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iverna · 1 year

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Holiday Subterfuge (CS one-shot)

Emma has been using her imaginary boyfriend as an excuse to get out of work-related socialising all year. But people are getting suspicious, so when it's time for the Christmas party, Emma makes a deal with a friend: he'll call, wearing his scrubs, pretending to be her boyfriend. It goes reasonably well until Killian Jones shows up. (Based on several prompts that sort of coalesced into... whatever this is. Yes, I wrote modern AU. 'tis the season, and all that.) rated G | ~ 2,700 words | read on ao3

This was a mistake. Emma suspected it was a mistake the second she agreed to it, but call her naive, she still had hope.

The plan was simple. She’s been using her non-existent boyfriend who works odd hours as an excuse to get out of after-work get-togethers, team-building trips, invitations to lunch, and every other bonding activity she hates. And it worked perfectly—he’s a doctor, so everyone is always full of understanding and admiration.

Until the annual Christmas party. Which she has known about for weeks in advance, and which they planned especially so that everyone could attend.

And Emma does not have a doctor boyfriend. She doesn’t have any boyfriend.

Enter Victor Whale, a friend of a friend, a man who is more than willing to accept a bottle of whiskey in return for pretending to be her boyfriend via FaceTime. The plan was simple: he calls wearing his scrubs, makes a bit of small talk, and she gets another year of peace and quiet.

Emma is holding her phone, watching Victor chat to her boss, Ingrid, when she becomes aware that someone’s watching her.

She turns—right into Killian Jones.

For a moment, she doesn’t quite register it. She’s used to seeing Killian in jeans and a sweater down at the docks, or in a t-shirt and loose pants at fencing practice. She’s never seen him in a suit before. It’s not a bad look—she’s pretty sure that no outfit in the world could make him look bad—but it doesn’t quite look like him, either.

“What are you doing here?”

He looks just as off-balance as she feels, but as she watches, he pulls himself together. “I was invited,” he says, and she realises that there’s someone standing next to him. A petite brunette, dressed impeccably in a blue blouse and corduroy skirt. Belle.

Belle, who has also begged off various work engagements due to her boyfriend.

She’s dating Killian?

Emma’s stomach is dropping, something that feels horribly like loss plummeting through her. She thought he was single. He flirts like he’s single. And yeah, she always rebuffs him, because that’s been their dynamic ever since they met.

And maybe, just a bit, because she wants to know whether he’ll keep trying.

So far, he has. Or so she thought. And it’s not like she thought he really means everything he says to her, but she did think—she assumed—well. She didn’t know he was taken.

By Belle.

And then her brain catches up to her, and she takes a closer look at him and the expression on his face and the guilty, trapped set to his shoulders and she realises two things: one, he didn’t expect to see her here either. And two, he’s lying.

He’s not dating Belle. Belle is doing the exact same thing Emma is, except she clearly didn’t think of the video-call compromise.

He meets her eyes, and he seems to realise that he’s giving the game away, because he straightens his spine and relaxes his stance, a smile on his face. Another lie. She’s caught it now, and he’s not fooling her. She smiles back blandly.

Belle is not quite oblivious to the byplay. “Hi, Emma,” she says brightly. “You two know each other?”

“Aye,” Killian says, a heavy, almost resigned note to his voice despite his apparent efforts. “Emma is in the fencing club.”

“Oh.” And then Belle’s eyes widen, and she stares at her ‘boyfriend’. “Wait, you mean this is the—?”

Killian clears his throat loudly. “I didn’t know you worked here, Swan.”

Belle closes her mouth, though her eyes are still wide, as if she’s processing some kind of revelation.

Emma has no idea what that’s about. What she really wants is to call Killian out right now, but that means giving Belle’s game away, and that wouldn’t be fair. She’ll get him later. For now, she just shrugs. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Truer words,” Killian mutters. Under his suave exterior, he still looks unsettled. Maybe he knows that she knows. Or maybe he’s worried that she’ll figure it out. He can almost never fool her during practice either. She can always tell when he’s feinting.

Granted, that goes both ways, but still.

“Emma?” a voice comes from her left.

She’s forgotten about her phone. The video call. Victor.

Crap.

“Uh, yeah.” She forces a smile as she turns her attention back to the screen. “Sorry, I got—uh, a friend just showed up.”

Victor smiles back. “Do they wanna say hi?”

“Who’s that?” Belle asks.

And that’s when Ingrid leans in with a bright smile and says, “This is Victor! We finally get to meet Emma’s mysterious boyfriend. He’s on call at the hospital tonight.”

Belle’s eyes widen. She glances at Killian, who has gone rigid. Emma, fighting back a renewed feeling of dread, angles the phone so Belle can see. “Victor, this is Belle.”

“Ah, yes.” Victor is all smiles and charm. “Emma’s mentioned you. She didn’t mention that you’re gorgeous. Wow.”

Belle blushes, though she looks rather like she wants to sink into the ground and disappear. “Thank you.”

“So what do you do exactly, Belle?” Victor asks oh-so-smoothly. Emma resists the urge to roll her eyes. He was bad enough with Ingrid; if he keeps this up, he is not getting the whiskey. He’s supposed to be her boyfriend, not trying to score with her colleagues.

Killian is glaring at the phone, and for a moment, Emma doubts her own assessment. There’s something in that frown, in his stance now, that looks… not possessive, but definitely protective. Is he jealous? Maybe he really is dating Belle.

But no. Killian can play the charmer with the best of them, but he’s a romantic at heart. There’s no way he wouldn’t have mentioned a girlfriend. And there’s no way he’d be dating someone if he wasn’t besotted. And if he were… she would know. Everyone would know, the same way everyone knows that David is madly in love with Mary Margaret.

She’s never imagined Killian dating anyone, but now that the thought has occurred, she can’t imagine him being anything other than devoted.

Even though she really has nothing to base that on.

But the idea of him dating Belle and flirting with her like he has been just doesn’t fit. It goes against everything she knows about him.

Until now, she never realised just how much she knows about him.

Victor is still flirting with Belle, oblivious to the daggers that Killian is glaring at the phone, and Emma has suddenly had enough. This wasn't part of the deal. “Okay,” she says, turning the phone so Victor’s looking at her. “I think I’d better go. Don’t want to keep you from your work, honey.”

“Always so considerate,” he drawls. “I’ll catch you later then, sweetcheeks.”

“Yeah.” She almost—almost—rolls her eyes, but that wouldn’t exactly help sell this relationship to her audience, so she manages a smile instead. “Bye.”

She ends the call. When she looks up, Killian is watching her with narrowed eyes, and Belle is still looking mortified. She seems to gather herself, and takes Killian’s hand. “I need to talk to you,” she says. “Excuse us a moment, Emma?”

“Uh, sure.” Emma stands there as they walk off together, feeling a little thunderstruck.

There’s no way. This is a ruse, the same thing she’s doing.

He’s not even Belle’s type.

“He seems very nice,” Ingrid says. Emma looks at her. She’s watching Killian and Belle walk off too, smiling. Emma clenches her fists. “You know him from fencing, he said?”

“What?” Emma forces her hand to relax. “Oh. Yeah. He’s, uh.” She can’t call him nice. Nice doesn’t even begin to describe Killian Jones. “He knows how to leave an impression.”

“I’ll say.” Ingrid turns her smile on Emma. “As does your Victor. I’m so glad I finally got to meet him.”

Emma can’t help hearing and confirm that he’s real behind the words.

And then her stomach lurches again, because… now Killian thinks she’s dating Victor. Meaning that pretty soon, David and Mary Margaret are going to think that she’s dating Victor. And probably August, and Ruby, and… crap. She’s going to have to confess before this goes any further. She can’t lie to her friends. This whole thing was never supposed to extend beyond work.

Which means she’s going to have to tell Killian that she essentially hired a guy to pretend to date her. Which is pathetic. She’s never going to live it down.

At least her colleagues are finally satisfied that Emma’s boyfriend is in fact real. She’s never liked work get-togethers; they always feel like an insincere waste of time. Hence the whole pretend-boyfriend thing. But at least the conversations don’t feel like a minefield tonight.

Eventually, she finds herself standing alone at the buffet table, and there’s a whisper of movement beside her as Killian joins her. “Swan.”

She feels her mouth twist. “Jones.”

He has opened the top two buttons of his shirt, his tie nowhere to be seen. Better, she thinks. More like himself.

“Enjoying your evening?” he asks, the picture of politeness as he takes a glass of champagne.

