#and my brain answered I BET KILLIAN JONES DOES

[welllpthisishappening]

Netting the Rebound

She probably should have answered her phone. 

It was...somewhere. Her pocket. It was definitely in her pocket. But Emma was annoyed and she couldn’t deal with another fan incident and she just wanted to sit in whatever vaguely uncomfortable chair in whatever section of the Garden she was in. 

So, naturally, she got interrupted – and she wasn’t exactly mad about that. 

Word Count: 4.6K AN: Hello, hi, hey there @distant-rose!!! I am not your secret anything, but you have been very busy and I am in constant awe of just how absolutely fantastic you are, so here are some words and some flirting on the ice and some making out on the ice and cute kids wearing hockey jerseys. All of your law exams should be scared (terrified) of you because you are going to wreck them. I look forward to living in a world that you’re running. 

“You are lurking.”

Emma widened her eyes, slumped in one of the chairs in section…something. She had no idea what section it was. Three seasons in and she still couldn’t name the sections of the Garden without looking at a map. She was ninety-two percent certain it was the hundreds though.

She was only a few rows away from the ice.

Killian didn’t move, leaning against the front of the bench without a helmet on and no pads and she was kind of lurking.

The game had ended more than an hour before  – an OT loss that tied up the series with a Game Seven on the road looming two days from now and maybe she wasn’t just lurking.

She might have been wallowing instead.

And she hadn’t even played. Or been on the ice when Jeff gave up the goal. An easy goal. Or an easy save. Whatever. The semantics of it weren’t important.

They lost.

“I’m not lurking,” she argued. “I’m loitering, at worst. Maybe. Depending on which definition you want to use.” “I think definitions are fairly set in stone. Isn’t that the definition of that?” “Oh my God.” He flashed her a smile, which didn’t make much sense at all because they’d lost and they shouldn’t have and everything felt kind of like the end of the world. It wasn’t, of course, but that was neither here nor there and the chair Emma had claimed as her own was incredibly uncomfortable.

She would have been disappointed if she’d paid for it.

And Killian was still smiling, far too knowing to be anything except the blatantly obvious flirting it usually was after a win. They should have won.

He was wearing skates still.

Or he’d put skates back on.

The second one made her made her breath catch a bit.

“Stop overthinking it, Swan,” Killian continued and Emma scowled, frustration morphing into something that might have been closer to charmed because she was totally overthinking it and he totally knew. 

“That’s stupid,” she said, his smile getting bigger and he hadn’t cut his hair since the playoffs started. She wished she weren’t sitting in whatever section she was sitting in so she could run her hands through it. “It’s stupid that you’re doing that.”

“Standing here?”

“Yes.”

Killian barked out a laugh, hair inching closer to his eyes when he ducked his head and that was stupid too. “Ah, I thought there’d be more bantering involved there, love. I didn’t think we’d delve right into agreements like that. Must be some kind of record.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Way too late.”

Emma huffed, but the frustration was mostly gone entirely now and she couldn’t really think when he smiled at her like that – something cliché about it being more important than the game or the score or how obviously pissed off he was when the final buzzer sounded because Jeff should have been able to make that save in his sleep.

God she hated the playoffs.

And that was a total lie.

There was, after all, that other old cliché about there’s nothing like playoff hockey and, really, there wasn’t. It was loud and chaotic and the hits hit a little bit harder, but that did something stupid to Emma’s blood pressure too because, for the first time, she twisted the ring on her left finger instead of the one around her neck and the laces around her wrist were probably surprised to not be invited to whatever metaphorical party her clearly crazy mind had come up with.

Mrs. Vankald said Mattie cried for most of overtime. Emma figured that was a sign. Or that he was six months old and probably kind of tired, but she was also kind of tired and the fans had nearly rioted when they lost.

“Overthinking it,” Killian repeated, drawing out the word until it sounded like several post-game quotes.

“Why are you being so calm about this?”

“Would you like me to be angrier about it?”

“Honestly? Yes,” Emma admitted, rolling her eyes at her own myriad of emotions and Killian’s eyebrows jumped up high enough that she could barely see them through his hair. “It’s just…” she sighed, running a hand over her face and she was exhausted. Bone-tired exhausted to her very core and then, like, something even deeper and more meaningful and playoff hockey with a six-month old was some kind of challenge she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to meet.

Killian's smile shifted – a distinctly different look than the teasing one from a few moments before and Emma felt some of the fight fall out of her. “Just because we don’t win now does not mean it’s some kind of sweeping commentary on everything else, love,” he said lightly and really the mind-reading thing was starting to get ridiculous.

“Yeah, but I’ve gotten very used to winning.”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“It’s a set-yourself-up for disappointment kind of thing.”

“Swan,” Killian muttered, swinging his legs over the boards and there was far too much glass in between them.

Emma made some kind of noise in the back of her throat – a mix between a growl and a groan and the single most exhausted sound in the history of the entire NHL and several different universes. “Also stupid,” she scowled and it was because Killian kept smiling at her and that was making it difficult to stay in the realm of wallowing. “Seriously, why aren’t you more pissed off about this? You’re…”

She waved her hands through the air, earning an arched eyebrow and an incredibly potent smirk for her troubles and she was almost ready for both of them. She sat up straight anyway, certain if her feet were touching the floor she’d be able to ground herself or something equally ridiculous and she really needed to talk to Zelena to find out if she was supposed to be planning for Game Seven in New Jersey.

Emma had been half planning for Game Seven in New Jersey since puck drop of overtime.

“You going to finish that sentence, love or what’s going on there?” Killian asked, rapping his knuckles against the glass. “I’m what, exactly?” “You.” “Me?” “Exactly.” “None of those words make sense in that order.”

She was going to give herself a headache from rolling her eyes so often, but it was such an easy save and if Emma had to go to New Jersey then they were going to have to ask Mrs. V to watch again and--

“Swan,” Killian said again, the rap on the glass was less a knock and more a rather jarring bang. Emma glared at him. “I’m almost surprised there isn’t smoke coming out of your ears, yet.” “That’s because you’re being frustrating. You’re really not mad about the goal? I could have been on the ice and I would have saved that goal.” His eyebrows, somehow, got even higher up his forehead, the smile widening into something that was, decidedly, Emma’s and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from making some other absurd noise. “In Jeff’s defense, Sean blocked that shot in the third and couldn’t quite skate during OT,” Killian reasoned. “And he knew it was a shitty goal. Did you not see him snap his stick?” “Of course I did. I watched the game.” “I’m not suggesting otherwise.” “You think he’s going to get some kind of awful headline on the The Post backpage tomorrow?”

“Unquestionably. I think Lucas was shouting at several different people and threatening several different credentials in an attempt to stop that from happening.” “Did it work?” Emma asked, smiling in spite of herself and they needed to get out of that arena. They needed to find their kid. She really wanted to see their kid.

“Absolutely not,” Killian laughed. “I think there were several heated exchanges, a few mentions of coverage, like Lucas cares or worries about that, and then she might have stomped her feet a few times while Scarlet tried to get pictures of it for his thriving social media empire.” Emma’s smile felt like it was going to split her face – which, honestly, was a slightly disgusting thought, but she was fairly certain she’d felt several dozen human emotions in the last ten minutes and Killian had found her sitting in an empty section of Madison Square Garden.

“How’d you know I was here?” Emma asked. “Also you’re still not answering my questions.” “There have been so many of them. I thought I already did post.” She deflated slightly, shoulders sagging and hair falling in her face and maybe if the season ended earlier than expected they could both get a haircut. “C’mon. That’s--” “--Stupid?” “Yeah and kind of charming which is also kind of stupid.” “I’m on a roll,” Killian grinned and Kristoff must have been wallowing the unexpected loss too because there were still a few sticks and three right-handed gloves sitting in the corner of the bench. “And of course I’m pissed, Swan. We should have clinched tonight and then you wouldn’t have to worry about the riot I’m sure happened in Chase Square or how much you feel like you’ll have to offer Mr. and Mrs. V to watch Mattie in two days and Kristoff wouldn’t still be yelling at Jeff about destroying equipment.” “Kristoff yelled at Jeff about destroying equipment?” Killian nodded seriously – or as seriously as he could in head-to-toe merch with still-damp hair and a smirk that would probably continue to affect Emma’s pulse for the rest of her life. “Scarlet recorded that and sent it to Banana too.” “Busy post-game for Scarlet.”

“You too I’d imagine since you weren’t there.” “Riot was a pretty good word for it,” Emma muttered. “And all of your reasons were about me.” Killian hummed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world and it kind of was because they were a team, in some kind of metaphorical sense, and he knew that she’d be lurking and stewing and wallowing in the seats.

“I wanted to win too, Swan,” he said, a flash of something in his gaze and Emma’s fingers brushed over her ring before she considered exactly what she was doing. “Super competitive weirdo that I am.” “That’s totally what I was talking about before.” “Yeah, I kind of imagined that too.” “Maybe we can get Mr. and Mrs. V some sort of edible arrangement or something,” Emma suggested. “I had to leave the suite early to deal with that stuff outside and Mer was freaking out and it was a whole thing.” “You really don’t have to buy them pre-packaged fruit, Swan.” “Yeah, but--” “There’s no buts, love,” Killian interrupted and she’d never hated a pane of glass or plastic or whatever it was more in her entire life. “Super grandparents to the rescue every single time. Banana told Scarlet Mrs. V had run out of storage on her phone because she was taking so many pictures of Mattie.”

Emma’s stomach swooped and jumped and twisted into several different naval-grade notes and the arena hadn’t really been warm – it was covered in ice, after all – but she felt warmer and more content than she had since the start of regulation.

It was still a shitty goal to give up though.

“Maybe we should just get her a different phone then,” Emma said. “What kind of phone does she have that’s running out of storage? That can’t be right. God, I bet Anna was scandalized.”

“There were a lot of capital letters and exclamation points in the several consecutive texts she sent to Scarlet. And Locksley.” “And Locksley?” “Scarlet was taking too long to respond.” “Ah, of course.”

“Covering all her bases,” Killian said. “And I have no idea what kind of phone Mrs. V has, but it’s ridiculously nice that you even considered it. Also, come down here.” Emma was halfway through her shrug, ready to brush off the compliment, but the words seemed to slam into the back of her brain and she was going to shave Killian’s eyebrows off in the middle of the night if only so he couldn’t do that thing again.

“What?” “Come down here,” he repeated, pausing between every word. “Look at all this open ice.” “What?” Killian threw his head back when he laughed, nearly losing his balance and Emma mumbled something that might have been better coordinated on the ice under her breath. That just got him to laugh louder.

“I’ve never argued that fact, Swan,” he said. “I’m serious though. We’re still within reasonable post-game. Come down here. We’ll take shots.” “If I say what again are you going to laugh louder?” “Yes.” “Oh, I thought there’d be more banter,” Emma muttered, throwing his own joke back at him and it just ended with more laughter and more smiles and another eyebrow twitch that probably should have been studied at some point.

It defied several laws of gravity – Emma was sure.

“We can banter while we shoot,” Killian reasoned. “Kristoff’s still yelling at Jeff and we probably won’t get run over by the zamboni.” “Probably is concerning.” “Are you telling me you don’t want to try and go five-hole on me right now?” “Do you think I’m just wandering around in constant state of wanting to shoot pucks at you?” Emma asked, but she was already standing up and trying to figure out how to get on the ice and they were exceptionally good at flirting. “That’s weird, right?”

“I hope not, no, but you’re also a super competitive weirdo, love.” “Rude.” “Obvious,” Killian corrected. “And there was a reason you were loitering or lurking and why I knew that you hadn’t left the arena because of both those things. So, c’mon, let’s live on the edge a little bit before my legs actually give out from exhaustion.”

It took a few minutes to get to the ice, weaving her way through reporters and slightly flustered team officials and one vaguely jarring moment when Emma nearly ran straight into Ariel, but she made it to the tunnel and jogged the final few feet, finding a still-smiling Killian standing on the ice again.

“I’m not wearing any skates,” Emma pointed out. “If I fall and concuss myself I’m going to be really mad at you.”

“Swan, it wounds me that you think I would let you fall or concuss yourself. And I don’t need Lucas or Mary Margaret to yell at me when I’m sleep deprived.” “Maybe that’s the plus of a Game Seven.” Killian hummed in confusion, holding a hand out and Emma’s feet skid across the top of the un-zamobni’ed ice. “The potential anger of both of Lucas and Mary Margaret?”

