, pulling gently. Her legs fell open and Killian slipped between them easily, grinding his hard cock against her, all pretense of foreplay gone as she rubbed against her wet, cotton-covered center.

But Emma wanted to feel him and she told him so in a breathy moan, and he growled and a moment later they were both naked, his long, thick cock rubbing shamelessly against her sopping wet sex.

Emma cried out as Killian bit her chin gently, his breath coming out in harsh pants as they rubbed against each other wantonly, dragging their lips across neck, shoulder, chest. His hand gripped her thigh and she bit her lip as his tip slipped inside her.

He hissed and pulled back as if he’d been burned, his head falling to her chest as his back rose with heavy breaths.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered in a rush before looking up and rolling his hips against her wet center again. His eyes darted down, careful not to accidentally slip into her again. He looked back up at her, his cheeks flushed and his eyes almost completely black. “The things you do to me, love,” he continued in a whisper.

“Killian,” she moaned, both of her hands now gripping his hips, her palms sweaty and making her slip.

“Condom,” be breathed.

“No,” she whined, kissing his scruffy cheek as she lifted her hips to meet his thrusts. “No condom. I’m on the pill. I’m clean. Are you?”

Killian nodded and clenched his jaw again as he stopped his slow thrusts, covering her body with his while careful to keep most of his weight off of her. They both gasped when he covered her fully, because their sexes were pressed together so snug and perfect she never wanted to move.

Killian ran his finger down her cheek, tracing her lips. “Are you sure, Emma?” he whispered.

Emma could only nod, her entire body vibrating. She was sure if she spoke, it would be a shaking mess of words.

“I’ve never,” he swallowed and looked down, his finger falling to her collarbone. Emma furrowed her eyebrows at him and he gazed back up at her. “I’ve never been with a woman without protection before.”

“Me either,” she whispered.

Killian’s eyebrow ticked up and she giggled.

“I mean, I’ve never been with a man without protection before,” she said between breaths of laughter.

Killian smirked and leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. This time when Killian’s tip slipped inside of her, it was with a moan from both of them as he pushed the rest of the way in.

He was larger than any lover she had ever had, and he filled her to the hilt, his pelvis resting against her ass as she reflexively clenched around him to adjust to his size. His moan of pleasure made her even wetter, and she could feel her arousal dripping down her thighs and she knew she would have to wash her sheets tomorrow.

She would have been embarrassed if it hadn't been for Killian’s whispered, “Fuck,” as he thrust into her experimentally, making her eyes roll back into her head. “You’re so bloody wet,” he said desperately, and then proceeded to fuck the living hell out of her.

Emma would have been worried her headboard banging against the wall would alert her neighbors, but his need turned her on to the point of not caring and she allowed him to play her body like a fucking drum.

X X

KILLIAN JONES

Killian had never spent the night at a woman’s place. Then again, there were a lot of things Killian had done the night before that he never thought he would do.

Kissing during sex.

Going down on a woman more than once. (Because damn he really really liked going down on Emma—the noises she made, the way her thighs gripped his head, and her hands pulled at his hair. Bloody hell.)

Not using a condom….

Having sex more than once in the same night...

They had sex three times before finally succumbing to sleep. Out of habit, Killian awoke just as the sun was rising. He could see the little bit of light peeking in through the blinds and his eyes darted to the floor searching for his pants when Emma stirred his arms.

Killian looked down at her, snuggled close to his chest, body half draped over him and his arm wrapped around her. It was a position he wasn’t very familiar with and he had been initially taken aback when she cuddled him after sex. But then the smell of her hair calmed him, and he found himself staring up at the ceiling as he stroked her arm.

Having her in his arms felt right and she fit against him like a puzzle piece.

Killian swallowed hard and looked up at the ceiling once more. He knew if he had something he cared about, he would do something to muck it up. It was just a matter of time.

X X

EMMA SWAN

Emma woke the following morning with an ache between her thighs and a full heart. There was a small smile on her face and she was so content she didn’t bother opening her eyes as she dragged her hand across the mattress. Her mouth turned down when she felt cold sheets between her fingers and she snapped her eyes open to see the spot beside her was empty.