“Oh, yeah,” she says, unable to help the sarcasm. “You?”

His mouth quirks just before he takes a sip of his drink. “What’s not to love?”

“Uh-huh,” she says. “That why you agreed to come? You just love work parties?”

He looks momentarily taken aback, like he’s not quite sure what she’s getting at. “I came with Belle. Though, I wanted to—”

“You’re not dating her,” she says, and maybe she’s a little smug about it because she caught him out and that’s not easy to do.

He opens his mouth, closes it again. “Pardon?”

“You,” she says, poking him in the chest, “are not dating her. There’s no way.”

She expects him to deny it, to give her whatever story they came up with. But he lets out a sigh, bows his head, and looks up at her through his lashes. It’s the look he always gives her when he’s guilty and trying to persuade her to go easy on him, and she knows she’ll be in trouble if he ever figures out just how well it works.

“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid,” he says. “What gave it away?”

She shrugs. “You’re not her type. And there’s no way you wouldn’t have mentioned it before now.”

His eyes are sharp on hers. “You know me too well.” She can’t tell whether there’s something intimate in it, or whether that’s just wishful thinking.

She shrugs again. “I told you, I’m pretty good at knowing when people are lying.”

“I was going to tell you,” he says. “And in my defence, I didn’t know you’d be here. I had no idea you worked here too.”

“Right.” She never talks about work. She never talks about anything personal if she can help it.

“And speaking of things I didn’t know,” he says, and he sounds casual, but there’s something tense behind the words, “why have you never mentioned this man of yours? Victor, was it?”

“Oh.” Emma just about suppresses a wince. She should tell him. She has to tell him. It’s only fair. “Yeah. It’s, uh. Long story.”

“I’d love to hear it,” he says, and there’s a glint in his eyes that she recognises from practice. She was wrong. He’s not tense. The word is predatory. “I would love to know how you came to date a man who calls you ‘sweetcheeks’.”

She’s going to kill Victor. “That was—he doesn’t call me that.”

Killian raises his eyebrows. “I was there, love. I heard him.”

“Yeah, well, you call me—that.” Not the best comeback, in hindsight, but by then it’s too late to think of a better one.

He laughs, looking amused now. “If you prefer ‘sweetcheeks’, I can always—”

“No,” she cuts him off, annoyed.

She spots Walter and two of the other tech guys wandering over towards the buffet table, and hastily turns away. Killian follows her as she walks away from the table, with no aim other than avoiding people.

There’s no avoiding him, of course, not now that he’s smelled blood.

And she can’t even complain, because she started it.

“At first I thought I owed you an apology,” Killian says as he falls into step beside her, “for misreading the situation so badly and pursuing you when you were spoken for. But then, you never so much as mentioned the man, so how was I to know?”

Emma comes to a stop, staring at him. Pursuing? What does that mean? Pursuing implies catching, which implies… more than just idle flirtation. Right?

“And now,” Killian goes on, “having seen the man you’ve allegedly broken your golden rule for, I can’t help but think that either you’ve taken leave of your senses, or something else is going on here.”

That… sounds like something she should be offended by. “Excuse me? What rule?”

“The one about no relationships,” Killian says.

He’s right. She did say something about that. Once. Shortly after she met him.

And she did set that rule for herself, years ago, but… she almost forgot about it. It hasn’t seemed very important lately.

Weird.

(Not really that weird.)

“Oh,” she says. “That.”

“You’re not telling me that you, Miss Love Will Leave You Brokenhearted, broke that rule for him,” Killian says, his eyes narrowed as he studies her. That predatory gleam is back, the one he gets when he knows that something’s going on and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it. “I don’t know that I’ve ever met a more obvious candidate for breaking a woman’s heart.”

He’s right. He’s so right that it’s kind of scary. He’s got no business being that perceptive.

And what the hell did he mean by pursuing?

“I know,” she admits. “It’s—like I said. Long story.” She looks around to make sure nobody else is within earshot. “Kinda pretty much the same as Belle, I guess.”

“Ah.” It’s a long sound, and it seems to release the last bit of tension in his stance. He grins at her. “I had a feeling. It just seemed like too much of a coincidence.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” she says quickly. “Please.”

One eyebrow quirks up. “And what do I get for keeping your dirty little secret?”

She mirrors his expression, although she has to use both eyebrows. “Oh, blackmail, is it?”

“Don’t try to claim the moral high ground, love.” He looks like he’s enjoying himself now. “You want to make me, an honest man, party to your lies and deceptions. Surely that calls for some kind of recompense.”

“You’re already party to lies and deception,” she points out, “or have you forgotten why you’re here?”

“Belle has already promised me a favour in return.”

She is not going to ask what that favour involves. She is not. They’re clearly just friends. “Fine. What do you want?”

He considers. “I want you to give me a fair chance. If the answer is still no, that’s fine, but no treating it all as a joke or hiding behind the past.”

She feels her eyes widen. “A chance, as in… you and me?”

“Not a date or anything of the sort,” he says quickly. “I’m not going to blackmail you into that. I just mean… you always laugh it off. You don’t let yourself consider it.”

Right again. And if Emma is perfectly honest—something she can admit she struggles with—there have been times when she almost knew that he wasn’t just joking around. When she felt the maybe hovering between them. It’s just a lot easier to laugh it off than consider the possibility of… anything else.

But it’s Killian. She knows him—better than she even realised. She’s been right about him every single time so far.

“Like I said, if the answer’s still no, I’ll accept it,” Killian says, and she knows that he means it. “And you have my word that I won’t bring it up again.”

“No, that’s—” Emma shakes her head. “I mean, yeah. Okay. Deal.”

He beams at her.

* * *

He smiles more widely still just over a week later, when she ends their last training session before Christmas by asking him out.

(Once he's recovered from his shock, that is.)

* * *

Tag list (shh I didn't forget again) - @optomisticgirl @mariakov81 @courtorderedcake @tomeandflickcorner @spartanguard @snowbellewells @karl0ta @heavenlyjoycastle @queen-serena88 @stahlop @inkerii @bubblegum1425 @elegies @winterbaby89 @kday426 @sals86 @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @laschatzi @scientificapricot @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @ilovemesomekillianjones @last-tsarina @thesschesthair @the-darkdragonfly

#cs ff #ouat ff #cs one-shot #cs crew #merry christmas etc #modern au #cs au #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #ouat fanfic #fanfic #mine

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thegladelf · 1 year

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An Open Heart is An Open Wound 13/?

Guess who's back! *nervous laugh emoji*

I know it's been a while. Life got busy and writing got hard, but uh, we've gone down another Captain Swan rabbit hole and that led to old fanfic and that led to me realizing that I still had at least a couple of chapters outlined. So I dunno if I have it in me to finish this fic, but I'm going to get y'all as far as I can. I've forgotten a lot of what I originally had planned, but luckily I have notes for some of it and the show for the rest. There's at least one more chapter coming after this and I know it's going to make a lot of people happy. (No beta to credit this time, we die like Liam Jones now)

Last Chapter | From Beginning | AO3

Summary: Killian was sent to our world to find a cursed town called Storybrooke, but his quest was derailed when he met Emma Swan. Drawn together by a past that is more similar than either of them realize. For a time, they were family. Then things changed and Killian left to complete his mission. Now, ten years later, Emma has come to Storybrooke and it’s Killian must decide whether he should pick up the pieces. (Alternate universe retelling of Season One.)

Word count: 10.8k

# # #

“Whatcha reading?”

“The Hulk versus Wolverine.”

Killian didn’t recognize the first voice at the end of the aisle, but the second was one he knew well. Not wanting to startle the lad, he ceased his perusal of the baking goods—he knows there are ready made breakfast foods, but he prefers making things from scratch and free of all those words he doesn’t know—peering over the shelf tops to find his son holding up a colorfully illustrated book for the inspection of a girl not too much older. She stood a bit taller than Henry, her hair cascading over her shoulders in golden waves. Her clothes echoed his school uniform, which made sense he supposed, as there was only one school that he knew of in this town and it got out a few minutes ago.

“I’m Ava,” the girl supplied.

As she spoke, someone brushed past Killian drawing his attention. Another child in a school uniform, this one a dark-haired boy with his arms full of toiletries. He strode casually past, seemingly unaware of Killian's presence. Killian noted the care in his step, his suspicion confirmed as the lad crouched down at the end of the aisle, quietly reaching for Henry’s backpack on the floor.