“Nah, nah, if I get to go to Jersey in two days then we could kick Locksley out of the room. Make him share with Ruby or something.” He didn’t understand immediately, eyes narrowed and a pinch in between his eyebrows that might have been the single most endearing thing Emma had see since Mattie noticed it was his dad standing at the blue line, but she could almost see the understanding wash across Killian’s face and she yelped when he wrapped an arm around her.

And then he kissed her – soundly and hard and several other words that, in any other circumstance, would be absolutely awful.

Emma wobbled a bit, gripping the front of his t-shirt to steady herself, but that was kind of pointless because he absolutely was not going to let her fall or get concussed and she really wanted to focus most of her energy on kissing Killian back.

One of them made some kind of sound, a groan or a sigh or something else decidedly romantic and Emma had to twist to get her arm up, carding her fingers through his hair until he was absolutely the one groaning.

She smiled against his mouth.

“That would be scandalous, Swan,” Killian mumbled, brushing his thumb over her cheek.

“Was that a no?” “An enthusiastic yes. Should we keep making out on the ice to prove it?” “I think that’s kind of pushing our luck,” she said and it was good that he’d changed out of his uniform before this whole thing because Emma wasn’t sure she could handle that. “I was after all promised some kind of shooting lesson.”

“You make it sound like this a ploy to get you to make out with me on the ice.”

“I’m going to be honest and say it would be disappointing if it weren’t.”

Killian grinned, catching her lips again and it was quick and heady and Emma was on an descriptive roll. He brought her with them when he skated back towards the bench, sneakers sliding and laughter echoing off the empty seats and the scoreboard hanging above their head.

“Are there even pucks down here?” Emma asked, but the words shook a bit when he nipped just behind her ear. “We’re going to get fined for this. Bump Jeff off the backpage for loitering.” “This is romantic, Swan. You’re ruining the mood.” “The only reason we are here is because we lost.” He nodded, cheek brushing against the top of her head and he had to let go of her to get a puck on his stick. “Romantic,” Killian repeated, flipping the puck up and catching it on the blade.

And, really, it wasn’t all that impressive.

It was normal and run-of-the-mill and all those descriptors Emma had been able to think about before when she wasn’t thinking about how goddamn attractive it was that her husband was exceptionally good at playing hockey.

As it was, she was far too focused on how goddamn attractive her husband was and he kept smirking at her because he totally knew it, bouncing the puck in the air while he waited for her return volley of expected banter.

“Alright there, Swan?” Killian asked and his smile was absurd when she actually groaned in response.

They had a kid.

They were married.

Tapping the puck on his stick blade – a stick that wasn’t even his – was not supposed to be that attractive.

“How do you do that?” she countered, the question falling out of her without her permission. Killian blinked. “The stick thing, I mean. Is that like some kind of right of passage for youth players or something?” “I have no idea what you’re asking me.”

He was still doing it – bouncing the stupid puck until that seemed to be echoing off the walls too, a metronome that matched up well with Emma’s heartbeat.

“That,” Emma said, waving her hand and he had to stop to catch her around the waist. His eyes got bluer, she was certain. “The bouncing thing. When did you learn how to do the bouncing thing? And why don’t you do more skills competitions?”

“I’ve been kind of busy with some other stuff, Swan. And I don’t think bouncing thing is the technical term, actually.” “You’re being difficult on purpose now.” “No, no, no, I’m flirting, Swan. There’s a difference.”

Emma shook her head, but she was charmed and Killian knew it. Every single person in that entire goddamn building knew it – even when he wasn’t showing off and doing that bouncing thing. “Fine,” she mumbled. “So forget shooting, then, show me the trick.”

He couldn’t do it again.

He kept trying, twisting his wrists and getting his stick under the puck, but every single time he tried to bounce it, the stupid thing crashed onto the ice and Killian cursed under his breath and Emma had been absolutely wrong before – this was the single most endearing thing she’d ever seen in her entire life.

“I think you’re cracking under the pressure, Cap,” Emma muttered, leaning back against the boards and she couldn’t really maintain casual when she was trying to stay upright, but at least she wasn’t cursing a forgotten hockey puck to several different hells. “How many underworlds are you even aware of? You’re making some of those up.” Killian didn’t look up, far too focused on catching the puck out of the air. “Greek, basic Christian, Aztec, Ancient China, Roman and Norse.” “Norse?” “It’s Mr. V’s favorite. That’s how you knew you were in trouble.”

Emma’s laugh seemed to bubble out of her, overtime losses and fan riots forgotten because she was so goddamn in love with her husband and this family that was hers and theirs and several other prepositions.

She was going to demand to go to New Jersey.

“Naturally,” she said. “And you’re definitely thinking about it too much. Am I making you nervous? Is that what it is?” “Not nervous,” Killian amended, glancing up at her and the puck landed flat on his stick blade. Emma might have gasped. Or cheered. “Determined.”

She was only fairly positive she was blushing, but she knew she was smiling and swooning, at least a little, tugging her lips back behind her teeth to make sure she didn’t do something stupid like actually start to giggle at the blue line.

“It’s all in the wrists,” Killian said. He moved both his hands, flicking them up and narrowing his eyes and it worked that time, puck landing flat and stick staying straight and Emma did her best to document every single shift in his body.

For posterity.

Or something.

And so she could do it better than Killian.

Because she was a super competitive weirdo.

He let the puck fall back onto the ice, offering the stick in unspoken challenge. “How long do I have to do the thing?” Emma asked. “Because you weren’t great at the start.” “You’re going to harp on that forever.” “That wasn’t a question.” “Neither was that.” Emma made a face – half a second away from sticking her tongue out – but they were going to get caught sooner rather than later and it was some kind of slightly romantic miracle that the lights hadn’t gone off on them yet. “Ok, so I’ve got to, like, get in under it, right?” she asked, groaning when Killian’s stupid eyebrow did something else decidedly stupid.

She’d clearly run out of descriptors.

“Fine, fine, stupid question,” Emma grumbled. She twisted her wrists, reasoning there was something about one fluid motion that, probably, made sense and, suddenly, the puck was in the air and it worked. But then Emma’s reactions took over and she wasn’t on skates and ice was, well, ice and she was having a difficult time keeping her balance and catching the puck and bouncing the puck and Killian’s arm was back around her waist.

They nearly fell over – a mess of limbs and grunts and groans and the goddamn hockey puck somehow managed to hit both of them in the leg – Killian’s jaw slamming into Emma’s shoulder as they stumbled back into the bench.

And she wasn’t really expecting the laughter.

From someone who wasn’t them.

Several someones.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Ruby shouted, mumbling an apology Roland and Henry’s direction and she couldn't move her hands the way she obviously wanted to. There was a baby in a Jones jersey in her arms. “Is this where you guys have been all of post?” “I went to post, Lucas,” Killian said. He still had his arm around Emma’s waist, tugging her flush against him and she couldn’t quite keep her laughter in, body shaking and feet sliding on ice and there was a whole platoon of them standing at the end of the tunnel.

Will had his phone out.

“That is true, Lucas,” he reasoned. “He glared at that one reporter from NJ.com, remember?” “You glared at a reporter from NJ.com?” Emma asked, appreciating whatever look landed on Killian’s face when she twisted to look at him. “I knew you were mad!” “We did lose, love.” “Jeff’s still apologizing to Kristoff for breaking very expensive equipment,” Robin said. “We thought you guys disappeared. Have you really been on the ice the whole time?” Killian shrugged, a dismissive move that was probably supposed to end the conversation, but they were a team made up of overly interfering and super competitive weirdos and Roland was already trying to get onto the ice.

“Hook, Hook, Hook,” he shouted, running past the outstretched arms of Robin and Will. He landed on his back almost immediately, smile still on his face and Mattie appeared to be half a second away from an out far too late meltdown. “What are you guys doing?” “Learning how to do the bouncing thing,” Killian answered, sending a snow shower over Roland’s legs when he stopped in front of him. That only drew more laughter out of him and another put-upon groan out of Robin. “Can I have my kid now, Lucas?” Killian asked. “Also how did you end up with him? Did Mr. and Mrs. V leave?” Ruby glared at him. “I am not letting you hold this kid while you are in skates. Mostly because you shouldn’t be in skates anymore, but that’s a can of worms I’m not interested in opening either.” “That’s not an answer to the question I asked.” “I’ll take him,” Emma said, inching forward and breathing a soft sigh of relief when she was back on the ground. “Seriously though, Rubes did we totally scandalize Mr. and Mrs. V by being late? Are we late?” “Not really,” Robin muttered, earning his own glare from Ruby and he held up both hands in surrender. “Your move, Lucas.” “You’re not really late,” she said. “Cap left post early, but they were standing out by the locker room and you guys weren’t there and Mer mentioned the near riot and that was a garbage goal so I figured you’d guys would be here doing something painfully adorable.” “So you stole Mattie from the Vankalds?” Killian asked, tugging Roland back to his feet. “Your face is going to get stuck like that, Lucas.” “I was right. You guys were doing something painfully adorable and I only added to it because I know both of you and know that you both wanted your equally adorable kid. But said adorable kid kind of draws a crowd and Locksley and Scarlet announced they were just going to walk with me to make sure nothing happened.” “In the tunnel?” “Their words, not mine.” “She’s making it sound way weirder than it is, Cap,” Will reasoned, but he was making a face at the baby in Emma’s arms and that kind of ruined his entire argument.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s totally not weird,” Killian grinned. “Banana finally stop texting you?” “No, I think she’s talking to El too though because not all of her messages are making sense and she’s come up with, like, sixteen different Post headline options.” “Anything good?”

“If I tell you no are you going to tell her?” “Yes.” “Then every single one is fantastic.” Killian scoffed, moving towards the bench and brushing his hand on the side of Mattie’s jersey. It did something impossible to Emma’s entire being – made sure it exploded or burst into light or sentiment and Robin was taking pictures that time.

“Whatever, judge me,” he muttered, as soon as he noticed the curious glances his direction. “Lucas is right, this is painfully adorable. I don’t care.”

“Hook,” Roland shouted. “Can we go get food now?” Emma bit her lip, emotions and that same sentiment and a few other descriptions she hadn’t come up with yet flooding her system and settling in the pit of her stomach and in between her ribs and Killian nodded quickly, lifting Roland over the boards.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

[scribomaniac]

Something Wicca This Way Comes Ch 15

Left punch, left kick. Right punch. Right punch again. Double kick.

Killian absorbed blow after blow as he held the punching bag still for Emma. She had good form, though that didn’t surprise him. What did surprise him was how often she used her legs to attack. He’d offered to show her a few boxing moves earlier that day and she’d accepted with only a bit of hesitation, which was an improvement in Killian’s opinion. He wasn’t sure why he’d suggested boxing. Liam had been busy in the kitchen, experimenting with some potions, and Will was reviewing the Book of Shadows in the attic, searching for any clues that would help Emma defeat the Source.

Emma had made great strides when it came to controlling her magic, so perhaps it’d been a mixture of that and his own boredom. Or perhaps he thought he’d be able to teach her something new. Perhaps he’d imagined himself standing behind her, showing her how to stand and correcting the placement of her arms while she leaned into him. But of course he should have known that Emma knew how to box, or, more accurately, how to hit. Perhaps, he now imagined, they’d be able to spar one day.

Eyes flickering down to watch Emma lick her lips, Killian thought about the last kiss they shared. It had been quick and brutal but had started a fire in his veins that had taken hours to douse. She had said that it was a one time thing, but the glint that had been in her eyes said differently. He hoped that if he bided his time, if they took it slow, that spark might turn into something more. Into what, he couldn’t be certain. There was still much left unsaid, after all, but Killian would be a fool to deny he still had feelings for Emma. He wanted to explore those emotions more, wanted to explore them with Emma.

“Alright,” Killian called it after one especially vicious kick to the punching bag. “Let’s not over-do it, Swan. Time for a break.”

Emma looked like she wanted to argue, but instead shrugged her shoulders. “Fine. I’m going to check on Will—see if he’s found anything.”

“I’ll come with.”

Emma’s brows raised and she paused at the foot of the steps. “Oh, you don’t have to if you don’t want. I mean,” she looked back to the punching bag. “I know you wanted more time down here to yourself.”

Now it was Killian’s turn to raise a brow, but he just rose one as he asked, “Trying to get rid of me already?”

“No! I just mean,” she bit down on her lip and then shook her head, “never mind.”