Emma sat up, the sheet falling to her lap as she looked to the open bathroom. She didn’t hear any noise from the kitchen or living room and when she scanned her bedroom, she saw that the floor was free of their discarded clothing. Her clothes from the night before had been folded neatly and placed on the small loveseat in the corner of her room.

Her heart dropped at the realization that Killian fucked her and left her. All those sweet words the night before had been what? Bullshit lines to get in her pants? Had David been right about him all along?

Suddenly, an anger Emma had never experienced before filled her. The nerve of the man to clean up and then leave without a word. The nerve of him to make her feel wanted, safe, loved....

Emma shook her head and hopped out of bed, ripping her drawers open and pulling out a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt. She threw her hair up into a ponytail, cursing the entire way to the foyer where she angrily slipped on her shoes. She figured the fifteen-minute walk to and from the coffee shop would calm her down a little bit.

She fumbled with her shoe laces, tears blurring her vision and burning her eyes as she wiped them away angrily and cursed Killian for the fiftieth time. She couldn't believe she had fallen for his charms, let him seduce and bed her like a fool.

She finally tied her shoes and got up with a sigh, rolled her shoulders back, and dipped her hand into the small bowl on the table to grab her keys. Her brows furrowed when they weren’t where she always left them and she cursed again when she realized she must have dropped them sometime last night in her drunken haze. She had been distracted…

Her ire rose again at the reason why and she wrenched the small drawer of the table open and grabbed one of her spare apartment keys, slipping it into her pocket. Emma opened her door, visions of hot chocolate with cinnamon dancing through her mind, but shrieked and jumped back slightly when she was met with the sight of Killian.

He was wearing his wrinkled clothes from the night before and holding a styrofoam cup holder with two hot cups and a small paper bag that smelled heavenly. She then noticed the key in his hand with a very familiar Swan keychain.

“Killian,” she breathed in confusion.

His face broke into an easy smile as he blushed slightly. “Apologies, lass. I hope you don’t mind I borrowed your key to go grab us some breakfast…”

The sentence was barely finished before Emma stepped forward, resting her hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she kissed him. Their lips met a few times, passionate, before she pulled back.

He was smiling, breathless, as he gazed back at her with those shining blue eyes. “I...I noticed you put a lot of sugar in your coffee so...I just grabbed half of the packets in the basket and—”

His nervousness and babbling was so freaking endearing and Emma could only giggle and kiss his lips again.

“Mmm,” he hummed, following her when she pulled back. “I could get used to that.”

Emma smiled wider and bit her lip. “Fine by me.”

x x

Killian ended up spending the rest of the weekend at Emma’s place and it was perpetual bliss. They were in their own little bubble with no one to watch them or question them. They could just be.

“Killian?” she said on Sunday night as they sat on the couch and Killian prepared to leave. He had an early shift the following morning.

He looked down at her. “Aye?”

She snuggled closer to him and his arm tightened around her. “Thank you for staying,” she said.

He smiled slightly and whispered, “Thank you for letting me.”

He left that night after spending about twenty minutes kissing her in the foyer and another fifteen in the doorway as she latched onto him and peppered his face with wet kisses, making him chuckle and hold her closer.

x x

Emma knew not to get her hopes up. She didn’t ask her friends about Killian too much—not wanting to betray his trust—but one of the few things she knew about him from Mary-Margaret and Regina was that he had never had a long-term relationship. She also knew he had walls a mile high and was guarded as hell. He had a past that weighed on him, she could see that, and she didn’t want to push him too much.

Which was why Emma was very pleasantly surprised to see a text from him after her Monday night lecture.

Can I come see you tonight?

Emma felt her entire body light up like a switch and she couldn’t help grinning down at her phone like an idiot as she typed out a response:

My place?

She was surprised when her phone chimed in her hand less than a minute later with his reply:

Just tell me what time and I’ll be there.

x x

It was a little over a week into their...whatever it was...that Emma finally got a chance to talk to Mary-Margaret. She had been busy with a new client on the Upper West Side and hadn’t had a moment to herself for a while.