“I think I’ve seen you around school,” Ava continued as her accomplice slipped his items inside Henry’s backpack. “You’re in Miss Blanchard’s class, right?”

The second lad stood quickly, stepping forward. “Almost ready, Ava?”

A flicker of unease flashed across Ava’s face as she acknowledged the new boy. “This is my brother, Nicholas.”

Indecision stayed Killian’s hand for only a moment. He and Emma had used similar tactics on more than one occasion, and from the look of these children, they needed the items. But they were involving Henry in their actions and that he couldn’t let slide, no matter that he had been in their position on many occasions. Hadn’t he often nicked things while good, polished Liam distracted the cart owners?

“Hi,” Nicholas said, touching his sister’s arm. “Come on – let’s go.”

The girl smiled at Henry. “You want to come hang out?”

Henry’s bright reply stabbed at Killian’s emotions as he stepped forward, but the shop’s proprietor was eyeing the threesome with narrowed eyes—though that might just be the continual cold the balding man seemed to suffer from.

“Hold up just a minute there, mate,” Killian said, resting his hand on Henry’s shoulders. With his hook, he caught one of the many loops on Henry’s rucksack, sliding the zipper open to reveal the stolen goods. “I don’t think you want to be going anywhere with these two until they’ve returned these things.”

Ava stared up at Killian, like a rat caught in a trap, her fists balled at her sides. The boy — already halfway to the door — bolted the rest of the distance. His sneakers skidded against the tile floor as nasally challenged Clark slapped his hand over the door.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he demanded of Nicholas. He sneezed and dabbed at his nose with a crumpled handkerchief. “Don’t think I didn’t see you rob me.”

Henry’s lip trembled as he looked at the pair of siblings and despite Killian’s common experience with these waifs, he felt the flare of anger at how they had taken advantage of such a good heart as Henry’s.

“That’s why you were talking to me,” his son accused. “So your brother could put that stuff in there.”

Ava bowed her head, at least having the decency to be ashamed. Her brother glared at Clark, but remained silent.

Clark grabbed the boy by his arm, roughly pushing his toward the counter and his register. “I don’t know who you two think you are—don’t you go anywhere missy, you come right over here with your brother.”

He glared until she obeyed, though it wasn’t surprising, she didn’t seem keen to leave her brother. A trait she shared with Liam, he truly hadn’t known when to let Killian go either.

Clark grabbed a phone just to the side of the register. “I’m calling your parents—all of your parents,” he said, with a look at Henry. “And then I’m calling the sheriff.”

“Surely that’s not necessary,” Killian said. “It’s toilet paper and food stuffs. Certainly you can let it slide so long as the children put it back and promise not to engage in such activities again.”

“Certainly I will not,” Clark shot back. “I won’t stand for thieves in my store.” He schlumped around the counter, yanking the bag from Killian’s grasp. He threw it on the counter with a thunk. Carefully, he unpacked the bag, sneering at Henry’s school books as he called Emma and then attempted to call the children’s parents. From Killian’s side of the conversation, the former appeared more fruitful than the latter. The man tried to dismiss Killian, but as he showed no sign of releasing Henry as well Killian opted to stay.

Besides, he recognized the look in the children’s eyes. They might need a champion to plead their case.

Emma and Regina must have both been in their offices, for they arrived at nearly the same time. Regina’s black sedan whipping into a spot behind the curb, she was up and out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind her, as Emma’s cruiser pulled into the space behind her. Killian bit back a smile at the sight of her rolling her eyes as Regina stormed through the door.

“What’s all this about?” the mayor demanded.

The clerk pulled himself up to his full height, which was still several inches shorter than the mayor. “Well, I’m sorry, Madam Mayor, but your son was shoplifting.”

“That’s a lie,” Killian said. “I saw the whole thing myself. Henry had no idea.”

“See?” Regina said. She grabbed the olive bag, zipping it closed with finality. “We’re going.”

Emma breezed through the door in time to halt Regina’s progress out of the shop. She paused, her eyes sliding over the scene, taking in each person. Her jacket rode up on her shoulders as she propped her hands on her hips, finally zeroing in on their son.

“Henry.” She sounded surprised. “What happened?”

Regina sighed. “Miss Swan, must I remind you that genetics mean nothing.” She spoke forcefully, her arm curling around Henry’s shoulders and drawing him closer. “You’re not his mother and it’s all taken care of.”

Her words made Killian’s blood boil, but Emma didn’t even flinch. Her calm demeanor reminded him of their bargain. Though he wanted to, giving Regina the dressing down she deserved would only strain things between the two and they had Henry to think of. For his sake, there needed to be peace between his mother’s.

“I’m here because I’m the Sheriff,” Emma said, with a sarcastic tilt of her head.

“Oh, that’s right.” Sounding disappointed rather than humbled, Regina stepped back, nodding at the boy and girl. “Go on, do your job. Take care of those miscreants.”

Emma sighed, but said nothing else to Regina as she and Henry left to the chiming of the bell. Ava and Nicholas eyed Emma’s badge warily. Killian found he wanted to comfort them, offer some assurances that Emma would set things right. He kept silent though, it was not his place to make promises for her.

“Did you call their parents?” she asked Clark, fiddling with her keys.

“Uh, the number they gave me was disconnected,” Clark said. With an exasperated huff, he circled back around the counter and started packing the items into a little, blue shopping basket. Though he kept his head down, the tilt of his head made it clear he followed every word of the interrogation.

“Did you guys give Mr. Clark a fake number?”

The children shook their heads.

“Then why’s it disconnected?”

The boy hung his head and tears sprung into the girl’s eyes.

“Cause our parents couldn’t pay the bill,” Ava said, soft and broken.

Emma picked up the nearest item, a tube of toothpaste. She gave the small box far more scrutiny than it deserved. Remembering her own childhood, no doubt.

Emma met his gaze when she looked up, but focused on the children once again. “And you guys are just trying to help out, huh?”

“Please,” Ava whispered. “Please don’t arrest us. It will just make things worse for our parents.”

Clark sighed, setting the basket down on the counter with a thud. He leveled a disapproving glare at Emma.

“The items never left the store, Mr. Clark,” Emma said. “I think you can let it go this once.”

“And what about the next time?” the man asked in his nasal whine.

Killian shook his head. Henry hadn’t found the time to acquaint him with every character in the book—though he suspected that the lad had at last figured out who Mr. Gold was—but they had found a few stolen moments here and there for Henry to acquaint Killian with the people most pivotal with his grandparents' story. He couldn’t imagine anyone putting up with Clark for very long, let alone as long as Snow White and the other dwarves had.

“There won’t be a next time,” Emma said, fixing a stern look on the cowed children.

“And you’ll be compensated for the items,” Killian put in. He fished his wallet out of his jacket pocket, laying out the money that would have paid for the few items he needed. He could manage one more morning of only citrus for breakfast and come back tomorrow. “Ring them up.”

“Hook…” Emma said.

“No, I insist.” He smiled at the children. “I’ve been there a time or two myself. Their intentions are good, even if their methods are suspect.”

Emma smiled at that. “Can’t argue with that.”

“Fine,” Clark said and then sneezed.

The children glanced at each other, their mouths hanging open.

“Thank you, Mister,” Ava finally said. “We promise it won’t happen again.”

With a smile, Killian wondered if she meant they wouldn’t steal again or simply that they wouldn’t get caught.

# # #

“I could’ve taken care of all that,” Emma said as she watched Ava and Nicholas trot merrily up to her squad car.

Killian shrugged, letting the door swing closed behind him and cut out the jingling bell above it.

“My brother and I were very much like them, once upon a time. Though we didn’t have parents to go home to.” He grimaced, closing his eyes like he wanted to shut out a particularly painful memory. It was one of the most concrete details he had ever shared with her about his past. With a scratch behind his ear, he continued, “The kindness of a stranger could have changed both of our lives.”

Emma pressed her lips together. “Yeah, too bad there aren’t more strangers like you out there.”

He snorted. “That’s probably a good thing, Swan.” He threw a flourishing gesture toward the kids leaning against the car. “Would you like some help transporting them back home?”

“I’ll add that one to the list,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“What list?” Killian asked, brow furrowing.

“The list of people you think I can’t handle,” she replied, sticking her hands in her back pockets. Her eyes strayed down the street, eyeing the pawnbroker’s sign swaying in the wind. “Should I put preteens before or after middle-aged men who use a cane?”

Killian tensed. “That is hardly something to joke about.”