Killian hummed, following Emma up the stairs. “I’d take your company over an old punching bag any day, Swan.” It’d been meant as a joke, but he could see the way Emma’s shoulders stiffened. He grimaced, wondering if he’d made her uncomfortable.

They ascended the rest of the stairs in an awkward silence, and Killian thought he’d never been so happy to see his younger brother than he did then. “Find anything, Will?”

He walked over to the Book of Shadows. Emma hung back by the door, keeping an eye on the Book as if she thought it’d try and attack her.

“Not yet,” Liam answered for him, walking into the attic just after them with a few vials of potions in his hands. He placed them over on a side table and then placed his hands on his hips. “I wonder if we can summon an upper-level demon up here. I’d like to give the new potions a whirl.”

“Not a great idea,” Emma said flatly.

Killian snorted. He looked up to catch her eye, but she quickly looked away. Trying not to feel too deflated, he placed his hand on the Book of Shadows to get a better look at the page Will had opened.

Without any warning, Killian’s breath left him and his mind was pulled into a premonition.

Will and Killian dragged Liam’s body through the attic’s entrance, his dead weight making it hard for them to walk. They laid him on the floor on the far side of the room, watching the door for their assailant. Liam’s face bore deep scratches, and his eyes fluttered as he tried to stay awake.

“Come on, Liam,” Killian patted his cheek while keeping him upright. “Come on, mate, you need to wake up.”

“Should we call Tink?” Will asked, not taking his eyes off the door.

Killian shook his head, “No, not yet. We can’t distract them—”

A great burst of fire appeared in the middle of their attic and a slender figure stepped out from its fiery mouth. A demon with oily, scaly skin stood before them. The smile on his face was one filled with glee and it filled Killian with a sick sense of dread.

Bringing his hands up like a magician, the demon, his voice high-pitched and shrill, asked, “What a day this has turned out to be, hmm? Now, who wants to die first?” He pointed a finger at the brothers, waving in between the three of them, “Eeny, meeny, miny—”

“Liam!” Killian yelled, shaking his brother hard enough to rattle his brain.

Eyes snapping open, Liam’s hands reached out and the demon exploded. The explosion was short lasting though, as the demon’s body began to reassemble, and a shrill laugh echoed throughout the room.

With a gasp, Killian returned to the present.

“What did you see?” Will asked, his eyes wide and his mouth tense.

Killian shook his head and looked over the Book of Shadows. “A demon attacking us.”

“What’d he look like?” Liam asked, sidling up next to his younger brother to look over his shoulder as Killian flipped through the pages.

“Like a crocodile.” Killian flipped page after page, but so far he was having no luck. He hated having to looks through the Book. It’s pages were so old and frail but there were so many of them too. He could never be sure if the thing he was looking for just wasn’t in the Book at all or if he’d accidentally skipped past it. Grinding his teeth, he silently begged one of his ancestors to guide him to the correct page. “He had scaly skin and yellow eyes.” His teeth were atrocious too, but he didn’t see the point in adding that bit of information. Out of his periphery, Killian could see Emma take hesitant a step closer. “He was powerful—I’d bet he worked directly under the Source.”

Emma stepped forward, then took another step back before asking, “A crocodile? Are you sure?”

Killian looked up, “Aye, you know him?”

She nodded slowly, “Yeah, only he doesn’t work for the Source. He is the Source. You just described Rumpelstiltskin.”

“Rumple-what?” Will asked.

“That’s the Source?” Killian’s jaw dropped. “Shit.”

“What else did you see?” Liam asked urgently, placing his hand on Killian’s shoulder to bring his attention back around.

Mouth turning dry, Killian thought about what he saw. “I saw—I saw him attacking us. Liam, you—you were bleeding and Will was,” brows furrowing, Killian shook the image away. “Let’s just say it wasn’t looking good for us.”

“What about me?” Emma asked, mouth drawn down into a severe frown.

Licking his lips, Killian shook his head again, “You weren’t there.”

Beside him, Liam stiffened. “What do you mean, she wasn’t there?”

“The vision wasn’t long, alright?” He looked around the room at everyone. “I don’t know any more than what I saw.”

Growling, Liam turned towards Emma, “I swear, if you betray us—”

“Oh, knock it off Liam!” Will stepped into Liam’s vision, obscuring Emma from his view. “You yelling at Emma isn’t helping anything. We need to figure out our next move. Is there anything in the Book that can help us?”

“I don’t—” a gust of wind knocked Killian’s hands away from the Book of Shadows. The pages flew of their own accord. Heaving a sigh of relief, Killian said a small “Thank you,” when the Book finally settled onto a page. “Who’s this?”

“Malcolm?” Liam read, confusion clear on his face. “That another name for the Source? He doesn’t look like a crocodile.”

“That’s not who I saw in my vision,” Killian murmured as he read the page. The illustration for him was of a young boy with dark blond hair and a wicked smile. There was hardly information written about him. But what it did say was interesting. “Also known as the Piper of Hamelin, Malcolm is an immortal creature who preys on the life force of children. No spell or potion could vanquish him and so he was trapped and hidden away by James Jones.”

“James Jones,” Emma quirked a brow, “who’s that?”

“Our great-great-something great-grandfather,” Will answered. “Do you think he’s the one who moved the pages? But why? What does Malcolm have to do with this?”

Killian stared at the drawing of Malcolm. The longer he looked, the more the boy’s smile seemed to taunt him. He could almost hear laughter, cruel and loud and not unlike the crow of a rooster, echoing in the back of his head. Killian had never wanted to punch a drawing before, but he found his fist curling tightly all the same.

“I’ve never heard of him before,” Emma said slowly, “but I think James wants us to talk to him. Anyone know where granddad stashed him?”

“It doesn’t say,” Liam frowned at the page, “and dad never told us anything about this.”

“Shocker,” Will snorted, then quickly looked away when Liam looked up to glare at him.

Liam hummed, but didn’t call Will out. Instead he said, “We’ll just have to ask him.”

Finally averting his gaze, Killian looked at Liam and then Will. Then, with a smile he turned onto Emma, he said, “It’s time for a séance.”

Like a well-oiled machine, the Charmed Ones set about to gather up their supplies. Killian grabbed the candles, Liam opened the Book to the proper page, and Will grabbed a stick of sage. Once everything was lit and ready to go, Liam read, “Hear these words, hear our cry, spirit from the other side. Come to us, we summon thee, cross now the great divide.”

Within the circle of candles Killian had prepared, a ball of light emerged, and then in a flash, a man bearing a striking resemblance to Killian stood before them. His hair was longer and wavier, he had an impressive mustache, and there was a hook where his left hand should be, but besides all that Killian found a near perfect reflection staring back at him.

“It’s about time you summoned me,” James said, crossing his arms and glowering at his descendants as if they’d just stolen something precious from him.

“I’m sorry,” Emma raised her hands, at a loss, “who are you?”

“I’m your salvation, me’dear. The way you lot are heading you’ll be dead at the Source’s hands in a fortnight.”

Will looked helplessly at Killian, “A fortnight?”

“Two weeks.”

“Aye,” James nodded solemnly, “even with your precious Savior, you won’t be able to do much against Rumpelstiltskin without his dagger.”

“Dagger?” Emma asked, her voice sharp. “What dagger?”

“I don’t know too much about it, just from what I’ve heard whispered from other spirits, ye’see?” James stroked the edge of his mustache. “But I know that without it your cause is hopeless.”

Killian frowned, wondering how in the world this dagger was supposed to help with anything, and why they’d never heard of it before. “If this dagger is so important, wouldn’t the Source keep it locked away safe in the Underworld.”

“Of course not, you idiot boy!” James practically spat.

Emma hummed in agreement, “If it’s really that important then Rumpelstiltskin would want it as far away from the Underworld as possible.” Noticing the confused glances aimed her way, she shrugged, “Being the most powerful puts a target on your back. There’s always someone looking to take the throne.”

“So where would he hide it?” Liam asked. “Could we scry for it?”

James sighed heavily, “What did I do to deserve such half-witted grandsons.”

“Hey!” Will protested.

“It’ll be heavily guarded,” Emma said, ignoring the insults being thrown around. “The Source wouldn’t trust demons to watch over it, but he’d use enchantments.”

“The only creature that knows where the bloody thing is, and what’s protecting it, is Malcolm.” James jerked his chin towards the Book of Shadows.

Emma shook her head, “No, that doesn’t make sense.” She looked at Killian. “Rumpelstiltskin would never trust anyone with that information, why would—” she shook her head before continuing, “and I’ve never heard of a demon named Malcolm. Why do you think he’d know anything about this?”

James looked down his nose at Emma, surveying her. Killian didn’t like the way he seemed to be sizing her up, as if he might consider her an enemy. “I wonder,” James eventually responded, his voice a slow drawl, “perhaps you knew him by his moniker. Does the name Pan mean anything to you?”

Emma’s skin turned pale and her jaw fell open. James nodded. “Thought that might do it.”

“What?” Will looked back and forth between Emma and James. “What does that mean? Who is he?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Emma said roughly. Not taking her eyes off James, she asked, “Where is he?”

“I banished him to another dimension, one where he couldn’t harm innocents any longer. You’ll need to go there to speak with him, but beware!” His large blue eyes bore into the Charmed Ones, making Killian’s back straighten. “Pan is not to be trifled with. Do not accept anything offered from him, do not engage in his games, and do not listen to any of his lies. Get in, get the information, and get out.”

Killian gulped, “Is that all?” When James turned to glare at him, he looked away.

Liam, always there to save the day, intercepted by asking, “So where is this dimension and how do we visit it?”

With a wave of his arm the Book of Shadows once again came to life. Killian walked over and saw the intricate spell written. “Astral projection?”

“Aye, and at least one of ye will need to stay behind to ensure you find your way back. It’s easy enough to get lost amongst the stars and you don’t want to overshoot it.”

Liam joined Killian, looking at what they’d need to do for the spell. “We’ll need to name of the dimension. What’s it called?”

“Never Land.”

[let-it-raines]

another kind of green (3/?)

Emma Swan spends her days in pretty white dresses and heavy layers of makeup. Day after day and dress after dress, she poses for pictures and acts like she’s in love and having the happiest day of her life with the man standing next to her.

It’s not. This is all a gig, and at the end of the day, she’s no longer the girl in the pretty dress who’s faking getting married for a magazine cover or a wedding convention. Instead, she’s the girl who probably never wants to get married.

Little does she know, she already is.

Rating: Mature

a/n: for @xemmaloveskillianx​ as her gift for my giveaway ❤️ 

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2| 3 |

-/-

“Emma, do you want a salad with your steak?”

“Do I want it? No. Should I have it? Probably.”

Mary Margaret laughs at her and then turns to start cutting up some more lettuce. Emma always feels horrible whenever she comes over to the Nolans and they cook for her. She offers to help, but they all know they’re better off if she stays far away from the kitchen. One time she put the rolls in the oven, forgot about them, nearly burned the apartment down, and they haven’t let her near the oven – or stove for that matter - since.

She can definitely cook rolls. That was an accident.

“So,” Mary Margaret begins, “how did your dress fittings go yesterday? Did you like the dresses?”

“There was so much lace, Marg. Like, I have never seen so much in one day. It’s obviously going to be a trend next summer.”

“Yeah? I’ve always loved a lace wedding dress. You know, my dress was – ”

“A strapless, fitted dress that was a mermaid style and overlaid with lace. I know.”

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes and holds her knife up at Emma. “I may be a sweetheart of a human being, but I know how to defend myself.”

“Is that a threat?”

“You bet your ass it is.”

Emma scoffs and rises from the barstool the pour herself a glass of wine. “Is Ruby coming tonight?”

“She’s got a date with Mulan tonight before she goes to New York for two weeks for a few shoots.”

“What? They didn’t want to spend a romantic evening with you, me, and David?”

“You know, believe it or not, I don’t think the two of them think we’re a great time.”

Emma mock gasps. “Shocker.”

“Okay, ladies,” David sing-songs as he walks back into the apartment from where he’s been up on the rooftop grilling in his ridiculous apron, “I come with your steaks grilled to perfection, and I won’t hear a word otherwise.”

The three of them sit down around the small table in the corner of the Nolan’s apartment and eat their steaks, which are grilled to perfection actually, and share about their days. Mary Margaret only did paperwork from home today while David had a particularly difficult new police officer that isn’t quite catching onto the rules, which isn’t great when they had him out on patrol. Being a Lieutenant obviously isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be for David, but Emma knows he’d never want to be anything else.

