#This happened because one of my art friends rightfully yelled at me for forgetting her eyebags in an early sketch for my illustration

[keeterz]

Canonically Accurate Morrigan

[searchingwardrobes]

Captain Swan is My Favorite Rom Com: Sleepless in Seattle 3/3

Rating: G (But the rest of the stories in Captain Swan is My Favorite Rom Com are rated T)

Can also be read on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @kday426 @teamhook @bethacaciakay @shipsxahoy @shady-swan-jones @tiganasummertree @artistic-writer @cat-sophia @hollyethecurious @coliferoncer @thejacketandthehook @dassala @branlovestowrite @allofdafandoms-blog @flslp87 @pocket-anon @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @onceuponaprincessworld

Some people might call Killian Jones an overprotective parent. His daughter Alice would probably agree. But Killian always argued that he had to be. For one, he was all Alice had now. For another, he knew all too well what kind of darkness lurked in the world. Alice saw it full of joy and possibility; and he would do all he could to allow her to continue to believe that.

Which was why he panicked slightly to hear a male voice talking to his daughter at their front door. He picked up his pace coming down the stairs, and even when he saw that it was just the mail carrier, he didn’t slow down.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” he demanded in his sternest voice. Okay, so maybe he was a little on the overprotective side, but when did the mail ever get hand-delivered to their door? “Alice, how many times have I told you to let me answer the door?”

Alice completely ignored his apparent panic attack. “Look at all these letters, Papa!”

The mail carrier shoved another fat stack of letters bound with rubber bands into Killian’s chest and beat a hasty retreat. Killian’s brow rose as he looked at the letters that he could scarcely juggle to the equally large stack in Alice’s arms. A fat packet fell to the floor and Alice bent to retrieve them, almost losing hold of the ones clutched against her chest. They made their way to the kitchen island and dumped them on top. As the loose ones fanned out across the formica, Killian spied postmarks from all over the country, and some from even farther away. Alice reached for one in a pink envelope and tore into it.

“Dear Sleepless in Seattle,” she read, “you’re the sexiest man I ever laid ears on.” She rolled her eyes, tossing the letter over her shoulder. “Yuck, that one’s a no.”

“Wait,” Killian said, slashing his hand through the air, “these are all addressed to Sleepless in Seattle?”

“Uh huh,” Alice said distractedly as she opened another letter. “This one sent a picture.”

She waved it in her father’s face, and Killian snatched it. Who knew what type of photographs these women had sent? He glanced at it, then let out a sigh of relief.

“She looks old,” Alice commented as she wrinkled her nose.

“She looks like my primary school teacher - “ he paused dramatically then gave the picture another glance, making his eyes bug out exaggeratedly, “Wait a second! She is my primary school teacher!”

Alice dissolved into giggles, and before she could reach for another letter, Killian unceremoniously began to slide all of them into the trashcan. Some missed the bin and went fluttering to the floor. He couldn’t expose Alice to God knew what might be in these missives. One that landed on his boot had lipstick marks on it. He kicked it aside, snatched it, then shoved it into the trash with the others.

“Papa!” Alice cried. “What are you doing? Your soul mate could be in there!”

“No, Alice, she’s not!”

“How do you know?”

“Because this isn’t how it happens.”

“Then how does it happen?”

Killian shrugged. “You . . . meet someone, and you feel this . . . spark.”

A sly grin filled Alice’s face. “You mean like when that lady ran into you at the airport?”

“Lady?”

Alice rolled her eyes. “Papa, please, you stood there staring at her with your mouth hanging open.”

Killian sighed and rested his elbows on the countertop. “Alice, listen, sometimes a person is attracted to someone, yes, but that doesn’t mean it will be the way it was with your mom. If I do this -” he lifted his palm when Alice eagerly retrieved a letter he’d missed beneath the stool she was perched on “and by this I mean date, not go through these ridiculous letters. If I date, I may need to sort of . . . try a few ladies on for size. See if they fit with our little family here. It may not be the fairy tale you’re imagining. Can you understand that, Starfish?”

Alice chewed on her bottom lip. “But if it’s true love . . .”

Killian groaned and massaged his brow. “Let’s drop this topic, shall we?” He turned to the kitchen pantry. “What do you say about spaghetti for dinner?”

Alice didn’t respond, instead surreptitiously opening the letter she had retrieved from the floor. But when she scanned the first lines, she gasped. “Papa!” She jumped from her stool and dashed across the kitchen waving the letter in her hand. “Papa, listen to this: Dear Killian and Alice, Hi. My name is Henry. I’m ten. My mom should be writing this letter, but I know she won’t do it. So I’m writing instead. This may sound weird, but – were you at Boston Airport a few days after Christmas? Cause I think my mom may have run into you – like seriously. Ran into you. Did you hear that Papa? The lady from the airport!!!”