Minutes into their conversation, Mary-Margaret became excitedly suspicious about Emma’s obvious good mood.

“Oh my god,” Mary-Margaret said on the other line, “are you seeing someone?”

Emma sighed and shook her head as her phone vibrated in her hand. She pulled it away from her ear, smiling when she saw it was a text from Killian.

I can still smell you on my skin.

Her thighs clenched as she heard her friend yelling her name on the other end. Emma brought the phone back to her ear with a shake of her head and an apology.

“So, are you going to tell me who the guy is?” her friend pressed.

“No!” Emma squealed before she could stop herself.

“Aha! So there is a guy!”

“Mary-Margaret, don’t push me…”

Her friend let out an exasperated sigh. “Alright, fine. But you’ll tell me soon?”

Emma scrunched up her nose even though her friend couldn't see. “Maybe.”

“Jesus, you’re the worst,” she laughed. “By the by, we’re having a Friday night dinner this week, finally,” she sighed. “Will you come? You can bring your man friend.”

“That’s very nice of you. I can’t speak for my man friend, but I will be there,” she said, enjoying teasing her friend a little too much.

“I hate you,” Mary-Margaret muttered.

“Should I bring pecan pie?” Emma switched topics.

Sure as fire, it worked.

“You know it,” Mary-Margaret said. “Don’t be late.”

“Would never even dream of it.”

When they hung up, Emma looked down at her phone and felt moisture pool between her legs at the words on the screen:

I can still taste you on my tongue.

x x

Everyone was surprised when Killian showed up to dinner Friday night with a smile on his face and a bottle of wine in his hand. Emma watched as he kissed Mary-Margaret on the cheek and then greeted the others. When his eyes fell to her, she felt a blush creep up her neck.

“So,” Robin said, slapping a hand on Killian’s shoulder playfully. “What made you grace us with your presence this evening?”

“He just came for the free food,” Regina joked with a smirk.

Killian chuckled, looking slightly uncomfortable as his eyes darted back to Emma again. Emma quickly looked away, but winced upon hearing Mary-Margaret’s gasp.

Her friend, she knew, was a clever one.

“What?” David asked her, taking a pull from his beer.

Emma looked to her best friend sheepishly because it didn’t feel right hiding it. Not from Mary-Margaret, not from anyone.

But what if Killian doesn’t feel the same?

“Emma?” Regina prompted.

Emma realized everyone was looking between her and Killian, confused, suspicious, and curious as hell. David, however, looked more furious than anything.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

David’s roar was the last thing Emma heard clearly, because the next few seconds happened very fast. David dropped his beer bottle to the floor and it shattered with a loud crash as he lunged at Killian. Mary-Margaret screamed out as Regina raised her glass of wine and moved away from them.

“David!” Emma tried to scream, but her throat was dry. She cleared it, watching in horror as David pushed Killian roughly against the counter, grabbing him by his leather jacket so hard she was sure it would rip.

Emma took a step forward, but Robin was beside her in an instant, holding her back.

“I told you not her!” David yelled in Killian’s face.

“David,” Mary-Margaret growled, shocking Emma with her hard tone.

“You really have no goddamn respect, do you?” David practically spat in his face.

Emma watched Killian wince and then he clenched his jaw. “Let me go, mate,” he said, his voice low, calm, controlled.

“Why? Why should I listen to you?” David shot back. “You clearly didn’t listen to me when I told you to stay away from Emma!”

“Bloody hell, she’s a grown woman. She can make her own decisions,” Killian growled, shoving David back.

He stumbled against the island before fixing his glare on Killian again. “Not when she doesn’t have all the facts,” he said.

Something in Killian’s face changed, his jaw locked, and he looked at David with the most murderous expression on his face. If she didn’t know any better, Emma would have been afraid of him.

A tense silence filled the room as all six of them stood in the aftermath of the altercation. After what felt like an eternity, Killian righted his jacket and took a step back.

“Killian, what is he talking about?” Emma asked him, her voice shaking.