“Hey, speaking of that, how strict is the background check part of becoming a cop?”

Both of them stop eating, the metal of their forks and knives clanking against the porcelain of their plates, and blink at her.

“Emma,” David hesitates, picking up a napkin to wipe his mouth, “you know you can’t. I mean, I would love for you to but – ”

“No, no, no,” Emma interrupts, raising her hands, “not for me. I don’t…you know I know I don’t want to be a cop, right? Like, super thankful for you, but with my history, I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole.”

David sighs. “I still hate how much of your life that bastard has fucked up. You should have so many more opportunities for what you want to do with your life.”

“I don’t want to deal with that. I just…ugh.”

If she buries her face in her hands and groans all night, she doesn’t have to tell them this, right? There’s no need for her to share what has to be one of the stupidest decisions she’s ever made. She can hoard that little secret forever and no one has to know what she apparently did while drunk off her ass in Las Vegas like the biggest cliché in the world.

Bradley Cooper and Zach Galifianakis have nothing on her. Except for maybe the tiger and missing teeth and all that.

“Emma? Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine,” Emma mumbles, not meaning it. “Igotmarried.”

“What?”

“What do you mean you got married?”

“Married?” David shouts before coughing and having to hit his chest. “What do you mean you got married? Who did you marry? I didn’t know you were seeing someone!”

“I’m not,” Emma explains, wanting to die a little inside. “Remember when we went to Vegas for that weird convention thing last month?”

“Yeah,” Mary Margaret answers while David continues to drill lasers into her head. You’d think he was her father and not her friend. “What about it?”

“Well, the guy who played the groom and I…spent the night together.” That gets her a groan from the both of them. She knows. She gets it. They’re not fans of her spending nights with men she doesn’t know, but she can handle herself. “And then we decided to drink too much instead of parting ways and somehow, we ended up at a chapel and got married. Legitimately. I checked. Our license is online and everything.”

She lets the two of them have their freak out for the next ten minutes or so. Mary Margaret never stops asking questions while David keeps muttering curses under his breath and seems not to have a fully functioning brain. It’s a lot to comprehend. She understands. She spent her entire day yesterday trying to figure out how this happened and what she was going to do about it.

Get it annulled, obviously.

Killian mentioned that, and when she got home after her fittings yesterday, she looked it up and made sure they qualified – the both of them not being in their right mind definitely qualifies them for an annulment. Killian probably had whiskey dick or something after the marriage, so she’s guessing they didn’t have sex afterward either. Before, yes. That’s a definite. After, nope. And apparently not consummating the marriage is still a legal reason for annulment in most states.

“How did you find out about this?” David finally asks when his brain starts working again.

“Killian found me yesterday and told me. He’s trying to become a cop in the A-1 district, funnily enough, which is why I asked about the background check thing. He was having his done when they came upon our marriage, which he didn’t tell them about…obviously.”

“You can’t say you don’t have a type.”

Emma flicks a piece of lettuce at Mary Margaret. “Remember how you threatened me with that knife earlier?”

“What?” David screeches, hands slamming against the table. They’re going to cause him to have an aneurism.

“Nothing, honey. So what are you two going to do about this marriage?”

“We’re going to get an annulment. He’s supposed to text me on when I have to go down to the station to talk to his recruiting officer about the whole situation, which I’m sure won’t really help his case, and then we’re going to find a lawyer or figure out how to do the paperwork ourselves.”

“And you’re okay dealing with a lawyer again?”

“I mean, I’d rather not, but all of the paperwork online looked…confusing. I don’t know. I’m not sure what exactly we’re going to do. I haven’t really processed it all. I still think I’m going to blink and it’s all going to be a dream.”

“Shit, Emma,” David sighs, the beginnings of a chuckle creeping into his voice, “you got married.”

Emma chunks her a throw pillow at him.

After the Nolans have finished interrogating her, but mostly laughing at her for this situation she’s ended up in, she tells them she’ll talk to them later but she’s going home. This has exhausted her, and she wants to sleep. As soon as she walks in her front door, she throws her keys on the entryway table where the envelope of her wedding pictures are still sitting, kicks off her shoes, and reaches under her shirt to take her bra off with all of the sweet, sweet relief that comes with that.

Her apartment is messy enough that it needs to be cleaned, but it’s a quarter until ten, and no one but her is going to see this place. Cleaning isn’t a priority.

Then again, when is it ever for her?

She’s not a slob by any means, but she’s not going to die if there are some clothes on the floor and a dish in the sink.

Sighing, she walks toward her couch and plops down onto the soft cushions, wondering if she’s going to fall asleep before she has the time to watch an episode of Downton Abbey, her newest mindless television show that most of the world has already seen. Emma’s turning on her TV when her phone buzzes in her hands.

Unknown number: Can you meet tomorrow?

Emma Swan: That entirely depends on who this is.

Unknown number: Killian Jones.

“Oh shit,” Emma mumbles under her breath. She was expecting to hear from him, but she’d almost forgotten in the last hour that she had this situation to deal with. She spent the whole night talking about him, but for a little while, she allowed herself to forget.

Emma Swan: I can meet tomorrow. What time? At the station?

Killian Jones: Does 1:00 PM work for you?

Emma Swan: That’s fine.

Killian Jones: See you tomorrow, love.

-/-

It’s been three years since Emma’s been in front of this police station. Three years, give or take a few weeks, but nothing about it has changed. Same red doors that need painting and same grimy concrete steps that do not make it an inviting prospect no matter your reason to go inside. Then again, who really wants to go to a police station? That’s not exactly what someone would consider fun.

Emma doesn’t exactly consider this fun.

The wine she had last night helped ease her into sleep, but this morning when her alarm went off to very annoyingly yell at her to go to the gym, all of her anxiety over having to be here today came back in full force that she channeled into her hour-long run on a treadmill that made too much noise. She should have taken a Pilates class or something instead. That way she wouldn’t have had to listen to the groan of the treadmill and would have had the voice of the instructor to distract her.

(Mulan always kicks her ass.)

God, why are police stations the absolute worst?

“Are you always so jumpy?”

Emma stumbles over her own feet with her jump, and Killian’s chuckle does not amuse her, not at all.

“Point proven,” he continues, swaggering up to her and down the rest of the steps that lead to the entrance. He’s got on a leather jacket despite it being sweltering out here, and she has no idea how he’s not sweating. She was sweating simply putting her bra on this morning. “It’s a pleasure to see you, love.”

“Did I not tell you not to call me that?”

“I don’t believe you did.”

“Well, I’m not your love, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me as such.”

Killian bows – he freaking bows – and rolls his hand in circles in front of her. “As you wish, Swan.”

He’s a cocky son of a bitch, isn’t he?

“So,” Emma starts, taking a deep breath, “what do you need me to do in here exactly?”

“Tell the truth. It doesn’t exactly make me look too great to have gotten drunk enough to get married in Vegas while on a job, which I’m sure will be a reason to have my ass handed to me on many occasions, but I need you to tell the truth and explain that I honestly did not realize I had a better half.”

“Fine. Sounds simple enough.”

Killian nods, his lips pressed into a tight smile, before he opens up the door to that station for her.

“What? Are you a gentleman or something?”

“I’m always a gentleman, Swan.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

On instinct, Emma walks into the station and starts walking past the front desk like she still has access to the place, but she quickly holds herself back and stops, stepping backward and hoping that no one noticed her. When she sees Killian’s raised brows, she knows that he did. Dammit.

“Hello, Marlene,” Killian drawls out, laying on the charm a little too thick for whoever the new officer at the desk is. “I’m here for a meeting with Captain Roberts.”

“Is everything alright? I thought the tests for our new officers weren’t until next month.”

“Everything is just fine, love. He simply wanted to meet my lovely wife.”

Oh, son of a bitch. Why would he say that?

“You’re married?” Marlene gasps, eyes full of murder glancing over at Emma. Homegirl is plotting out ways to get rid of Emma’s body right now, and if she gets murdered, she is coming back to life to murder Killian. He’s probably met this woman two or three times in his life, and he’s already got her wrapped around his finger. What must it be like to be able to charm someone like that?

“It’s new. Roberts has heard me talking so much about her, and he’d love to meet her, aye?”

“Uh, o-okay,” Marlene stutters, her jaw still dropped open. “Let me ring him, and I’ll let you back.”

“Thank you, lass.”

Killian turns back toward Emma, waggling his brows and then winking, and she has absolutely no idea how this is the man, of all the men in the world, that she accidentally married.

What a sentence.

“Do you always use your looks to get what you want?”

“Are you saying I have the looks to be able to do that?”

“I do not have to do you this favor.”

“True,” he sighs, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She almost shrugs him off, but then she sees Marlene looking at them again. “You’re doing me a kindness I don’t deserve.”

“Yeah, well, it takes two drunk idiots to get married.”

Killian quietly snorts underneath his breath while there’s a buzzing sound coming from the other end of the station with two doors opening and a group of cops walking out the door. She doesn’t think anything of it, doesn’t pay any attention, until she sees familiar brown hair and the same boots that he wore every single day.

Why the hell could Marlene not have gotten them inside any quicker? She was probably staring at Killian’s ass too much to put in the call quick enough. For a moment, Emma almost turns to Killian and asks him to do something dumb like kiss her so he can’t see her face, but she knows it’s too late. Besides, all two people making out in a police station will do is bring more attention to them.

Shit.

“Emma?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Killian’s arm tightens around her shoulder, and she can feel him taking everyone in as they walk by.

“Hi, Graham,” Emma sighs, forcing her smile. “How are you?”

He mumbles something to the other cops, guys she recognizes but can’t put a name to at the moment, and they keep walking while he stops right in front of them, taking in she and Killian and Killian’s arm wrapped around her shoulder.

“I’m good.” His smile is genuine, and she really doesn’t need him to be a good guy right now. But he will be. Of course he will be. “How about you? What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, well…it’s a funny story, you know. I – ”

“She’s the wife of one of new prospective officers,” Marlene, like the helpful soul she is, tells Graham. Killian barely manages to stifle his snort.

Graham’s brows nearly hit his hairline. “Is that so?”

“Killian Jones.” Killian sticks his hand out to shake Graham’s, the veins in both of their forearms popping out the slightest bit, and if a sink hole wanted to come and swallow her whole right now, she wouldn’t say no to that. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective.”

“Same to you. Where are you in your application?”

“I have the PAT scheduled for a few weeks from now after I finish all of my medical exams.”

“Well, let me know if you need anything. A friend of Emma’s is certainly a friend of mine.” Graham nods at her then, that same genuine smile still there. “I’d love to catch up soon, if you’d like.”

Killian’s arm feels like one thousand pounds on her shoulders. “Yeah, Graham, that’d be nice.”

“Good.”

As Graham walks away, Killian turns to say something to her, his mouth gaping, but he doesn’t get a chance to before Marlene is telling them to go upstairs to talk to Killian’s Captain…or almost Captain. She’s really not sure how all of that works. On the entire walk through the double doors and up the elevator, she can tell that Killian is practically vibrating out of his skin to ask her about whatever just happened, but he seems to have enough human decency not to do that.

Or maybe he’s terrified that she won’t go along and tell his Captain that he didn’t lie and this isn’t really a big deal. Though, he seems to have no issue telling other people in the station that he’s married.

If she ever does meet up with Graham again, which she probably won’t, she has no idea how to explain this to him. Then again, why the hell is she wondering how to explain to her ex-boyfriend that she’s married but she’s not really married and he probably shouldn’t beat himself up over the fact that she committed to someone else but not him even though he’s a really nice guy.

She really screwed him over, and Emma still hates herself for that. It’s just…she wasn’t ready.

This should really not be her focus right now, especially as she puts on that fake smile again and relays information to Captain Roberts about her and about Killian and about how they got into this whole mess. Killian getting drunk enough to not remember getting married is not a good look, but his Captain seems to understand. It’s awkward as hell, and she’d very much like to get this entire day and situation over with, but it drags on for at least an hour, going a little longer when he and Killian start talking about the football game last night. It takes her five minutes to figure out they’re actually talking about soccer. Who decided that America needed a different name for that sport than the rest of the world?

But eventually it’s over, which is a huge sigh of relief, and Emma is so damn ready to get out of this station and move on with her life.

“Thank you for that, Swan,” Killian says as they step out of the station and walk up the stairs, cars speeding by and the cranes of the nearby construction whirring so loudly it’s the only noises she can hear. “Can I buy you a coffee or something in thanks?”