Killian exited the pantry with a box of noodles in his hand. “Let me see that.” With narrowed eyes, he scanned the letter himself. “She’s blonde and has green eyes. I think she liked you, Mr. Killian. We also heard you on the radio. I don’t really know what else to say. I guess I’m asking if you could write back? To my mom, I mean. Or you could write to me too. I don’t mind. Your friend (I hope), Henry Swan.”

”See Papa, see?” Alice squealed, jumping up and down and pulling on her father’s arm. “I was right! Bumping into that lady was fate! You have to write back.”

Killian shook his head. “I can’t, Starfish.”

Alice frowned. “Why not?”

“A grown man can’t start writing letters to a ten-year-old boy. His mother would be livid, and rightfully so.”

“Then write to her,” Alice said with a shrug. “You have her name now, and her address.”

“Aye, I do,” Killian told his daughter, pointing at the envelope on the table. “Boston, Massachusetts, Alice, do you have any idea how far away that is from Seattle?”

Alice tilted her head. “A long plane ride?”

“American schools,” Killian muttered, shaking his head as he went over to the set of maps he’d put up above the kitchen table. He pulled down the one of the US. If she wasn’t going to learn geography or how to read a map at school, he was bloody well teaching her himself. “Now, where’s Seattle?”

Alice gave him a withering look, but pointed at the northwest coast anyway.

“And where’s Boston?”

“Somewhere . . .” she gestured vaguely to the right side of the map, “over there?”

“Aye, somewhere over there, here specifically,” he jabbed his finger at the coast of Massachusetts, “there’s what, two? Five? Eight? About two dozen states between here and there.”

“But Uncle Liam and Aunt Elsa are there!” Alice was raising her voice now, and Killian was losing his patience.

“Alice, I’m not answering a letter from a kid like some sick pedophile!”

“What’s a pedophile?”

“It’s a . . a, um . . . “ he rubbed his brow wearily, then bent down to look Alice in the eye. “That’s not important, Starfish, you’ve just got to trust me. Forget this letter. Okay?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, glared at him for a minute, then burst into tears. She turned and stomped up the stairs. “I hate you!” she yelled as she fled.

He collapsed onto the kitchen stool and dropped his head into his hands. Moments like this, he missed Milah more than ever.

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

Dear Henry,

You can probly tell this is Alice. I tride to get Papa to right write but he said no. He did run into your Mum. I think he liked her. Can you get her to write?

Your new friend Alice

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

Dear Alice,

I showed Mom your letter. She got mad that I wrote. We had a pretty bad fight about it. I think she was still mad about what I said to Walsh though. But he really did screech like a monkey when he saw that spider! My mom hates spiders, so I had to kill it. Oh, I guess you don’t know. My mom is engaged to Walsh. Yuck! Would your dad kill a spider? Or just stand there screaming? I don’t want Walsh to be my dad. He doesn’t even like me. Anyway, could you write back at least?

Your friend,

Henry

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

Dear Henry,

Of corse I can write! Walsh sounds awful. My Papa is very brave, and he is a good papa to me. I think he would like you. What is Boston like? Do you live by the sea? Papa says the sea com cam calms him. Owr house is right by the water. I like to draw, so I will draw a pikcher of our house and send it with my letter.

Your friend, Alice

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

Dear Alice,

Your drawing was really good! I can’t draw, but I like to write stories. Walsh laughed about one of my stories and called it “cute”. I was so mad! Mom says he’s trying, but I know he’s only nice to me because he wants to marry her. You have to help me stop the wedding! Are you sure your dad won’t write? Walsh wants to take us to New York City for Valentine’s Day, but he won’t even take me to the Empire State Building. He says its too crowded. I hate him! All he wants to do is take my mom to Tiffany’s and do mushy stuff with her. Yuck!

Your friend,

Henry

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

Dear Henry,

We are both in tons of trouble! We have to get our parents together somehow. Papa had a date with this awful witch named Zelena. I am NOT kidding. I think she may really be a witch. She cakels cackles like a witch. She came to our house with tons of bags like she was goin to stay for a million years. She tryed to kiss my Papa too, but I screamed. Yes, I was spying OK? Papa and I will be in New York City on Valentine’s Day too! I got in a art comphu comp contest. Get your mum to The Empire State Bilding at sunset that day. I’ll get Papa there!

Your friend, Alice

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

Emma punched the elevator button so hard she was surprised she didn’t break it. When the numbers above the door still didn’t light up fast enough, she slammed both palms against it.

“Emma,” Walsh said, laying a hand over one of hers, “calm down. Just call the cops and let them deal with this.”

“What?” Emma snapped turning all her fury on her fiancé. “Are you fucking kidding me? My kid is missing!”

Walsh had the audacity to roll his eyes, and Emma almost punched him. “We both know where he went. He wouldn’t shut up about the stupid Empire State Building. I told you to do something about his attitude. He whines like a toddler. And now when we’re supposed to be having a romantic dinner -”

Walsh’s words were cut off when Emma’s fist connected with his jaw. He hit the floor before he had even processed anything. The engagement ring he had purchased that morning at Tiffany’s pinged off his forehead.