“Lighten up, Hook. I know you don’t like the guy, but I think I could take him in a fight.”

Killian grunted, staring so hard at the kids she thought he might burn a hole through Nicholas’ head.

“Hey,” she said. “I don’t like him either. And I don’t plan on looking for trouble. Though if he keeps showing up at work…”

“What?” Killian snapped, tearing his gaze from the children. “When?”

Emma held her hands up, more to tell him to chill out than to push him away. “Whoa. He was there the day after the election is all. Wanted to give me Graham’s jacket.”

“And you’re just mentioning this now?” he demanded. “What did he do? Did he threaten you?”

“Stop it,” she said, aware of the two kids watching not far away. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him a little further down the street, turning him so those flashing blue eyes wouldn’t get the kids all worried. She sighed. “He wanted to congratulate me or whatever. Apparently, my standing up to him was all part of some master plan to get me elected.”

She suppressed a shudder, remembering the silent way Gold appeared at her office door two weeks ago. She hadn’t even known he was there until he spoke and nearly scared her out of her skin.

“Emma,” Killian pleaded, “I need to know things like this.”

“No,” she snapped. “You don’t. Look, your problems with Gold are not my problems with Gold. I don’t know what happened between you two, but until you care to tell me what he did that was so awful, I’m going to handle him based on my own experience. Got it?”

Killian pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’ll see you around,” she said, pushing past him.

The kids slid inside the car as soon as she popped the locks, setting the white plastic bag with the groceries Killian had purchased between them. Ava rattled off an address with a speed that stoked the burning suspicion already coiling in her gut.

Emma expected yellowed, peeling paint and maybe a boarded up window, but the house she ended up at was a calming blue and looked well maintained. The yard neatly cut and the steps leading up to the door swept clean. It was in better shaped than Ava in her ratty sweater and Nicholas with his shaggy haircut.

“This it?” she asked, throwing the gear into park. At the kids nod, she unhooked her seatbelt.

“Please, no,” Ava said, sinking into the backseat. Her fingers tightened around the belt buckle. “If our parents see you, they’ll be so embarrassed.”

Emma twisted, her jacket squeaking against the leather seat as she faced the kids fully. “Did Henry tell you about my superpower?”

Ava shook her head. “We just met him.”

“I have the ability to tell when anyone is lying.” Emma softened her voice, trying not to sound too harsh as she met first Nicholas and then Eva’s eyes. “Tell me the truth, money problems aside, is everything okay at home?”

They both nodded too vigorously.

“Yeah, we’re great,” Ava answered, but her words sounded hollow. Rehearsed. “Can we go?”

Emma contemplated calling them out, but thought better of it. Something was off for sure, but she needed to know more before she could decide what to do. “Alright.” She inclined her head toward the door.

Both of them flashed her relieved smiles as they piled out of the car, the bags in their hands. The sun caught Ava’s messy waves as they bounced against her back. The girl turned and waved to Emma from the top step, her smile bright and very, very fake. With a nod, Emma shifted the car into drive and pulled away from the curb. The kids watched her in the rearview mirror, so Emma kept going until she rounded the corner of the street and couldn’t see them anymore.

She parked against the curb and jumped out. Brittle, winter grass crunched under her boots as she crept through a yard, peeking around a bush just in time to see the kids disappear around the side of the house. Emma took off after them, careful to stay just far enough behind that they wouldn’t catch her lurking.

The pelted across a deserted street, leading her through an overgrown yard and past useless, rusting trucks. Finally, Nicholas tossed the bags to Ava and used a trash can to scramble over a fence. The girl did the same. Emma almost went after them, but decided against it, noting instead the dilapidated, white house that appeared to be their true home.

She circled around. The house was old and obviously abandoned. She wondered why it hadn’t been listed in the paper all those weeks back when she had been looking for a home. She probably could have afforded this one too, she thought and immediately scoffed at the idea. Emma Swan was not the type to own a house. Renting worked just fine for her, thank you very much.

Every window on this house was boarded up, but the front door had a simple lock. Biting back a smile, Emma knelt, making quick work of the lock. Dust littered the air when she entered and she suppressed a sneeze. Light filtered in through the old boards, landing on a trap door that led into the basement and the floor creaked loud enough to provide sound effects for the movie Twister. Emma paused, stepping down on the board that protested so loudly, making groan again.

That should do it, she thought.

Quickly, she ducked down a hallway and waited to see who would be the first up from the basement.

Before long, Ava and Nicholas came tiptoeing through the house, Nicholas holding on tightly to his sister��s hand. They missed Emma in her little corner, peering instead into the kitchen.

“Why’d you guys lie to me?” Emma asked, stepping out of the shadows. “Where are your parents?”

The kids spun toward her, eyes wide. Nicholas pressed his mouth shut tight, but Ava lifted her head, a hint of a challenge in her posture as she said, “We don’t have any.”

She knew she had recognized the look in their eyes. Now the questions was, what could she do about it?

# # #

After she escorted them down into the basement—which was in even worse shape than upstairs, despite the furniture crowded together in an attempt to create a home—Emma had the kids gather up all their things and marched them back down the road to her squad car. They went without complaint, both eyeing her warily, but seeming to accept the inevitable.

She knew what she should do. Cases like this were social services business not hers, but every time she looked in the rearview mirror and saw their dejected faces, it reminded her of what would happen to them if she made that call.

“What happened to your parents?” she asked.

“Our mom died a couple of years ago,” Ava, the appointed spokesperson for the pair, said. She fiddled with her hair, wrapping and unwrapping a strand around her finger with frenetic energy. Gone was the calm, cool exterior.

“And your dad?”

Ave just shrugged.

She knew what she should do, but that was exactly what had been done with her, wasn’t it? The people who had handed her from home to home were just doing their jobs. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened, what was it Killian had said about the kindness of strangers? Her life could have been so different if even one person had truly cared about her.

So she decided she would care about these kids. She was going to do her best to make sure they didn't get separated. Maybe she lacked any real idea of what to do exactly, but there had to be something.

“Hey, I need to stop by the station real quick to pick up some stuff,” she said, glancing up at them through the mirror. “But you’re not in trouble, okay? I’m going to take you to my house and get you some real food and then we’ll figure out what to do.”

Ava sighed, groping for her brother’s hand. “Thank you,” she whispered.

They opted to wait in the squad car, so she left the keys in the ignition and hopped inside for a few minutes as she searched through the records for anything related to them or their mom. She found a file, an autopsy report, with the name Ava had given her for their mother, but not much else.

The car was still there when she came back out and only then did it occur to her that they could have stolen it. Emma shook her head. Intentions aside, she needed to be a little more careful with these two.

Twenty minutes later found them back at the loft, a pot full of mac and cheese on the stove as Emma and the kids ate. Both children had tucked into their food with relish, shoveling it into their mouths like it might disappear.

“Hey,” she said, waiting for them both to pause and look up at her. “There’s as much of that as you want. I’ll even make another box if you’re still hungry, just don’t make yourselves sick.”

Nicholas swallowed, nodding. They both continued with a little more patience this time. Ava’s fork scraped the bottom of her bowl just as the apartment door opened and Mary Margaret walked in.

“So I hear that—” Mary Margaret froze, gaping at the two kids now sitting at her kitchen table.

Emma’s chair squealed against the floor as she pushed it back. “Guys, this is my roommate Mary Margaret. I need to talk with her for a minute.” She jerked a thumb back at the kitchen. “I won’t eat more than this, so you can have the rest if you want.”

Both kids jumped to their feet, bowls clutched in their hands.

Mary Margaret couldn’t seem to decide where to look. Finally, she said, “Uh, what did you need to talk about?”

Emma pulled her back into the bedroom, the file weighing heavily against her conscience. She knew how many rules she was breaking.

“They need a place to stay for a couple of nights,” Emma said.

“What? Why?” Mary Margaret hissed. “What happened to their parents?”

Quickly, Emma spilled the details of their little adventure at Clark’s store. Her roommate pressed a hand to her mouth as she listened to Emma’s description of the house they had been living in.

“They’re wearing the uniforms from your school,” Emma finished. “Do you know them?”

“I’ve seen them, but…: She shook her head. “I had no idea. None of us did.”

Emma sighed, a small part of her relieved that Mary Margaret hadn’t been close to these two. She didn’t know what she would have done if her roommate had had suspicions about the kids’ home life and said nothing.