She almost says no. she really does. That whole thing was draining, but a coffee sounds so damn good right now. “I like anything with hazelnut.”

“I can handle that.”

-/-

“So, how do you know Humbert? He’s how you knew where the precinct was, aye?”

“How do you know his last name? He didn’t introduce himself.”

“It was on his uniform.”

“Ah,” Emma sighs as she sips on her coffee. She doesn’t know what exactly it is that Killian bought her, but it’s fantastic…and much better than whatever gross thing he’s drinking. There’s no sugar or milk or creamer in there, and she doesn’t understand how anyone does that.

“I’m quite perceptive, darling.”

“I’m picking up on that.”

“And I’m guessing Detective Humbert is some kind of former lover. I’m not sure what exactly the relationship was.”

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Killian raises his hands. “I understand. It’s just that I quite fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me asking how the hell we ended up getting married in Vegas. All I wanted to do was get to know you a bit.”

Emma huffs and flicks a sugar packet over at Killian. “You are full of yourself sometimes.”

He shrugs. “It happens.”

“And no offense, but I’m not entirely interested in getting to know your deep, dark secrets. What I am interested in, however, is figuring out how to get this marriage annulled. So why don’t we do that?”

“Discussing my divorce over a cup of coffee in a public café has always been a dream of mine.”

“Annulment, not divorce.”

“Touché, love,” Killian sighs, furrowing his brows as his lips curl into a smirk that has her stomach doing that fluttering thing that she is most definitely ignoring. “Touché.”

He flicks the packet of sugar right back at her.

Killian’s not going to make this easy, is he? At least she’s going to get a free coffee out of it.

-/-

-/-

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[once-upon-a-pirate-ship]

Bets & Walls

A gift for an old friend on her birthday. @frankierosizedletters

Will bets Killian $100 that he can't get Emma to go on a date with him. He really needs the money, and he can only hope that she's the charitable type.

(spoiler: she is)

Follow my main Tumblr @elisethewritingbeast 

Also on AO3 here

Emma Swan was just a regular girl. Sure, she was a cheerleader, one of the “cool kids” perhaps, but she liked to think that she was normal. Maybe this word was so important to her because she’d only joined the Nolan family a few years ago, just before she started high school. Now, she had the best brother a girl could ask for, a best friend who always made her laugh, and basically a sister because she knew that one day her brother would marry that girl.

But Emma still found ways that her past slipped in through the cracks in her walls, digging a hole in her mind that made her think things she wished she could forget. She still felt lost sometimes, sitting at a table in the cafeteria with David, Mary Margaret, and Ruby, trying to listen to their mindless chatter about this and that but not really being able to, her brain pulling her back to her isolated ways from the millions of foster homes she fell in and out of in her time before living with Ruth and David.

She felt like she needed to give herself a mental slap, or maybe a real one. She was being ridiculous, really. She should be worried about the next football game her brother would play in, and what cheers she, Ruby, and M’s needed to remember. She didn’t need to be thinking of that time. The Dark Ages, as she so sweetly dubbed it. The name was fitting, because there truly was no light in her life until she met David and Ruth.

She left the cafeteria feeling a bit guilty, taking her time wandering to her locker and enjoying the mind-numbing buzz of the crowded hallways around her.

At her locker, she found what she needed for trigonometry and moved her hand to close the door, when a figure appeared beside her. That cute boy from her AP History class, Killian , she remembered.

He always had a book with him, usually a classic, and would often spend class doodling instead of taking notes. He never needed to, and despite his never paying attention, he knew the material better than anyone, except for maybe herself. He was quiet, kept to himself, and had that look in his eyes that she knew all too well.

“Hi,” he said shyly.

“Hi,” she wondered why he was talking to her; he never had before. It was a shame, really.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” he mumbled, obviously nervous. The way his hand moved to scratch behind his ear made her smile. She didn’t respond, just raised an eyebrow, so he went on. “Well, Will bet me one hundred dollars that I couldn’t get you to go out with me. I don’t think I could, but I really could use one hundred dollars, and I was hoping that you might be the charitable type…” he trailed off, so unsure of himself that she had to suppress another smile.

“Sure, but you’re buying,” she told him, and couldn’t help but laugh under her breath at the shocked look on his face. She turned to her locker, scribbling her number on a sticky note and passing it to him. “Here,” was all she said before she shut her locker and left to go to trig. She didn’t look back to see the look on his face, but she knew it would’ve made her giggle like a school girl. But wasn’t that exactly who she was?

They solidified their plans over the rest of the week, and come Saturday night, Killian Jones was picking her up at Ruth’s house. She inquired about just not going out but saying they did, but apparently Will wanted photographic proof.

David lounged on her bed while she finished her eyeliner, grumbling as he usually did. “Why are you going out with Jones again?”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s nice, David. Get over it. Besides, it’s just one date,”

“Fine, but I can give him the big brother speech if you want,”

“No!” She nearly jumped. “No, absolutely not. Please don’t do that,” her brother was very intimidating when given the opportunity.

There was a knock on her door at seven o’clock on the dot, and she noted that he was definitely the punctual type. She swung open the door, and she honestly wanted to gasp at how honestly attractive he looked, but the way his eyes slid up her body and how he swallowed so nervously...it made her heart rate speed up ridiculously.

He held the car door open for her. “What a gentleman,” she commented.

Killian’s reply was quick. “I’m always a gentleman, love.” It made her weak in the knees.

He took her to the only fancy restaurant in town, a little Italian place, and they even had reservations. No one had ever made reservations for her. He even pushed in her chair, and she couldn’t believe how much she felt like a real princess. She brushed the skirt of her pale pink dress anxiously as he sat down, feeling a little out of place.

She’d had boyfriends before. Well, boyfriend, singular. Neal. It was a whirlwind romance that turned into no more than a summer fling. He beat at her walls with a baseball bat, but it hurt her when he swung. David had hated him from the start, and that really should’ve been enough to make her wary.

But Neal, Neal never treated her like this. He never sat across from her at the fanciest restaurant he could find, smiling hesitantly at her. He didn’t hold her door, or make reservations, or push in her chair. Neal was no gentleman.

“So, do you make bets with Will Scarlet often?” She asked conversationally.

He laughed, and she could see the tension leave his shoulders. “Not usually, no. But he was feeling particularly bored the other day, and well, I could use the money.”

“Makes sense,” she commented, and then their conversation was halted until they could order their food.

Once their waiter was gone, she relaxed slightly. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, Jones. Had a lot of practice on that front?”

His eyebrow cocked and he smirked. “Are you asking me about past romances, Swan?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, you do plan a good night out,”

He shifted in his seat, swallowing. “To be honest, Swan, I was worried you might think it wasn’t enough. You deserve to be properly wined and dined, if you’ll excuse the cliché.”  

She couldn’t meet his eyes, and she fiddled with the chain around her neck. “I’m not so sure about that,” she muttered.

If she’d been looking, she would’ve seen the way his eyes darkened slightly at his words. “That’s ridiculous, Swan,” he almost scoffed.

She shook her head, finally meeting his gaze. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself, Killian?” She changed the topic.

He chuckled. “What do you want to know?”

“I dunno,” she picked the first thing that came to mind. “What’s your favorite movie?”

“Well, it’s sort of embarrassing, really,”

“Why do you say that?” She found him fascinating, and she couldn’t help her outburst of curiosity.

He waited a moment, as if he were trying to figure out what to say. “It was my mum’s favorite movie, and we watched it all the time together before…” he cleared his throat, “when I was younger.” She knew not to push, and kept silent until he answered her question. “The Princess Bride.”

Her eyes widened, and she thought that if she were standing, she would need to sit down. “No way,”

“What?”

“That’s my favorite movie, too.” And then his eyes matched hers in size and they sat there for a few moments in shocked silence.

“What are the chances?” He wondered aloud.

“That’s crazy, really,” she shook her head in disbelief.

"Almost...inconceivable." They stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

The rest of dinner passed with lively conversation, filled with laughter and (just maybe) a little flirting. She was absolutely stunned by how much she liked Killian.

After they left the restaurant, he offered an alternative to taking her home right away. “Fancy a walk down at the docks?”

“Sure,” she said, glad she had an excuse to extend their perfect evening.

The air was warm and the water was calm, and they walked with their shoulders just barely touching down to the edge of the dock, where Emma took a seat and let her legs dangle over the water. He joined her, sitting a bit farther than she had hoped he would.

“You never did answer my question earlier,” she told him, staring out at the soft waves in the distance.

“Hm?”

“My question. About girls,” she clarified.

“Oh,” he paused, eyebrows furrowing. “No, no girls. It has never really...come up before.”

“Really?” She asked.

He looked at her, smiling gingerly. “Does that surprise you?”

“Sort of,” she said, and when he looked at her curiously, she added, “you’re just good at this, I guess.”

“Am I?” His grin grew.

“Don’t get a big head or anything, but yeah. Definitely makes a girl feel like a princess.”

“Well, you deserve nothing less.” He was so genuine that Emma shivered. “Cold?” He asked, concerned. She shook her head, but he didn’t believe her. And as if it weren’t the most cliché thing he could have done, he shrugged off his leather jacket and put it over her shoulders.

They enjoyed the natural and comfortable silence that came with gently crashing waves and whispering wind. Emma and Killian sat there for a while, just basking in the peacefulness of it and appreciating each other’s company.

Anyone’s voice but his would’ve cut through the silence, slicing it and making it bleed, but his caressed the quiet, making her feel warm and light. “You seemed...surprised,” he said.

“Hm?”

“Surprised, earlier. At the restaurant, the reservations, it surprised you. Why?” He asked.

“Oh, well, I guess that my last boyfriend wasn’t really one to make reservations at the nicest place in town,” she shrugged.

“It was Neal Gold, right?”

“Yeah,” she still felt a stab at his name, but she also felt like someone was there to put pressure on her wound.

“Sorry, but he’s kind of a dick,”

She laughed, releasing the tension in her body. “Oh, absolutely. He did a lot of things and said a lot of things that I think my brother would’ve killed him for,”

“So he’s the reason you think you don’t deserve to be treated like a princess,” he stated, and it sounded nothing like a question.

“I guess, maybe. He just...reminded me of who I am,”

“And just who are you, Swan?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she said, a hint of teasing in her voice.

“Perhaps I would,” he was so honest, so authentic that it made her heart shudder.

Another minute of silence passed between them before she spoke again.

“I was left on the side of the highway as a baby. I bounced around foster care for years, always the girl no one wanted. Just a lost girl, never anything more.” Her arms moved to hug herself almost subconsciously. “And then I found David and Ruth. I was fourteen when they took me in, and I could never have asked for a better family. I never dreamed I would even have one to begin with.”

He watched her carefully in the moonlight, taking in all her words and every flicker of her eyes. But what he felt wasn’t pity, it was understanding.

“My dad left us when I was seven, just after we found out mum was sick. My brother Liam took care of her–and me–until she died. They took me away from him after that. He was too young to be my legal guardian. He was only just able to find me again, right before we moved here.”

It was her turn to watch him, watch as the words fell out of his lips as if they’d been waiting to do that forever. The weight that sat between them had been lifted.

Emma’s hand moved slightly, just enough to cover Killian’s. His eyes flitted to hers, and then he flipped his hand so his fingers could lock with hers.

Killian Jones was slowly disassembling her walls, brick by brick. He was careful, and all he had to do was give it a slight tug, no breaking required.

It was late by the time they made it back to Ruth’s place (Emma’s place), but she still didn’t want the night to end. They stood on her porch, hands still intertwined.

“Thank you. For tonight,” she said, smiling up at him.

“It was truly my pleasure, Swan. I’m only glad you had a good time,” he told her.

“I’m really happy that Will made that bet,” she told him. “Oh my god, we forgot to take pictures! We don’t have any photographic evidence for him,”

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to go out again, won’t we?” He smirked.

“I don’t think I’d mind that too much,” she murmured, her eyes catching on his lips.

“No?” He asked, leaning in somewhat.

“No, I don’t think I would.” She said, closing the distance between them and captured his lips with hers.  

[shireness-says]

Playing the Part ch. 18: Song of Love

Summary: As a stage manager who’s clawed her way up from the bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU.  Rated T. Also on AO3.  Prologue  Ch. 1  Ch. 2  Ch. 3 Ch. 4  Ch. 5  Ch. 6  Ch. 7  Ch. 8  Ch. 9  Ch. 10  Ch. 11  Ch. 12 Ch. 13  Ch. 14  Ch. 15  Ch. 16  Ch. 17

A/N: Thanks for your patience, waiting for this one! I ran out of my stash of already-prepared chapters. I think this one is worth the wait though! After this, there’s just an epilogue and we’re finished.