Killian looked at her and the defeat she saw in his eyes nearly broke her heart. After a moment, he sighed and grabbed her hand, gently pulling her out of the apartment and into the hall.

Emma watched him close the door behind them before he turned to her, his eyes trained down at his shoes. After a moment, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. When he opened it and took a step towards her, she immediately closed the distance between them, looking down at his hand in confusion.

It was a wrinkled photograph of Killian in a police academy uniform holding a diploma. On one side there was a shorter, older woman with dark hair. She was leaning on Killian as if he was the only thing holding her up. She looked weak, but the pride on her face was evident. To his other side was a man a little taller than Killian, with lighter hair, and familiar blue eyes.

“I’ve kept my past as far down as I could for as long as I can remember,” Killian started, his voice grave and hoarse as he focused on the photo in his hand. “My mother died when she came to visit me in New York for my graduation, because the trip took a toll on her already deteriorating health,” he said. “My brother was a Captain on the Scotland Yard when he was stabbed off duty trying to save a mother and her son from a mugging. He died at the hospital the next day.” Killian looked up at her, his eyes shining with tears. “I told you I lost my family, but I never told you how...how guilty...how empty I feel for being here in their place.”

Emma’s heart broke at his words. “Killian—”

“It sent me down a dark path, Emma,” he said. “Bloody hell, I’ve lost count of how many women I’ve slept with.” She winced at his words, but he continued, “I’m ashamed of the choices I’ve made, but...they were my choices. I was given so many chances, and I fucked them all up.” His face practically crumbled as he looked away. “My brother and mother would be ashamed of me. I’m just like him…” The last part was a whisper and it took a moment for Emma to realize what he meant.

“Your father?”

Killian sniffed, but said nothing.

“You never talk about him,” Emma said quietly.

“Because he was a worthless coward who was given opportunity after opportunity to do better and he never did! Just like me.

“He abandoned my mum when she got sick, turned his back on his children—”

“Killian, you’re nothing like him—”

Killian looked at her again, but the emotion on his face was replaced with a haunting look of fierce determination and resignation.

“Maybe,” he said carefully, “maybe not. But isn’t it better not to find out the hard way?”

His eyes searched hers and when she realized what he was saying, the tiny rope that had been stretched to its limit inside of Emma finally snapped.

“No. No, don’t do this, Killian,” she said, tears burning in her eyes. “You told me this felt different.” She took a step towards him, grabbing his arms.

Killian sighed and backed away from her touch.

“David’s right. You deserve better.

“No,” Emma shook her head. “You're giving up. Don’t give up! If you do then you are like him, Killian! Don’t you see that?”

Killian smiled sadly at her, hollow and devoid of his usual adoration and softness and her broken heart cracked even more. “I am going to miss your fire, lass,” he whispered.

Before Emma could say anything else, he was gone.

X X

KILLIAN JONES

David may have been a bloody asshat, but Killian was damned if he wasn’t absolutely right. He had been so wrapped up these last couple of weeks with Emma that he completely ignored the truth that he wasn’t good for her. She deserved better.

He was only five minutes away from David and Mary-Margaret’s when he heard his name being called. With a clenched jaw and tense shoulders, Killian stopped and slowly turned around.

David approached him hesitantly, a guarded expression on his face as he eyes darted across Killian’s face.

“Come to yell at me some more, mate?” Kilian couldn’t help but sass.

“No,” David sighed.

“Ahh, so just came to finish what you started in your flat? Go on then,” he challenged, stepping forward and holding his jacket open.

“That’s not...Look, I’m sorry things escalated back there…”

“Escalated?” Killian let his jacket go and chuckled darkly. “You bloody accosted me in a room full of our friends.”

“You’re dating one of my best friends after I specifically asked you not to,” David gritted through his teeth, fists clenching at his side.