“Ava and Nicholas Zimmer.” Emma opened the autopsy file again, her eyes scanning the documents. She saw no mention of the kids, just like she hadn’t found anything about them the first time she read through it. Mom had apparently passed from some form of cancer. “They said their mother was a woman named Dorrie Zimmer. She died a few years ago.”

Mary Margaret fiddled with one of the buttons on her blouse. “And the father?”

“There isn’t one. At least not one that they know.”

“What does, uh… What does social services say?” Mary Margaret asked. She took a step forward when Emma stayed silent. “You didn’t report them.”

Emma leaned in, lowering her voice even more. “I report them, I can’t help them. They go into the system.”

“The system that’s supposed to help,” her roommate countered.

“Yeah, says the woman who wasn’t in it for sixteen years,” Emma snapped in a hushed voice.

Mary Margaret stepped back, swallowing nervously.

Emma pushed on. “Do you know what happens? They get thrown into homes where they are a meal ticket, nothing more.” She peeked behind her again, glad to see the kids settled with their second bowls of cheesy goodness. She caught Mary Margaret watching too. “These families get paid for these kids and as soon as they’re too much work, they get tossed out and it all starts over again.”

“But they’re not all like that.” Mary Margaret shook her head.

“All the ones I was in.”

Pity filled Mary Margaret’s eyes, but not for the kids, this time she directed it at Emma. “What? We’re just going to adopt them?”

And there was the crux of the matter. There wasn’t room here, neither of them were exactly in the position to take on two kids. Emma had no delusions on that hand, she wasn’t even equipped to handle Henry. And Mary Margaret…well, she’d want kids of her own someday, there was no home for them with her. Maybe a few weeks ago she would have given up and consigned them to the system with a heavy heart, but standing in the kitchen she had remembered her argument with Killian. It took him only a few minutes to accept Henry as his son, only a few minutes to demonstrate just how wrong keeping it from him had been. What if Dorrie Zimmer had made the same mistake all those years ago?

“I want to look for their father,” she said. “They don’t know him. He may not know they exist.”

Mary Margaret’s eyebrows shot up. “And you think if he knows, he’ll want them?”

Emma wanted the answer to be yes. But she wasn’t, she couldn’t. Maybe Killian had proved her wrong—and the jury was still out on that one, because he could up and leave at any time—but she didn’t even know if she had ever met this other guy.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Emma wrapped her arms around herself, trying not to think of cold hands and clothes that smelled like trash bag. “But what I do know is it’s hard enough finding foster families to take one kid that isn’t theirs, let alone two. It’s their best shot, or—”

A soft gasp burst out behind her. “We’re going to be separated?” Ava stared at them, her face red and tears in her eyes. Her exclamation had drawn her brother’s attention, he paused, spoon halfway to his mouth, eyes going wide.

“No,” Emma said, too quickly to think about what she was saying. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Please…” Ava’s lip trembled. “Please don’t let it.”

“Emma’s going to do her best, sweetie,” Mary Margaret said, with a hard look at Emma. “Now, as good as that dinner looks, I think it’s missing some dessert. Why don’t you help me bake some cookies while Emma tries to figure this out.”

Ava swallowed, but nodded despite tears still in her eyes.

The kids were reserved the rest of the night. Nodding and answering in monosyllables when they could. Despite all of Emma’s patience, they didn’t know any more about their dad than they told her in the squad car.

She let them take her bed, volunteering to sleep on the couch. Mary Margaret offered the other half of her bed, but that felt too…cozy for Emma. Too much like it meant something, like they were best friends who braided each other’s hair and swapped stories about boys. That made Emma feel guilty, because if it weren’t for Henry she would leave Storybrooke behind and never look back.

The kids didn’t have any real pajamas, they just apparently slept in their clothes and changed the next day, so Mary Margaret unearthed a couple of t-shirts and some sweatpants for them to sleep in. They disappeared upstairs with soft good nights after changing into the new clothes and handing over their old uniforms to be thrown in the washer with all their dirty clothes.

That would be a plus, at least, Emma thought as she tried for the third time to get comfortable on the couch. She remembered many, many days wishing she could do more than air her few outfits. Every now and then, she’d save up enough for a corner laundromat, but clean clothes were a luxury when you had to steal to eat.

Emma wanted to do better for them though. Better than a couple of meals and clean clothes and a night in a warm house. She pulled the blanket a little closer. She knew exactly what nights in that old house must have been like.

She would do better for them. They’re birth certificates had to be at city hall. She could start there. Maybe there would be something on their birth certificate or in the hospital records.

Yeah, there had to be something. She smiled. It sounded like something Henry would say.

She drifted off, thinking maybe, just maybe she could be the kind of stranger Killian mentioned earlier that day.

# # #

Ava nearly cried when Mary Margaret handed her a uniform smelling of Downy. Even Nicholas ducked away when he thought they weren’t looking and swiped at his eyes.

It was odd, having two near teenagers to get up and fed and ready for school all of a sudden and she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have Henry sitting around the table with them. To be handing him a clean sweater and telling him to hurry up in the bathroom. Both children tried to take their time in the shower, but Mary Margaret hurried them along with promises of letting them shower later that evening until the hot water ran out.

They went to school with her, while Emma headed over to City Hall, ready to brave the musty archives and hoping she might find something — anything — to give these kids a chance.

In a rather stereotypical fashion, the Office of Records was in the basement, tucked away down a practical labyrinth. Emma wandered into three other offices before she finally got directions to the right one.

A huge, oak counter stood between her and the rest of the room. Behind it was set after set of library style filing bins, all of them in the same matching wood. Every flat surface was covered in files and binders and odd papers. A man sat amidst the chaos, his attention on a computer that could probably give life advice to the ones at the sheriff’s station. Half bald, with a beer belly and a rumpled button-down shirt, he was oblivious to Emma’s arrival until she called out.

“Excuse me. Mr…” She examined the nameplate and made her best guess. “Krzyszkowski?”

The man let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, it’s Krzyszkowski.” Pronouncing it like there was a ‘v’ at the end, though, there wasn’t. Emma checked. He stood, weaving around a table to get to the counter. “Everyone calls me K.”

“Mr. K,” she repeated, relieved to have a name she would be less likely to embarrass herself saying. “I am Sheriff Swan. I’m hoping to look at the birth certificates of Ava and Nicholas Zimmer.”

He reminded her a bit of a rat, with his beady, dark eyes. If Emma expected some curiosity or blustering, she would have been disappointed. Krzyszkowski reached for one of the papers behind the counter immediately and pulled up a handful.

“Alright, just, uh, fill out this form.” He slapped the papers onto the wooden surface, killing the small, foolish part of Emma that had hoped for just a moment it would be that easy. He lifted an industrial stamper, big enough to be a serious contender in a game of Clue and stomped it down on all three pages. “In triplicate.”

Emma blinked, surprised that it was that easy, despite her crushed—but unrealistic—hopes. The form only wanted basic information, record keeping for who saw what records she assumed, no signing over your firstborn or requests for certification.

“Okay.” She plucked up the first form. The desk had one of those ball-and-chain pens, the swinging chain causing her handwriting to wobble slightly.

“I’m so sorry,” the man said from his spot halfway across the room. He stood at one of the filing cabinets, his fingers still shoved inside a file holder. “Those documents have been recently removed.”

“By who?” Emma asked.

Somehow she already knew the answer.

“By the mayor,” he replied. He examined the one piece of paper that was in that file. “Just this morning actually.”

Of course.

Of course, Regina dug her fingers into this already. It was so like her, to want to meddle in something that had nothing to do with her whatsoever and step in to do Emma’s job when she was already doing it. Sort of.

“Thanks,” Emma said. “I guess I’ll just go see her about those then.” She left the forms sitting on the counter, one of them only half completed.

How had Regina known who to look for? Had she gotten their names before she left Clark’s shop yesterday? Maybe she’d been so offended that the kids tried to involve Henry she meant to give the parents a piece of her mind, or whatever it was suburban soccer mom types gave when they felt miffed.

Maybe Regina had planned to show up on their doorstep with a basket of apples.

Emma snorted at that, but reeled herself in quickly. Laughing would not get her into Regina’s good graces, and she needed to do that if she planned to help these kids.

The receptionist stopped her as she entered. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” Emma said, “but I need to talk with her about the Zimmer case. Tell her that.”