Chapter title from “Once Upon a Mattress”. My beta, @snidgetsafan, and I would both like you to know this was almost named “A Night We’ll Never Forget” after “Carrie: the Musical”, but thought that might be a joke too far. We’re trying to keep you guys from questioning our sanity.

Tags: @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @onceuponaprincessworld, @idristardis, @teamhook, @courtorderedcake, @aerica13, @revanmeetra87, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes, @mystrangedarkson

Let me know what you think - I promise next week will be up much more promptly!

Somehow, Emma’s hand doesn’t leave Killian’s for the rest of the night. Well, that’s not strictly true; they separate their palms to clap, as is required by an awards show, but their hands keep wandering back together afterwards. It’s becoming an unconscious gesture, but truthfully, Emma doesn’t really have a problem with that. It’s… comfortable isn’t quite the word - that’s somehow too small to describe it. It’s natural, she supposes, like something they were always meant to do. Maybe they were; maybe her resistance was the only thing holding them back. Regardless, she appreciates the comfort and support the gentle pressure of his hand provides.

She needs the support, too, as the surprises keep on coming. Somehow, in all the emotions involved with Killian’s win, she’d forgotten that the production was up for Best Musical until there’s a call for everyone to return to their seats for that award after a break for commercials. Emma’s already seated; that’s not the problem. The problem is a sudden flash of awareness that with two acting wins and a series of technical awards, they’ve really got a chance. And God only knows what will happen then.

“Buck up, Swan,” Killian whispers in her ear as the announcer begins speaking. That phrase has always kind of grated on Emma’s nerves, truth be told, but when she turns to glare at him, Killian’s already grinning and waggling his eyebrows in that way she knows means he’s teasing. Maybe he already knows that about her too; the things he remembers about her always surprise Emma. Regardless, though she rolls her eyes at his antics, some of the tension eases out of her shoulders while the corners of her mouth tease at a smile. That last part wasn’t intentional, but that seems to just be the effect Killian has on her lately.

(She’s already half in love with him, Emma knows, and that might be part of it too. God, there’s so much she needs to say to him once this is over, so much she wants to do to him.)

Still, it’s a good thing she’s got a good grip on Killian, because she needs that grounding when Pride & Prejudice is announced as the winner. She hears the words, knows what they mean, but that doesn’t help her brain process the declaration at all. The applause is so loud and this means - well this means everything to Emma: professionally, emotionally, possibly spiritually if the actualizing of all of Mary Margaret’s hope speeches can be counted as Emma’s religion. It’s hard in the moment for her mind to wrap itself around the fact that they’ve won, that she’s part of the team responsible for a Tony Award winning show.

Emma’s on autopilot when she stands up to let Mary Margaret and David through to reach the stage, but Killian tugs her out into the aisle instead.

“Aren’t you coming, Swan?” he grins, his intent obvious.

“Oh, I don’t know —” Emma demurs, but Killian is already tugging her up the aisle.

“It’s your baby too,” he whispers as they reach the stairs up to the stage, carefully handing her onto the first steps so she doesn’t trip. He has a point. After his lovely speech, too, it seems stupid not to just get up there and bask in the applause for a few moments.

Merlin gives the acceptance speech, but honestly, Emma doesn’t hear most of it. The lights are so bright and the ambient noise of the crowd so much louder than she anticipated that it’s overwhelming. Emma’s never been more glad that her job is in the shadows and the corners of the theater most people will never see, if only to avoid the hundreds of intense stares in her direction. It feels that way, at least, even if Emma consciously knows they’re just looking at the stage in general, and most likely at Merlin at the microphone. Still, it’s mildly terrifying, and Emma’s grateful for the gentle pressure of Killian’s hand on her back.

The real benefit of winning the last award of the night - besides the obvious perk of, you know, winning - is that all those gathered on stage for the acceptance speech get ushered off into the wings and towards the press, avoiding the masses all trying to file out down Radio City’s aisles. Merlin’s speech may have been one of the shortest of the night or one of the longest - Emma doesn’t really know for sure, far too preoccupied with trying to process the significance of the moment - but the crowd roars its applause again as the play-off music swells and Killian starts to gently steer her offstage. Emma doesn’t mind, she’s fine to go; there’s so much going on that it’s kind of nice to have someone else to direct her.

They’re barely clear of exiting cast, crew and producers before Killian’s excitement bubbles over and he sweeps Emma off her feet, whooping and twirling around in a circle. It must look very dramatic, well suited to the venue. His Best Actor trophy digs a little into her back, and Emma knows he’d be deeply apologetic if she complained, but truthfully, she’s too caught up in the joy of the moment to care overly much.

“Can you believe it, Swan?” he asks with a smile stretching from ear to ear, before continuing without waiting for an answer. “God, this is all just… Gods.”

“I know!” Emma laughs. Maybe to anyone else his sentence wouldn’t have made sense, but she hears enough of the surprise and pride and pure elation to know that she shares the sentiment, even if neither one of them can quite put it into words.

“We couldn’t have done it without you, you know,” he says, purposefully making eye contact to drive home his point, though he still smiles like a happy maniac. “I wasn’t kidding, this is your baby too. No one deserved to be on that stage more than you.”

Emma’s stomach suddenly flips. She’s wanted to talk to Killian since his touching speech, but now she’s struck with nerves. This is the moment though, even if there are still people milling about. Looking at his joy, however, restores some of her calm. It’s miraculous how much his smile can achieve.

“Speaking of,” she starts, “I just wanted to say — ”

Before she can get any further, her phone starts buzzing insistently in her handbag. It’s undoubtedly Henry; God, she loves her kid, but his timing really needs work. Groaning, she retrieves the device from her purse, noting that it is indeed her son. “Sorry, I’ve just got — ” she starts to explain.

“Not to worry, love,” Killian replies genially, his face settling into a fond expression. Emma’s not sure whether it’s affection for herself or for Henry or for both, but she loves that expression regardless, and all that it signifies.

She’s barely connected the call before Henry begins shrieking on the other end, so loud that she has to keep the phone pulled back from her ear and Killian laughs. “You won! You won, you won, you won!” Henry cheers. Emma can practically picture him in her mind’s eye, bouncing around Elsa’s living room in his excitement.

“Yeah, we did, kid,” Emma laughs right back once she can finally get the phone safely near her ear. “How do you feel about that? I can’t tell,” she teases. Killian’s being directed towards where the press awaits by an insistent theater employee as she talks, the moment she thought she’d grasped slipping even further away. I’ll be back, he mouths, quickly tossing up a hand in a little wave.

Meanwhile, Henry continues on the other end of the phone call. “This is so cool!” he gushes. “Did you touch the statue? Can you bring it home so I can show all my friends? Is there, like, a certificate too or something?”

“Slow down, kid,” Emma says, but it’s probably a lost cause. Emma doesn’t blame him; this is a big moment, and she’d probably be doing the same thing in his shoes. “Killian let me hold his earlier, but I haven’t touched the show award yet. I don’t know what will happen with the show statue, but I bet it will be at the theater for your friends to come see. Otherwise maybe Robin or Killian will let us borrow theirs. I don’t actually know if there’s a certificate, but I can probably find out.”

“Is Killian there? Can I talk to him? Liam wants to talk to him too.” Emma can’t help but smile fondly as she remembers Henry’s starstruck reaction to Liam Jones only a few months ago; now, you’d never know. That’s her son, though, ready and determined to make friends with everyone that crosses his path.

“Killian is actually doing press stuff right now, but I’ll make sure he calls his brother later. Now in the meantime… don’t you have your last Monday of school tomorrow? I think it’s time for bed.”

“Mom,” Henry whines, but Emma won’t be swayed. It is approaching 11:30 pm after all; he’s only been allowed to stay up this long because it’s a special occasion.

“Nope, none of that,” she chides back. “Go get ready for bed, we’ll do the full recap tomorrow. I bet you’ll realize how tired you are when you crawl under the covers.”

“Fine,” he huffs. “But you’d better tell me everything.”

“I promise. Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too, Mom. I’m happy you won.”

“Thanks, Henry. I am too.”

———

Killian’s probably less chatty in his interviews than the red carpet reporters would prefer - not to mention the show’s publicity department - but he’s too anxious to find Emma again to bother with more. She’d had a look on her face right before Henry called, one that said she was about to say something significant, and he’s itching to know what it was. He’d bet money it was about his speech, but he’s got less of a guess about what she’d have to say on the subject. He hopes it would be a thank you - not because he did it for the gratitude, but because that would mean she has accepted that her own role deserves thanking and attention and recognition, accepted that she plays an integral role not just anyone could fill. If her initial reluctance to join everyone onstage to accept the award for Best New Musical is any indication, though, he’s afraid that might not be the case.

By the time he makes it through press, she’s already waiting for the cars with the rest of their group except Belle, who must still be making her way through the crowds herself. It seems slightly ridiculous to Killian that they’re driving the few blocks instead of just walking ten minutes to the Plaza for the official afterparty, but then again, he’s not the one wearing high heels. They would have looked a little absurd walking down the messy streets of New York in their formal wear anyways.

“Hey, you survived the masses,” Emma teases. He wants to know what she was going to say, demand she continue right now, but Killian knows it’s not the right moment; not here, in front of all their friends.

“I did,” he replies instead, smiling at Emma. With those lovely heels she’s got on, it’s less of a downwards motion tonight; they’re almost level in height, though he’s still got an inch or two on her. “Not to jinx myself, but I think I may actually be getting the hang of this public speaking thing.”

Emma snorts at that. “Yeah, that’s what the statue says,” she replies dryly, though the smile creases around her eyes and mouth say that she knew he meant the interviews, not the acting. “You should call your brother, by the way.”

“I will once we get into the car,” he promises. “Less noise that way.”

As if summoned by magic, the first of the SUVs appears just then, pulling up to the curb. The idea of getting out of this mass of people - or at least getting to the next mass of people who will inevitably be waiting in front of the Plaza for pictures before they enter the afterparty - is appealing, but Killian also doesn’t want to leave the rest of their party behind. Belle’s still working her way through the press line, the bright flowers of her yellow dress only just visible when Killian turns back to look, and God only knows how long it will take for her to break free. It feels rude to abandon Will, Mary Margaret, and David, just because his own ride is here and waiting.

He should have counted on Mary Margaret having other ideas though. “Go,” she smiles, “I can tell you’re ready to get out of here.”

“We’re fine waiting, it’s really not a big deal,” Killian tries to protest - albeit weakly - but Mary Margaret just waves him off in a little shooing motion.

“We’ll be fine, I promise,” she assures him.

“It’s really best not to argue with her,” Emma sighs, though there’s obvious affection in her voice. “Mary Margaret may look sweet, but she gets her way in the end.”

And really, who is he to argue with that? Especially if it would be pointless anyways.

Killian gladly hands Emma up into the interior of the SUV, clambering up after her and trying not to step on her dress as they squeeze into the very back row, Regina and Robin climbing in right after. Emma slips out of those lovely heels as soon as she’s seated, letting out a borderline inappropriate groan of relief as her toes and arches are freed from the contortions they’ve been forced into. Killian doesn’t blame her for that - even if they’ll be in the car for less than ten minutes, he’s sure every one of them feels heavenly.

(It’s a little hard to concentrate when she makes those noises, though.)

“God, that feels good,” she sighs. It doesn’t help matters in the least. His face must make quite the picture, as Emma huffs a little laugh in the back of her throat when she looks in his direction, her mouth quirking up at the corners in a poorly-suppressed smile. “Are you going to call Liam?”

It takes an embarrassing moment for the words to process, and Killian has to actually shake his head to settle his thoughts back into order. Well done, Killian. “Yes, yes, of course. Thank you. I’ll do that now.”

Liam picks up on the first ring, which makes Killian think he was just waiting for the call. “Congratulations, brother!”

“Thanks, Liam,” he replies bashfully. It’ll take some getting used to, hearing all the congratulations for his work, but it’s something Killian thinks that he could get used to. Not that there’s much of a choice there - as long as he’s got this statue, there will now be people applauding his having received it. “Were you able to see everything on TV?” It’s admittedly a stupid question, but it will hopefully turn the conversation back away from him. In the adjacent seat, Emma rolls her eyes like she knows exactly what he’s doing. She probably does, frankly.