“Aye, and I apologize for not listening you.” David looked at him surprised, but Killian continued, “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, because you’re my friend and my partner and I respect you.” He paused, shaking his head with a sigh. “But I won’t bloody apologize for…” Killian’s throat closed up as David looked away, slightly uncomfortable. Killian gathered his bearings with an unsteady breath. “I won’t apologize for being with her. Because it’s been the best two weeks of my bloody life.” Another pause. David opened his mouth, but Killian pressed on, “And I know I don’t deserve her. You’re right. I’m a drunk, and I haven't dealt with my past and I don't even know how to be in a goddamn...relationship.” His mouth curved around the unfamiliar word.

Killian looked down, feeling his chest tightening again at the thought of Emma and him, wrapped under the sheets on her bed, nothing between them.

He shook the memories away with another sigh before meeting his partner’s gaze head on. “And you’re right,” he repeated. “I’m no good for her. So...I’m stepping back. I’m bowing out. You don’t have to worry about me. I won’t bother her again.”

X X

EMMA SWAN

“Who do you think you are, David? Just who the fuck do you think you are?” Emma aimed a throw pillow at David’s head as soon as he walked back into the apartment.

“Where’s Killian?” Mary-Margaret asked worriedly, running up to him.

“He’s...gone,” David said. “He went home.”

Emma shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “You son of a bitch.” She lunged for him, but Regina caught her around the waist.

“Easy, tiger,” Regina said. “You could do some real damage to him.”

Emma tried to shake her off, but Regina only let her go when she was sure it was safe.

“Why would you do that?” Emma demanded, eyes trained on David. “How could you...say those things to him?”

“Emma, you don’t know Killian….”

“Stop saying that!” Emma interrupted him. “You don’t know Killian.”

David took a step towards her, index finger pressed to his chest. “I’ve been his partner for almost ten years!”

“So what? Obviously you don’t know his heart!” Emma yelled back. “If you did, you’d see him for the man he is: kind, compassionate...loving…” her words trailed off, voice shaking, and she had to avert her gaze from the sympathetic look Robin threw her way. “And for the first time,” Emma continued, not caring that her voice was shaking and she could barely breathe, “and for the first time, I felt like I found someone who...I thought maybe I....”

“Emma,” David started gently, taking another step towards her.

Emma held her hands up and took a step back. “No!” She looked up at him, feeling completely broken and lost. “You don’t know what he meant to me, do you?” she asked him, the accusatory tone and utter hurt in her voice making him look away in shame.

“Emma,” Mary-Margaret stepped towards her, but Emma shook her head and walked to the front door, her friend hurrying after her. “Emma, please wait.” She grabbed her arm and Emma pulled it away angrily.

She turned to face her friend, tears in her eyes and falling freely down her face. “I have to go,” was all she could bear to say.

X X

KILLIAN JONES

Three days. He wondered how something he hadn’t even had a couple of weeks ago could hurt so bad now that it was gone.

But he had grown accustomed to waking up next to Emma Swan. In a matter of months, he had broken all of his rules. He had fallen for a woman and he’d broken her heart, and his own, in the process.

Killian’s throat was dry when he walked into his flat Monday night. He’d called in sick to work, something he had never done before, and ignored his friends’ calls the entire weekend. The only face he wanted to see lighting up on his screen never did, nor did he really expect it to.

He was holding a bottle of rum in a paper bag, his fourth in three days. He felt shame, of course, each time he made the purchase. But by the fourth or fifth swig, he was happily content. By the tenth and eleventh, he was downright blitzed, and three-quarters of the way through the bottle, everything was blissfully dark.

It wasn't until Thursday night—Gold was pissed at him for calling out the entire week, but Killian had sick days to spare so he really didn’t give a damn—that his routine for the week was disrupted.

He was at his grocery store, in need of a fresh bottle of rum, when his phone phone buzzed with an incoming call. He barely glanced at the screen before answering gruffly:

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello?” Killian repeated, the frustration more evident in his voice.

When he was once again met with silence, what little patience Killian had left snapped.

“Listen, you bloody wanker, whoever the fuck you are—”

“Killian,” a voice on the other end finally said. “It’s me.”

The pinch between Killian’s brows deepened at the low, male voice with a familiar accent.

“Who the bloody hell is this?’” Killian demanded.