The receptionist stared for a moment, but when Emma didn’t budge, she got up and shuffled into Regina’s office, closing the door firmly behind her. Emma crossed her arms and resisted the urge to tap her foot. The woman returned shortly, the open door she left behind her the only sign that Emma had permission to enter. With a deep breath, she walked into the office, hands stuffed into her back pockets.

Regina shuffled papers on her desk, barely glancing at Emma as she entered. “Don’t worry, Miss Swan. You can relax,” she said, her hand resting on the file Emma needed. “I’ve contacted social services. Turns out these kids are on their own.” She grimaced, as though the thought pained her, though whether that was genuine or an act was hard to tell. “They need help.”

“Which is exactly what I’m trying to do,” Emma said. If they had an equal goal, maybe Regina could be reasoned with. After all, she had no connection to these kids other than their brief contact with Henry.

What did it matter to her what happened to them? “I’m trying to find their father.”

Regina sighed, handing over the file. “Well, he doesn’t exist.”

Emma took the file with a roll of her eyes. “He has to.”

“Well, of course, biologically he exists,” Regina said. “But there’s no record of him.”

Sure enough, where they would have put the father’s name, only the word “Unknown” was written. Disappointment hit Emma solid and low, but she tried not to react. Not in front of Regina.

The other woman fiddled with a pen. “Which means we have no choice.These children need a home, so they will be put into the foster system.”

Any part of Emma that thought Regina’s concern might be genuine vanished at the look of smug satisfaction on Regina’s face. Of course. If Emma was invested in this, Regina wanted to thwart it. And Regina had the law on her side too.

“Storybrooke has a foster system?” Emma waited, already knowing what Regina’s answer would be.

“No, but I’ve contacted the state.” Regina moved around the desk with more ease than anyone wearing a pencil skirt had a right to, speaking in flat, clinical tones. She lifted a pitcher of orange juice — probably hand-squeezed and organic if she was as strict with what she ate as she was with Henry — pouring herself a glass as she explained, “Maine’s group homes, unfortunately, are filled. But they put us in touch with two homes in Boston – a boy’s home and a girl’s.”

The steady thrum of unease that started with the mention of group homes exploded into full-blown dread.

“They’re separating them?” she gasped.

“I don’t like it, either,” Regina said, though her tone was hard to read. “But we’ve got no choice. You need to have them in Boston tonight.”

Emma’s stomach sank to her knees. “Me?”

Regina turned on her, sipping at her glass before speaking. “Well, you wanted to be Sheriff. This is what sheriffs do. Yes, you’re taking them.”

“No,” Emma said with full knowledge that she was being childish. Maybe she couldn’t stop them from being separated, but she would not be the one that delivered them to those homes. She never wanted to be within a mile of another group home for as long as she lived. “I promised them they wouldn’t be separated.”

“Well then, perhaps you should stop making promises you can’t keep.” Regina waited for a moment, her face softening as she approached Emma. “These children need a home. I’m just trying to find the best one.”

“So am I,” Emma retorted.

Regina shrugged. “He left them once. Even if you did find him, that’s not guarantee he’ll want them.” She set her glass down. “I see the appeal of the idea, Miss Swan, really I do. But better a sure home than letting them depend on a man we already know they can’t trust, don’t you think?”

Emma’s grip on the folder tightened. “Fine. I’ll do it. But they get to finish the school day first.”

“A wise decision,” Regina said, smiling coldly. “Best not to make a scene.”

“Madam Mayor.” Emma nodded and headed for the door, the file still clutched in her hand. Her spine crawled. Every step she was sure Regina would call for her to bring the file back, but no such call came. She got out the door and down the stairs and back to the station before she took a full breath, but no one stopped her. No one called her out for a liar.

Not that she had lied. School ran until two, so she had until then to figure something out.

# # #

“Any luck?” Henry walked into Emma’s office and her heart sank.

An odd feeling to associate with Henry. Until now, she hadn’t realized that seeing him usually made her day brighter. His arrival, however, signaled the end of the school day and — since Emma still had no plan — the end of her window to find Ava and Nicholas’ father.

“No,” she said, closing the file she was sifting through. She had all the records from the year Ava and Nicholas were born, searching through for any mention of Dorrie and her possible baby daddy.

Henry dumped his bag and set the storybook down with a thunk, heedless of the mess on Emma’s desk. “I know who they are. They’re brother and sister. Lost. No parents. Hansel and Gretel.”

For just a brief moment, her spirits lifted, until she realized just how ridiculous that was. Henry spoke of fairytale characters and they needed a real life, flesh and blood person. Still, he was trying to help.

“Anything in there about the dad?” she asked, more out of habit than hope.

Henry shook his head. “Just that he abandoned them.”

“Great.” Emma flipped his storybook closed, picking up her last file and heading to stash it back in the filing cabinet. A big bunch of dead ends. That’s all any of this was. “Sounds like a familiar story. Whoever this guy is, he could be in Laos by now.”

Henry followed her into the next room. “No, he’s here.”

Emma scoffed, her natural cynicism apparently untamable today. “Just how do you know that?”

“Cause no one leaves Storybrooke.” He leaned against a desk, tapping his fingers across the dark surface. “No one comes here, no one goes. It’s just the way it is.”

“I came here,” she tossed over her shoulder.

Your dad came here, she almost added, before she remembered she hadn’t told him about Killian yet. That idea made her insides twist. She was okay with Killian knowing about Henry and hanging out with Henry at this point, but every time he even hinted at spilling this secret, ice cold dread seeped into her bones. Sure, Killian was all fatherly and cool with it now, but what happened when he got bored and tired of having a kid hanging around him all the time? Right now, Henry would lose a friend and nothing more.

“Because you’re special,” Henry said. “You’re the first stranger here. Ever.”

“Right, I forgot.” Emma shrugged it off. He might not remember any strangers coming to Storybrooke, but clearly that wasn’t true. She ran her fingers over the files, wishing she knew them as well as Henry apparently knew his book. The cool metal felt brittle as she slid the drawer closed.

For a brief moment, she wondered if there had ever been someone who felt this way about her. One of her case workers, maybe? Someone determined to help, but with their hands tied by laws meant to “protect” her. She wanted to keep looking, but she was out of time and out of ideas.

Henry came around the desk, hopping up to sit on it like he owned it. “Can you tell me about him?”

“Uh.” Emma blinked. “I haven’t found anything about him.”

“Not their father. Mine.”

He stared up at her with wide-eyed innocence, feet banging against the desk as he waited, completely oblivious to the way Emma’s stomach lurched down to her toes. The silence stretched.

“I told you about your parents,” he added, sensing her hesitation. “And now you’re even living with your mom.”

“Mary Margaret isn’t… She’s… Never mind.” Emma sank into the nearest chair, gathering her thoughts. What did she tell him? How much did she tell him? How did she avoid this subject completely? Killian wouldn’t leave him, a small voice said. But she had been so sure about Killian all those years ago and he left her then. He’d promised never to leave her and then he did.

“Please?” Henry begged.

Emma couldn’t say no.

“I was pretty young.” She sat back, pushing her hair away from her face as she thought. “I’d been dodging social services for a year and…” Emma paused, unsure of how much was too much. Henry already knew about her past, did he really need to know about Killian’s? “To be honest, your dad and I weren’t always on the right side of the law. I met him stealing the beetle.”

Henry’s mouth dropped open. “Really?”

Emma grimaced, maybe she shouldn’t have told him that. “Yeah.”

“Cool.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, well, don’t tell Regina you think that.”

Henry leaned forward. “What happened after that?”

“We were…family for a while after that,” Emma said with a shrug. It was true on her part at least. “And good for each other, I guess.” She watched the way Henry’s face lit up, the way his fingernails dug into the cuffs of his sweater, and she couldn’t tell him the truth. Even if she wanted to—she just couldn’t.

“We got real jobs, tried to put down roots. Mine was at this crappy twenty-four hour diner. And your dad, he got a job at the… docks. Long, hard days, but he’d always come in after work to sit with me until I got off.” She swallowed. That part, at least, was true. There had been a few odd jobs and Killian had hung around a couple of those places while waiting for her shift to end. “He’d order coffee and sit at the counter and complain about how we didn’t have pumpkin pie.”

“Did you get married?”