So does Liam, unfortunately. “Yes we were, but this isn’t about me, Killy,” his older brother reminds him. “Now tell me, how does it feel to have won?”

“It feels pretty damn fantastic,” Killian admits. It’s the first time he’s said that and really meant it; with the press, it was just convenient words to say, and the ones they wanted to hear anyways. No one wants to hear a celebrity try to work through their muddled feelings on the red carpet when anyone else would be immediately thrilled.

“It’s well deserved, Brother, I promise. How’d Emma react to that speech?”

Killian has to force himself not to look in Emma’s direction at the question, needlessly paranoid it would give something away. “Don’t know.”

“She’s sitting right there, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Well get back to her, get back to her!” Liam urges. “If that speech didn’t impress her, she’s crazy, and Emma Swan doesn’t strike me as crazy.”

“Oh my God, shut up, Liam,” Killian hisses into the phone. Emma’s quietly chuckling next to him; at least someone is enjoying this. “Go back to your date or whatever, I’ll talk to you later.”

“It is not a date — ” his brother starts to protest, but Killian disconnects the call before Liam can take the excuse any further.

“Liam pulling your pigtails?” Emma asks.

“He’s a piece of work,” Killian grumbles right back, much to Emma’s amusement as she lets out another peal of laughter. That gets him to smile at least; she’s always been able to do it, like a special superpower.

“He loves you,” she points out, and well, that’s true too.

“Yeah. I know he does.”

As if on cue, Killian’s phone buzzes inside his jacket’s breast pocket.

I’m proud of you, Kil. Have a great time with your girl.

Any lingering annoyance with Liam melts away immediately. That’s all he’s ever wanted, after all, ever since he was a little kid: to make his brother proud. Liam’s always been his hero, so that’s the highest compliment that can be paid to him.

Killian tucks his phone away with a new sense of peace and happiness about him, conveniently just as the car pulls up to the hotel.

“You ready for more?” Emma asks, bending nearly in half to secure her stilettos once again.

He’d rather have that conversation with Emma, but it’s still not the moment for that, not with a crowd of people waiting for him to make an appearance. For now, they’re just here for a celebration. As such, there’s really only one answer to her question.

“Lead on, Swan.”

———

She probably should have figured that the afterparty would be boring. After all, the executives aren’t exactly known for being a rolicking good time. That’s the actors.

It’s not awful, it’s just kind of… bland. The music is perfectly acceptable, but no one wants to dance. The food is fine, but not exceptional. It honestly seems like most of the money has been spent on decorations, and whatever trendy vibe they were going for manages to clash spectacularly with the staid, old money aesthetic that exemplifies the Plaza Hotel.

There are highlights too, of course - namely the way Killian sticks by her side like glue all night, one hand always tangled in her fingers or wrapped around her waist. Whenever their eyes meet, Killian seems on guard, like he’s waiting for her to tell him to stop, but Emma never does. She never wants to. So instead, she just smiles, and turns back to the party.

The people make up for it, somewhat. Her own little crew keeps her smiling and laughing, and at a party like this, there’s plenty of famous faces around who all seem to want to congratulate Killian. It starts feeling like a bizarre fever dream, meeting all these celebrities she usually only sees in magazines. Everyone is perfectly nice, of course - Emma’s particularly happy to discover that Lin-Manuel Miranda really is the friendliest man alive, and tries not to geek out too much when Matthew Broderick comes up to graciously congratulate the man who beat him and ends up shaking her hand like it’s a totally normal thing to do and not one of the highlights of Emma’s life.

Killian’s off getting them drinks when Merlin sidles up beside Emma. “Hey, congratulations!” she says as soon as she notices him; in addition to accepting the award for Best Musical on their behalf, he’d also been recognized for his directing.

“And you as well!” he wishes her in return with a wide smile on his face. This just might be the happiest Emma has ever seen him. It’s a little odd to see her director in such a celebratory mood - though Merlin is certainly enthusiastic and generally happy, this is something else altogether.

Still, Emma’s not sure she deserves his congratulations. “I don’t know about that,” she hedges with a smile on her face, not outright rejecting the sentiment but not fully embracing it either.

That visibly perturbs Merlin, a little serious frown etching itself onto his mouth. “I’m not sure you’re aware of exactly how indispensable a role you’ve played, Emma. It takes a certain kind of person to not just do your job, but do it well. And with the way you anticipate problems, you’re possibly the best I’ve worked with,” he states confidently, heedless of the blush spreading across her cheeks. “Anyhow, what’s the saying? It takes a village? I think that could be applied to a show as well. And you’ve done a lot to keep the villagers from running around in circles like madmen,” Merlin confides, chuckling a little at his own joke.

Emma’s never been good at accepting praise, probably due to lack of opportunity in her youth, but it still means something to hear that from her director, her boss. “Thanks. That, uh… that means a lot,” she finally settles on.

“I speak only the truth,” Merlin replies. “Now, I know this is a ways out - several years, most likely - but a friend of mine is working on a new musical, a madcap murder caper. I don’t suppose you’d be interested? Availability permitting, of course, and we’d discuss it further once things became definite, but I think we’ve made a good team.”

Emma remembers Robin’s words from all those months ago, about how directors like to work with an established team. Now that it seems like that may actually be developing, she’ll have to thank him for his wisdom and encouragement. “I’d love that. Keep me in the loop.”

“Excellent. I’ll let you get back to your date,” he excuses as Killian returns with a pair of champagne flutes, “but really, congratulations. It’s been such a pleasure working together.”

Emma flushes an even deeper pink as Merlin walks away, but there’s a grin there too.

“Good news?” Killian asks as he hands her a drink.

Emma laughs a little, mostly to herself, before quipping, “I think I might have made it, kid.”

“I never had a doubt.”

———

They somehow end up in Granny’s diner at the end of the night. It’d probably been inevitable, really; it seems like so many of his and Emma’s milestones along the way to where they are now - wherever they are - have happened in that restaurant. It doesn’t hurt either that the food at the official afterparty is boring buffet fare, and Granny’s is open 24 hours. The lady herself has long since gone to bed - it is one in the morning - but the kitchen is more than happy to send out a variety of burgers and fries and grilled cheeses with onion rings. Emma has seemed slightly on edge all night, though happy; Killian is eternally grateful that she was able to accompany him and witness their win herself, but he knows the awards weren’t quite her scene. Here, in Granny’s corner booth with a dollop of whipped cream on her nose from her oreo shake, she’s more in her element, laughing with their friends and sticking her tongue out at him when he swipes the whipped cream off.

(God, he loves her.)

His heart does a happy little jig when Emma rests her head on his shoulder as hot drinks and slices of pie are distributed, though he does his best to play it cool. Still, Killian can’t resist the urge to wrap his arm around her waist, both to support her and to tug her just a little bit closer. If the little sigh Emma exhales onto his shoulder is any indication, she’s not opposed either.

She wasn’t supposed to fall asleep, though; that was never something Killian had anticipated happening. Part of him doesn’t want to wake her back up. Emma looks so peaceful in sleep, her features fully relaxed and serene, and it seems like such a shame to disturb that. They’re closing in on three in the morning, however, and as much joy as Killian takes from having Emma Swan nestled against him, her own bed must be so much more comfortable than this booth and his bony shoulder.

“Swan,” he whispers at first. That’s not particularly successful; Emma hums a little half-asleep sound, but makes no attempt to make her way back to wakefulness. Indeed, she tries to burrow her face further into his flesh. It’s endearing, certainly, and cute beyond words, but not particularly helpful. “Swan,” he repeats, “you’ve got to wake up.” A little nudgey shrug is more successful, causing Emma to finally lift her head with bleary eyes and her brows furrowed in confusion.

“What time is it?” she slurs, stretching in a way that does not accentuate her bust in the least.

“Nearly 3 am. Can I walk you home?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” she yawns.

“I think it’s about time we were all heading home,” Mary Margaret cuts in, sliding out of the vinyl booth seat. Will and Belle already departed almost an hour ago, off to their own celebrations that Killian would rather not know more about, and Robin had left immediate after they were done eating to pick Roland up, but Ruby, Regina, Mary Margaret, and David had all stuck it out - though David looks like he’s about to fall asleep on the tabletop as well. There’s hugs all around as everyone piles into various cabs, but finally, it’s just Killian and Emma - just the way he’s wanted all night. They’ve both got things to say, Emma especially, and Killian’s ready to listen to all of it.

———

The night is peaceful, just the two of them - at least as far as that’s possible in a busy city of millions. The more Emma thinks about it, the more she thinks that the peace she feels is less due to the time or location, and more due to some inner serenity. It sounds ridiculous to think of it like that, but that seems to make the most sense. She’s happy; that’s what matters.

Her apartment is only a few blocks away, so without any verbal agreement or further discussion, Killian and Emma both set out walking in that direction instead of hailing a cab. She doesn’t need escorting home, not really, but she’d happily accepted all the same for the chance to spend a little more time in Killian’s company. It will give them a chance to talk uninterruptedly, anyways, if Emma can bring herself to upset their current harmony. She’s not nervous about it anymore, far from it; still, in the midst of such a perfect moment, it’s hard to bring herself to interrupt it with something so silly as talking.

Emma’s just preparing to break the silence herself when Killian jumps in first. “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?” he asks softly, a gentle smile playing across his lips as he looks towards the skyline.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Emma’s not talking about the weather. She thinks Killian might not be either. Quickly, she plows ahead with her intended speech before they both get lost in another moment again. “Listen, I just wanted to thank you, Killian. For tonight, and the speech - God, especially that speech - and… everything. Thank you.”

“Oh, Swan, that’s nothing you need to thank me for,” he replies, blushing red and letting his hand steal away to that nervous spot on his neck again.

“Yeah, there is,” she insists right back. “You didn’t have to do that.”

That catches Killian’s attention, his body suddenly snapping back upright from the bashful position it had curled into. “Of course I did,” he says. There’s a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there before, that Emma usually only sees at the theater when he’s passionate about what he’s doing. “I know you don’t do this for the thanks, but I see all the work you put in every day. Hell, some days you hold this entire thing together through sheer force of will. All without any thanks.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “I didn’t do it for your thanks. I did it because you deserve to be thanked. I think we all know I’m not exactly an unbiased source,” he chuckles wryly, “but what you do, day in and day out, is amazing. You’re amazing, and brilliant, and… I just wanted everyone to know that. Yourself included.”

It amazes Emma, most days, the fierceness of what Killian feels for her. To hear him speak, you’d think she was an angel sent to earth, a powerful goddess walking amongst mortals, the most amazing thing he’s ever encountered. It’s even more awe-inspiring to realize that that’s exactly how he sees her.

The thing is, the way Emma sees Killian isn’t much different. Maybe she wouldn’t get so melodramatic in her descriptions the way he might - she’s never been one to use the word “angel” anyways - but she’d readily call him one of the kindest, most thoughtful men she knows, and more than deserving of all the good things that have come his way.

“Now, I don’t mean - please don’t take what I’m about to say as a demand for thanks, because it’s not, I didn’t say all those things for the thanks,” he continues, fully babbling now, “but I was just wondering - well, you see, I like you, Emma, really like you, rather halfway in love if I’m placing all my cards on the table - and I know I’ve asked before, but so much has changed, and… well, to borrow the quote, my affections and wishes are unchanged,” he grins a little at his joke, albeit somewhat nervously. The silly man. “I suppose what I’m getting at, what I’m wondering — ”

Emma doesn’t wait to find out what he’s wondering, however, even if she’s pretty sure she knows what’s coming. Too impatient to wait any longer for him to collect his thoughts - can that boy ever ramble - she surges up suddenly to pull his face down to hers and mash their lips together, one hand sliding into his hair to tug and caress the strands the way she’s wanted to for longer than she’s willing to admit. Weeks, for sure; probably months. Whatever the case, the moment is now, and she’s going to revel in every bit of it.

Though Killian is initially caught off guard, emitting a little shocked grunt (Emma would kill for photographic evidence of it, imagining cartoonish popped eyes and pinwheeling arms), he relaxes into the kiss almost immediately. Maybe if Killian was initiating, their kiss would be a gentle, deliberate thing; that’s the way she’s always imagined it, at least. Emma’s the one in charge though, so this kiss is fierce, hungry, almost desperate. She wants to learn all of it, all at once - the way he sounds when she nips at his lip or sucks at his tongue, whether he likes it when she pulls on the hair at the nape of his neck (and oh, if those groans and moans are indication, he does, he absolutely does), all of it. Killian seems much of the same mind as his hands settle possessively at her hips, thumbs tracing along the sheer panel at her midriff as his head tilts and readjusts in a quest for the perfect angle at which to explore her mouth. It’s the realization of months and months of longing and repressed feelings and they slam together, pressed tight against each other’s fronts as their mouths practically meld into one, and it’s perfect.