“Consider the wedding cancelled, asshole.”

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

“Henry! Henry!” relief flooded through Emma when she found Henry sitting on the ground next to a telescope on the observation deck. His cheeks were wet with tears, and Emma held him as close as she could in trembling arms.

“I thought they would come Mom,” he sobbed against her shoulder.

“Who Henry? You thought who would come?” she asked as she pulled back to look him in the eye. She tenderly wiped his cheeks with her thumbs.

“Alice and Killian. It was my last hope. To keep you from marrying that awful Walsh. He’s so wrong for you Mom, I couldn’t -”

Emma shook her head and pulled Henry close again. “Oh kid, I’m so sorry. Walsh is history. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I thought you needed a traditional family. The white picket fence, and the dog, and -”

“I’ll take a dog!”

They both laughed as they pulled apart. Emma massaged her son’s shoulders. “I haven’t screwed up too much, have I?”

“That depends?” Henry said teasingly, cocking his head. “Is Walsh really history?”

Emma nodded firmly. “With a broken jaw to prove it.”

Henry’s eyes grew wide in awe. “Sweet.”

Emma laughed. “And I threw the ring at his head.”

Henry gave her a fist bump. As Emma stood and tousled his hair, her son’s eyes grew wide. Emma turned, and her own jaw dropped.

“It’s . . . you,” the man before her gasped.

Emma blinked as she took him in: the same man from the airport. At his side was the same little blonde girl, her grin as wide as a cheshire cat.

“It’s me,” Emma replied, a tiny smile flitting at the corner of her mouth. In the rational part of Emma’s brain, the words made no sense. But in some other part of her, they made all the sense in the world.

“Hey Alice,” Henry piped up.

“Hi, Henry!” the little girl replied.

The handsome man in front of her arched a brow. The motion brought attention to his sparkling blue eyes. He ran his hand along his jaw, and Emma followed the movement, appreciating the stubble there.

“It seems our children have been corresponding.”

His accent made Emma’s stomach flip. Her half smile tilted up further.

“Is that so?”

“Aye,” he said, dropping his hand from his face and extending it to her, “so I feel I ought to introduce myself. Killian Jones.”

Emma swallowed at a sudden lump in her throat. Sleepless in Seattle. Just as Henry had said. She took his offered hand.

“Emma Swan.”

The elevator operator announced that the observation deck was closing.

“Shall we?” Killian asked.

Emma could only smile and nod in response. He had yet to let go of her hand, and in that simple touch, she felt it. Magic.

As the elevator doors closed, Alice and Henry looked first at their parents, then at each other with huge grins on their faces. Operation Sleepless Swan was a success.

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

“I’m Marcia Fieldstone live from Chicago on this Christmas Eve. I have some very special guests in my studio today. Many of you may remember last year when I spoke with a little girl named Alice whose Christmas wish was a wife for her Papa. Alice, can you tell us what happened just yesterday?”

“My Papa got married!”

“That’s wonderful, Alice. And listeners, I have here also the woman who has made this wish come true. Emma, it is so wonderful for you to join us.”

“Thank you, Marcia, it’s my pleasure. I was actually listening last Christmas when Alice called you”

“And did you imagine that you would be here a year later as a mother to Alice and a wife to Killian?”

“No, Marcia, I didn’t.”

“Well, I want to turn now to Sleepless in Seattle himself. Killian, last year I asked you what you loved about your first wife. What made you fall in love with Emma?”

“Well, just like last year, I would say it’s so many, many things. This amazing woman next to me, who I now am honored to call my wife, is feisty and determined. I have yet to see her fail. I never thought I could get over losing my wife, until I met Emma. Never thought I could love again. But the moment I touched Emma’s hand – no, before that – the moment she crashed into me, I knew.”

“What did you know, Killian?”

“Magic. Dr. Fieldstone. True love. That’s what I’ve found with Emma.”

“Well, listeners, it’s wonderful to report a dream come true for the holidays. Before I open the phone lines, it is our wish that you and yours will find magic as well on this Christmas Eve.”

Dr. Fieldstone pushed a button and the radio switched to a commercial. She motioned for Emma, Killian, and Alice to remove their headphones and exit the studio. Outside, Henry was waiting for them. He grabbed Alice’s hand, telling her about free cookies and cocoa, and the pair ran down the hallway. Emma stopped her husband with a hand to his elbow. When he turned towards her, she draped her arms around his neck.

“I love you, Mr. Jones,” she told him with a flirtatious smile.

“And I love you, Mrs. Jones.”

He bent his head and kissed Emma thoroughly. Emma’s hands drifted upward to tangle in his hair. The magic that coursed from his lips was so strong she was surprised the lights didn’t flicker. When they parted, Killian pressed his forehead to hers.

“Let’s go home, love.”

She smiled up at him, brushing one more kiss across his lips. “Yes. Let’s go home for Christmas.”