There was a deep sigh. Then, “It’s your father, Killian.”

Killian clenched the phone so hard in his hand, he was worried for a moment it might shatter in his grip.

Brennan Jones contacted him every few years under the guise of wanting to ‘see his only living child.’ But it always ended up being because he needed money to pay off his gambling debts or buy some more booze.

Maybe it was the residual rum in his system, or maybe it was the fact that the only thing that had ever really made any bit of sense to him had been ripped away.

Whatever it was, Brennan Jones had sure picked the wrong time to call.

“Father?” Killian repeated incredulously. “A father doesn’t abandon his wife and kids to be with his mistress. He doesn’t bleed his family dry of every cent they have and then come back when he owes his goons a couple thousand pounds.”

“Boy, who in the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m not your boy,” Killian growled.

His father laughed on the other end. “You are, like it or not. The apple doesn’t far fall from the tree. Remember that, lad. I’m all you’ve got.”

“You know what I remember?” Killian shot back, “I remember Mum crying herself to sleep every night. I remember not having new shoes for school and Liam having to teach me how to play baseball and how to talk to girls because I didn’t have a bloody father to do that.

“And you know what?” Killian laughed, almost hysterical. “Because of you, I’ve spent most of my life running away from people who care about me. Liam...Mum…” He choked back the tears threatening to escape.

And in that moment, he felt his tiny, dark world shake.

Maybe Killian didn’t have to continue down this self-fulfilling prophecy, because in that moment he realized if he did, he would end up just like the man on the other end of the phone: down and out and all alone.

But Killian had someone who truly cared for him. And the difference he realized, between him and his father, was that Killian was going to fight for what he wanted.

“I’m nothing like you,” Killian finally said. “I just want you to know that. And when I find something...worth fighting for...I’m not going to be a coward like you. I’m going to fight for it with every fiber of my being.

“You didn’t fight,” Killian growled. “So you deserve what you get.”

x x

Killian dumped the rest of the liquor in his apartment down the drain that night and Friday morning he was back at work.

His first order of business was finalizing a restraining order against Brennan Jones. The next was ordering a dozen yellow daisies from the florist down the street. Killian ignored his colleagues’ curious expressions when the delivery man brought the bright bouquet and he let Gold know he would be back.

Killian had played this over and over in his mind, but nothing could have prepared him for the wretched nervousness he felt in his stomach standing outside Emma’s apartment holding the flowers in his hand.

It took him almost ten minutes to work up the nerve to knock, but before his fist connected the door flew open. When his eyes met the bright green before him, Killian just about forgot everything he was going to say.

“What are you doing here?” Emma breathed.

“I uh…” He reached up and scratched behind his ear, hands sweating and flowers practically slipping from his grasp. “I just wanted to, um…”

He jumped when one of her neighbors slammed their apartment door shut.

“You’re so tense,” she said.

The concern in her voice—the fact that she was still concerned for him even after everything they'd been through—tugged at something deep in his gut and strengthened his resolve.

“I’m just...getting really tired of not waking up next to you,” he said. Emma’s mouth opened in a silent gasp as he continued, “And I know that I’ve made a lot of mistakes...but I’m not going to allow letting you go without a fight to be one of them.”

Emma’s eyes softened.

“I know I’m not worthy of your love—” She opened her mouth to argue, “but you deserve to be loved...and cherished...and reminded everyday how bloody brilliant you are—” Emma couldn't help but look down with a blush, but he tilted her chin up gently— “And I don’t think anyone else can love you...the way I can. If you’ll let me. If you...want me…”

Killian barely finished his sentence before Emma lunged forward and pressed her lips to his. The kiss remained chaste and ended far too quickly.

Killian rested his forehead against hers and smiled down at her.

“You came back,” she whispered.

“Aye.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you know, Emma?” She looked up at him curiously. “It's you. You’re the one I’ve been waiting for.”

Emma couldn’t stop smiling, even as Killian kissed her once again.

X X

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#cslb #cslb fic #cslb 2018 #captain swan #captain swan fanfiction #along came you #writemyanchor

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