Emma tried not to blush. “No, we just…” Emma had no idea how much Henry knew about sex. He was nine. Was nine too young? Did it even need to be explained for this story anyways? “Uh, we watched each other’s backs for a while and…” She shrugged. “Eventually we grew apart. Life happened. His got better and mine got worse and…”

“And you met that other guy,” Henry said. “The one that got you sent to jail.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Emma said. She closed her eyes against that particular set of memories, breathing deep. More things he did not need to know. More things she did not need to think about. “Before I went, I… I found out I was pregnant with you. And I tried to contact him, and I found out that he’d joined the…army.” The idea of Killian in the military was laughable, but this was a way to kill two birds with one stone. She gave him a sad smile. “He died during the war, saving a wounded soldier. So, you think I’m a savior, Henry? He was.”

Emma leaned forward, taking his hand in hers. She was going to rot in hell for doing this, she knew. But she’d made her decision. This was safer for her son.

“Your father was a real hero.” She didn’t think she had ever told a more blatant lie.

Henry didn’t give her any time to worry about whether he had inherited her superpower. “Do you have anything of his? Something you can remember him by. Something I could see.”

Without thought, her hand went to her chest, habit taking over before she remembered Killian had the necklace now. Emma sighed, feeling a little less for its loss, even with the memories attached to it.

“I… I don’t…” She sat up, the chair creaking underneath her and startling her beautiful, brilliant, ingenious son. Emma smiled. “Henry, I’m sorry. I gotta go. I may know how to find this guy.”

The wheels of her chair scraped against the floor as Emma rolled away from her desk and headed for her office and her keys. It felt like electricity shot through her veins. This would work, she knew it. Her fingers itched to turn on the siren when she slid into the squad car, but that would draw attention and attention probably meant Regina. And Regina would cut this idea off before Emma could even say the word ‘plan’. Besides, it was only two blocks away.

Ava and Nicholas jumped as Emma burst into the apartment. Ava had one of last night’s cookies in her hand and a guilty look on her face as she whirled to face Emma. Both children wore regular clothes. Emma didn’t blame them for wanting out of those uniforms as soon as possible.

“Stay right there,” Emma said. “I have an idea.”

Nicholas blinked at her, then turned around, reaching for the cookies as Emma dashed upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. Two seconds later, she clattered back down the stairs, her old cardboard box in her arms.

Emma set the box on the counter, reaching inside without taking her eyes off the kids. “I want to show you guys something.”

Her fingers brushed soft wool like she knew they would. The blanket made a poor substitute for parents, but some part of her still relaxed a little.

Nicholas sat forward, his stool teetering on two legs. “What’s that?”

“It’s my baby blanket,” Emma answered, holding the small blanket to her chest. “It’s something I’ve held onto my whole life. That’s the only thing that I have from…” The words caught in her throat, for just a second. “From my parents. I’ve spent a lot of time with a lot of kids in your situation, and all of them…” Again, it was painful to admit. Even if they didn’t know her story, that she hadn’t been enough for her parents, she felt like they would see the truth written across her face, like countless children had done every day of her growing up. But she pushed on, because Ava and Nicholas weren’t in this situation because they were unwanted. They were here because their parents hadn’t had a choice. That was all she wanted, to give them a choice. “All of us. We held onto stuff.”

Ava’s eyes were glued on Emma, her eyes wide and lips slightly parted in a look of wary comprehension. She had them. If there was one thing Emma had noticed, it was that where Ava went, her brother was sure to follow.

“I want to find your father,” Emma said, setting the blanket down. She met first Nicholas and then Ava’s gaze. “But I need your help. Is there anything of his you’ve held onto?”

“I might have something.” Ava swallowed, her hand going to her pocket. She stared at Emma, clenched hand still hidden from view. “But if I give it to you, you’ll make sure we stay together, right?”

“Right,” Emma promised without thought. All she needed was a clue. If she had that, she could find their father. And if she found their father, she could keep them from growing up like she did. She could make sure their story was different from hers.

Metal clinked as Ava withdrew her hand. Shiny, dark metal peeked through her fingers, followed by a chain sliding from the pocket.

“A compass?” It didn’t look expensive, the metal a dull gold that barely reflected the light. It was heavier than it looked though. Emma examined it, noticing that the little needle was stuck.

“Our mom kept it,” Ava explained, her voice raspy. “She said it was our dad’s.”

“Thank you.”

She flipped the compass over, searching for some sign of the previous owner. No such luck. Biting her lip, she racked her brain for any other ideas. This was the key. This would lead her to their dad. She could feel it. She just…

Ava interrupted her thoughts. “Did you find them?”

Emma jerked her head up. “Who?”

“Your parents.”

“Not yet,” she said, because a flat out denial felt too harsh for this moment. “But I’m going to find yours.”

The kids watched silently as she examined the compass, trying to think if she knew anyone in town that might know about such things. She traced the outer edge with a finger, following the path of her thoughts.

Mary Margaret came out of her room, tucking the hem of her shirt into a pair of jeans. “Oh, Emma, I thought I heard you.” She smiled. “Are you done for the day or…”

“No,” Emma said, shoving the compass into her pocket. “I had a couple of questions for Ava and Nicholas.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret sighed. “Well, Henry will be disappointed, he was planning to come hang out while he waited for Regina to get off work.”

“He knows this is important,” Emma said, hand on the doorknob. “Tell him I’ll see him later.”

The door swung open with a slight creak and Emma could practically hear her roommate adding WD-40 to her mental shopping list, but she didn’t stop to think. She let it latch behind her, pounding down the stairs and onto the street. The squad car’s engine revved to life and she was halfway down the street before she realized where she had decided to find her answers.

If she had been less desperate she might have turned around and figured out another option, but she needed someone who knew this town better than she did and a nine-year-old with a storybook just wasn’t going to cut it.

Few people roamed the streets at this hour. A couple of kids walking home from school, a bike messenger, an elderly couple out for a walk. When she got to the docks, it grew a little more crowded. The harbormaster stood outside his shack, debating hotly with someone. Several bundled up fishermen unloaded crates from a trawler. She pulled up to the curb near where Killian had indicated his ship was...parked? Anchored? Moored? She wasn’t entirely sure what the word was. The fishers paused, glancing over as she got out of the car and slammed the door behind her.

“Afternoon, sheriff,” one of them called.

Emma waved, feeling self-conscious and scanned the boats.

“You in the market for a boat?” he asked, grinning. “Looking to expand the sheriff’s department to the high seas now?”

“No,” she answered. “Just need to talk with a friend.”

“Odd place to look, considering none of those have been away from the docks in years. Nobody owns them far as I know.”

Emma turned to him, a cold fear coiling in her gut. “Really? My friend said he lived on one of these. The, uh, Miss Guided.”

She almost winced at the name. Almost. But she was too busy worrying over whether Killian had lied to her. A cold sweat broke out over her skin, despite the stiff breeze blowing in from the ocean. She never had accepted his offer to visit his boat, so she had no proof. He could have made the whole thing up and be living on the street for all she knew.

“The Miss Guided?” The fisher got a strange look in his eyes, like he was trying to read fine print, but his eyes refused to focus. He bowed his head. Then his gaze snapped back up to Emma’s, his pleasant smile returning. “Ah, yes, Hook’s little boat. I’d forgotten he moved her so he could keep up with these poor unfortunate souls.” He gestured to the many boats with sails furled and gear packed away, looking forlorn. “That’s her right there.”

For a minute, Emma expected to find Killian standing where the man pointed, but the deck of the ship he indicated stood empty. There on the side curled the words Miss Guided. Clearly, she and this fisher had different definitions of the word little, because Killian’s boat measured at least thirty or forty feet. Despite her complete lack of knowledge about most things seafaring (Killian had talked about a thing or two, once upon a time, but she remembered very little of that), she could see the difference between this boat and the others.

Killian’s boat gleamed, the railing reflecting the sun and the deck a pristine white. The sails weren’t edged in gray or yellowed by the sun. And while the deck was tidy, it was in a thoughtful, useful way that gave the boat character instead of an air of abandonment.

Knees shaking, she approached. She didn’t like this, going to him in his territory, no matter that she had a gun. Killian wasn’t a physical threat to her, she couldn’t ever see how he would be. But she still remembered the way her heart sped into overdrive when Henry asked about him and the way she chickened out instead of telling her son the truth. Killian’s hold on her emotions, even after all these years, scared her far more than any other threat he could ever present.

She could shoot him. She couldn’t shoot her feelings.

“Hello,” she called out. “Hook?” Her feet faltered. A little dock extended away from the main dock down the side of the boat, providing access to a set of somethings that couldn’t decide whether they were steps or a ladder. Emma eyed the boat. Could she board without permission? The expanse of water between that little dock and the side of the boat looked awfully wide. “Hook?”

“Swan?” came a muffled reply. A moment later, Killian’s head popped up from under the deck, startling Emma. He quickly scaled the rest of the way up to the deck, concern clouding his features. “Is everything alright? Is it Henry?”

“No,” Emma said quickly, pushing down the guilt that flared inside her. “I just needed your help with something.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. Killian smirked, leaning up against the side.

“And what,” he asked, consonants snapping, “might the lady be needing help with?”

“Stop it.” She glared at him, though if she was mad at him for coming on to her, she couldn’t feel guilty so maybe she shouldn’t complain. “Look, I’d rather not shout it at you so either you come down here or…give me permission to come over or whatever you nautical types do.”

Killian chuckled. “Oh, things aren’t so formal on this little thing.” He gestured for Emma to make her way down the finger dock. “Though ‘permission to come aboard’ is the typical greeting. Keeps the jumpy ones from running you through with a sword. Here, grab this.” He leaned down, indicating a steel cable stretching taut above them. The metal bit coldly into Emma’s palm. “Yes. Now just step onto the gunwale. One foot and then the other right there.”

Emma did as he said, taking the hand he offered as she stepped off the dock. Killian smiled.

“Good then. Now you can step over,” he said, indicating the cord that ran the length of both sides. “We’ll make a sailor out of you yet.”

“Maybe some other time,” she said. “Look, you remember those kids from yesterday?”

Killian nodded, eyes dark. “Aye.”

“They’ve got no one.”

“I thought that might be the case,” he murmured. “You said you needed my help? How?”

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Emma expected Killian to lead her to a bench or something, but instead he led her to the back of the boat and down a cramped set of stairs. It opened up just a little once they were below deck. Enough that Killian could stand without hunching at least. The living quarters too were neat and tidy. No choice really, with the limited space beneath. There was a small kitchen along one wall and a set of cushioned seats along the other. All the way at the front was a triangular little bed, just big enough for one, maybe two people if neither of them were Vikings.

It was nice. Cozy.

Killian shifted nervously. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

Emma shrugged. “Coffee, I guess.”

She glanced around, absorbing the small details. He had been reading, if the book lying face down on the bed was any indication. Not much lay out and about, but neat as Killian was, some of his personality shone through. The tiny pictures on the wall above the couches. The dark, earthy color of his blankets. A towel hanging on the outside of a door near the stairs. The bathroom she supposed.

Killian puttered around, pulling out an old kettle and turning on the stove. The rotten egg scent of propane clouded the air.

“Afraid making coffee is a bit more complicated here than at Granny’s,” he said.

“Well, it’s a step up from the bug,” Emma replied. “At least this place has a stove.”

“Stinks to high heavens though,” he grumbled.

“But at least you’ll know if there’s a leak.”

Killian turned to the cabinet, pulling out two mugs, one at a time. “There is that.” He leaned against the small counter next to the sink, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Now, what’s this about Ava and Nicholas?”

Emma brought him up to speed, detailing everything that had happened since she drove off yesterday. Well, not everything. Clearly he wasn’t interested in the odd little details, like her sleeping on the couch or what she wore to bed. On second thought, he was probably interested in that last one. Killian listened thoughtfully, nodding every now and then without interrupting. By that time the coffee had finished brewing.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said when she finished. “I fail to see how I can help.” He handed her a mug. “Afraid I don’t have any cream.”

“Sugar?” she asked.

In answer, he flipped open another cabinet and handed her a little ceramic jug.

“Thanks,” she said, dumping a few spoonfuls into her coffee as Killian shook his head.

“It’s not meant to be drunk that way,” he grumbled.

“What are you? A Starbucks barista?” Emma retorted.

“A what?”

“You know, Starbucks. Coffee? I know we’ve been to a few…” She shrugged.

“Ah, yes.” He scratched behind his ear. “I suppose I’ve been here so long I’ve forgotten there are places other than Granny’s to get sustenance.”

Emma nodded. “She does make a mean grilled cheese.”

“Now, what assistance were you counting on, Swan.” He cast his eyes around the small hold. “I’m afraid I haven’t much room to harbor a couple of strays, but I suppose…”

“No, nothing like that.” Emma wrapped both hands around the mug, glad of the warmth. She had no idea how Killian stood sleeping in this place. Even with his mound of blankets. They were gloriously messy, as though he had been cocooned in them before she intruded on his afternoon. “I’m trying to find their dad. From what Ava’s told me, he probably doesn’t know they exist.”

Understanding dawned on his face. “And this…father...you think he might take them in?”

Emma shrugged. “I hope so.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his tone low. “For all you know, they were simply too young to remember him running out on them.”

“No,” she replied. “But it’s worth a shot. I mean, I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to want to be involved either and you surprised me. I figured if you regretted running off…”

“Maybe he would too.” Killian swirled his drink, seemingly lost in the dark liquid. He took a sip, swallowing it with some difficulty. “How can I help?”

Emma pulled out the compass. “This is all they have of their father.”

With one reach Killian set his mug down on the little counter and took the compass in his hand. He turned it over, just as Emma had, caressing the smooth back with his thumb.

“A bit banged up,” he said. “But good workmanship.” He tapped a fingernail on the front. “Crystal. Jeweled setting. Quite the detail. Not your ordinary compass.”

Emma sat forward, hands clutching her coffee. “Is there anything else you can tell me about it?”

Killian shook his head. “I’m no expert. I simply know how to use the device…or I would were it working. Perhaps if you tracked the maker or the man who sold it they could tell you more.”

“Well, unless you see something I missed, I think finding whoever made this is a bust,” Emma said, taking the compass back from him. She pressed her lips together, noting how he fidgeted only slightly—his fingers tapping against his thumb while the rest of him stood stock still. She knew the answer to her next question before she even opened her mouth, but she asked it anyway. “Do you have any idea who might sell something like this?”

“You mean who might buy family heirlooms for pennies and then charge through the nose at resale?” he ground out. “Aye. Unless these children had a compass maker as an ancestor, this likely passed through Gold’s hands.”

Emma stood to leave, but found she wasn’t exactly sure what to do with her coffee. She wasn’t entirely sure she could just dump it down the drain in the sink. That felt a little rude anyways, considering she still had half a cup full.

Killian sighed, lifting the mug out of her hand. “I take it we’re paying a visit to the Crocodile.”

“The what?”

He snapped his mouth shut, eyes widening. “Nothing. Let me grab my jacket.”

“Oh no.” Emma held her hands up, the chain slapping dully against her wrist, halting him in his tracks. “I’m sheriff, this is my job.”

“And I’m a concerned citizen,” Killian shot back. “Mostly about you and the number of deals you’ve struck with Gold.”

“I can take care of myself, Killian,” she said. Tucking the compass into her pocket, she got her foot on the first step before Killian’s hand closed around her elbow. Gentle, but insistent.

“Please, Emma,” he said. “You don’t know him like I do. At least let me come for that, I might catch something you don’t.”

Emma sighed, but she couldn’t deny the very real fear in his eyes. There was a darkness to that fear, but it was true fear. Part of her should have been worried about what would happen if Killian and Gold ended up in the same room with only her to stop them, but she couldn’t dismiss the way anxiety coiled in her gut. Gold had been willing to risk injuring her and Regina to get what he wanted. Maybe Killian’s fear was justified.

“Fine,” she said. “But whatever issues you have with Gold, leave them at the door, okay? I won’t let you mess this up for these kids.”

He rocked back on his heels, his face thoughtful. Then he nodded and plucked his jacket up from among the blankets on the bed. Emma didn’t look behind her as she ascended, but she stopped short as she realized she wasn’t entirely sure how to get off the boat without ending up on her ass.

Killian chuckled as he passed her and it irked her how well he still read her. He winked. “Same as getting on, only in reverse.”

Easy as you please, he took hold of that same cable, quickly stepping over the line running down the side, and stepped down onto the little dock. He turned to her with twinkling eyes and held out his hand.

Emma gritted her teeth and followed him, doing exactly as he had done and stubbornly refusing to take the offered hand.

“See,” he said, apparently unflustered by her rebuff. “Nothing to it.”

“Come on,” she said, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “We’ve got work to do.”

#kau #captain swan #cs ff #cs au #cs fanfic #cs crew #henry's dad!au #i know it's been so so long #i'm a terrible person #this chapter has been sitting on my computer for six years #heh #my bad?#there's at least one more chapter coming tho #which has also been on my computer since 2017 #again a terrible person

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