They finally break apart when more than the quickest gulps of air become necessary, but Emma’s hand slips down to grip Killian’s lapel - for stability or comfort or whatever else she doesn’t know, but it somehow feels necessary for her continued existence. “That was…”

“Yeah, it was,” he replies, before letting out a laugh - a joyful, winded sound. “God, what was that? You didn’t even let me get out the question,” he teases gently.

Even his ribbing can’t wipe the smile off her face, though. “You were taking too long,” she shrugs, mindlessly nosing at his neck. It’s a new frontier, one she looks forward to kissing and nibbling once she gets a second wind.

“Ah, well, forgive me. This seems a little redundant now, but I don’t suppose you’d want to get a cup of coffee sometime?” He’s obviously aware of the sense of deja vu from his first attempt at this, grinning madly with a twinkle in his eye.

“What do you think?” Emma whispers in reply, drawing him back down for another round of kissing.

As if there was any other answer now, after all they’ve done and all they’ve been through, but the most enthusiastic yes.

[singingisfun]

Changing Tides - Chapter 19

link to cover art by @otpapprovedbythegods

And here’s a link to an adorable pic of Dopey as a pirate by @clockadile

ff.net: From the beginning - Current Chapter

AO3:  From the beginning - Current Chapter

Tumblr: Prologue - Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9-Ch 10 - Ch 11- Ch 12 - Ch 13 - Ch 14 - Ch 15 - Ch 16 - Ch 17 - Ch18

A/N: A big thanks to @optomisticgirl for putting up with my rambling and bringing my back from the ledge when this chapter was pushing me to the brink - and for being an all-around sweetheart as well. You're the best, B! 

The Apple and The Brother

To say Killian hadn’t been looking forward to this little excursion would be a vast understatement. He remembers all too well the last time he and Emma visited a tavern, the near suffocating jealousy he’d felt when he’d been forced to watch her sidle up to and flirt with another man. It had been nearly unbearable.  

Tonight, however…

Tonight is different. Tonight, she’s throwing him conspiratorial grins and flirtatious winks every chance she gets.  Tonight, she’s flittering around the tables with Patricia, moving from man to man, never allowing one to get too familiar.  

He’d forgotten that about Jeff and Patricia; how the two of them have perfected this game of intel gathering.  There’s been a steady stream of women coming and going from his own table, as well. It’s a bit awe-inspiring the way Jeff manages to dismiss them while still making them feel lucky to have so much as sat with them for a short while. A few pout as they leave, but even those do so with a smile.

There’s still a twinge of jealousy, to be sure – on both sides.  Earlier, a particularly overzealous sailor’s hand had wandered over Emma’s backside and he’d nearly seen red.  Before he’d been able to move, however, the man’s hand been bent back at an awkward and painful angle, causing Killian to switch from anger to pride at Emma’s quick reflexes.  After that, there’d been a lass who had draped herself on his arm and practically crawled into his lap which had had Emma’s eyes flashing until he’d unseated the woman by abruptly standing and excusing himself to the privy.  

He smiles to himself as he remembers the quick tryst that little insurrection had spiked, Emma catching him in the back hall and yanking him into a darkened stairwell, her breath hot in his ear when he’d made a jest about her jealousy, “Just remember who you’re dealing with, Hook.  If I were jealous, the place would be full of toads by now.”  His resulting chuckle had been swallowed by her mouth, and when she’d teased him back about his own jealousy, he had pointed out swiftly that, “All the bastards are still alive, aren’t they?”

Yes, tonight is very different than their last excursion, the jovial atmosphere of the tavern and the obvious enjoyment Emma is taking from their mission turning the evening into a singularly entertaining experience.  

It helps having Jeff at his side again, his boisterous behavior and outgoing personality making it feel almost like a celebration.  It’s clear he and his family will be able to stay in Portsmouth and, as such, Jeff seems determined to relish their last evening together.  It’s a bit bittersweet when Killian thinks about it.  It could be Captain Hook’s last night of revelry with his original first mate, and Killian can’t deny he wants to enjoy it as much as possible.  So he orders another bottle of rum from Phoebe (who has now recovered from seeing him and Jeff together - her eyes had nearly popped out of her head when they’d walked in) and even pours her a drink when she delivers it.  

He’s tempted to buy a round for the whole bloody tavern.  

And that’s another thing that has leant to his good mood.  He’s still receiving distrustful looks but not nearly as many as he usually gets and he admits to himself that it does lift a bit of the weight from his chest.  He’s not sure why people seem less anxious around him, whether some of them believe he and The Hatter truly are partners or if it’s just the fact that he’s now squarely in the corner of being a common enemy of Regina’s, but the patrons around him are looking at him with more curiosity than fear.  

He's just won a round of dice against Jeff, lifting his glass of rum to toast his victory when something catches his eye.  The glass nearly slips from his fingers and he gapes at the sight, all the air in his lungs releasing in a rush.  As he starts to rise, he hears Jeff breathe out an awed but harsh curse, immediately followed by a curt dismissal to the ladies presently sitting with them, then Jeff is rising, too.  The blood pumping through Killian’s veins makes his head light as he watches the new arrival study the room, terror crawling up his chest.  His eyes fly to Emma to find her engrossed in conversation with the sailor she’s next to, oblivious of what’s unfolding mere feet away.  He’s tempted to call out to her, to tell her to run, but he doesn’t.  She’s safe in disguise.  The thought of which reminds Killian that he’s not – and neither is Jeff – not when it comes to the person across the room.  He reaches for his friend, but it’s too late – the man’s eyes have made it to their corner of the tavern and the moment they land on his own, they widen with recognition.

K&EK&EK&E

An uneasy feeling spikes in Emma’s stomach as she lowers her glass and her eyes immediately seek out Killian.  As soon as they land on him she freezes, alarm jolting through her system.  He’s staring at something off to the side that she can’t see, his eyes wide in disbelief.  His posture screams danger and Emma grasps Patricia’s hand, slowly rising to her feet.  It doesn’t take Patricia long to see what Emma does and they move as one across the tavern, trying to casually make their way around the obstacles that have their view blocked to whatever Killian and Jeff are so captivated by.  She stares a hole into the side of Killian’s head as she goes, trying to get him to look at her, to give her some indication of what’s happening but his eyes stay resolutely on the same spot.  The fact that he won’t even flick his eyes in her direction is a message in and of itself, and when the subject of their attention finally comes into view – a dark green cloak and chestnut hair – Emma immediately realizes why.

She comes to an abrupt halt and Patricia nearly crashes into her.  “What’s happening?” she whispers.  “Who is that?”

Emma doesn’t answer right away, the implications of his sudden appearance racing through her brain. She can feel each breath she takes, every one of them more labored than the last as those implications become more dire in her swirling thoughts.  He’s already seen Killian.  There’s no way he doesn’t recognize him – which is exactly why Killian won’t look at her. He’s not going to risk drawing attention to her and, in a flash of clarity, it hits her that standing here staring is not the smartest thing.  So she turns away and pulls Patricia toward two empty chairs at the bar, situating herself so that she can inconspicuously watch the scene by looking over Patricia’s shoulder.  

“What’s happening?” Patricia asks again.

“It’s just been discovered who Captain Hook really is,” Emma whispers back, “and it may now be impossible to keep it from the Evil Queen.”

Patricia’s face blanches. “How? Who is that?” she asks.

“A man I thought was dead,” Emma replies.  “The captain of my mother’s personal guard.  His name is Graham.”

K&EK&EK&E

Tension hangs thick in the air, so much so that Killian is surprised its weight doesn’t alert the other patrons to the danger in their midst.  But none of them seem to notice, the lively music ringing through the room almost a mockery to the gravity of the moment.  

Graham now knows who Captain Hook is and while that, in and of itself, is alarming, it’s not the main concern racing through Killian’s brain.  The greater concern is why his old friend walked into this bloody tavern in the first place because he obviously wasn’t expecting to find Killian Jones.  But was he looking for Captain Hook?  Possibly as an assassin?  Could he be after The Hatter?  Or worse, could the Evil Queen have sent him after Emma?  

“Could it be coincidence, do you think?” Jeff asks in a low voice.  

Not bloody likely.

The words almost leave his tongue but they stick there when Graham makes a sharp movement, turning to study the other side of the room.  He goes back to searching the rest of the establishment and Killian’s stomach clenches, the question as to why the huntsman has suddenly appeared now answered: He’s looking for Emma.

Somehow…  Somehow the Evil Queen has discovered that the Swan Princess is in league with Captain Hook.

“It’s not a coincidence,” he replies, “he’s here for Emma.”

“For what reason?  To capture her?  He’s not even carrying a sword.  It makes no sense that she’d send him to capture Emma since she already knows about his heart.  It’s not like she’d go anywhere with him willingly.”

No, she wouldn’t.  Of course, she wouldn’t.  And Graham would know that.  And the Evil Queen would know that which means –

Bloody hell.

Which means Graham isn’t the danger.  He’s here for another reason…  “He’s trying to draw her out.”

Jeff straightens. “He’s bait,” he surmises grimly.

“Yes, which means Regina is here… watching us all.”

As if Graham has overheard their conversation, his eyes suddenly meet Killian’s again and they both freeze.  In the periphery of his vision, Killian can see Emma sitting at the bar with Patricia and it takes everything he has not to meet her gaze.  

“What do we do?” Jeff asks out of the corner of his mouth.  

“We need to move this outside.  Whatever Regina is planning, we don’t want it to happen with this many innocent people around.”

“And… Gwen?”

It takes a herculean effort not to look to Emma.  “She needs to get back to the Jolly.  Make your way to her and give her the message without raising suspicion.  I’ll go out the back.  Tell her to use the front.”

“What if Regina sees?”

“She can’t watch both of us and I’d be willing to bet she’s more interested in keeping an eye on me.”

Jeff nods nearly imperceptibly and starts moving away.  Killian doesn’t waste any time, going in the opposite direction toward the door with the hope of splitting the Evil Queen’s attention as much as possible.  He only makes it two steps before his path is blocked, a sultry voice whispering into his ear, “Going somewhere, Captain?”

Too distracted, he doesn’t even bother to look at the woman, simply moving to step around her but she takes the step with him, her fingers closing around his upper arm.  It’s then that he drops his eyes to hers and what he sees makes his heart thud against his ribs.  He’s seen those eyes before.  Once, a long time ago, those eyes looked directly at him.  They were embedded in a different face then, but they’re definitely the same eyes.  There’s no one else in the realm whose eyes harbor such madness and distain.  

“Nature calls, love,” he says, doing his best to keep his voice flippant, “but when I return,” he glances up and down her body, intentionally letting his gaze linger appreciatively, “perhaps you’d allow me to buy you a drink?”

It doesn’t fool her and he’s not surprised.  He’s not really trying to fool her so much as he’s trying to buy time for Emma to get out of here.  But she pretends to play along – at least for a moment – slowly raising up on her toes to invade his space, her hand moving to his shoulder for leverage.  

“Did you really think that would work, Hook?” she purrs into his ear, “Do you really think I’m that gullible?”

His skin crawls from her proximity and he clenches his teeth.  His hand is squeezing his sword with a death grip but he doesn’t draw the weapon yet, hoping to move a little further from the crowd before having to do so.

Taking half of a step back, he meets her eyes, “I think you want something from me, love.  Otherwise I’d already be dead.  And I’d much prefer to discuss whatever it is with an empty bladder and a full stein.”

That makes her chuckle, “Look at the pirate being all civilized,” she chides, her finger running down his chest while those malicious eyes sweep him from head to toe.  After a thorough examination, she’s back in his personal space, her hands fisted in collar of his coat and her breath on his lips. “Fine.  Let’s sit, shall we?”

She releases him with a smirk, and in one last ditch effort to move this away from the crowd, Killian nods in the direction of the door, “I really should run to the – ” but he’s cut short when his vocal chords contract, the feeling akin to a vice closing around his neck.

“Don’t push your luck, Hook.”

The vice is gone as soon as she’s finished speaking and he gasps in a breath.  She’s already walking toward his abandoned table and he raises his hand to his throat, taking advantage of the few seconds her attention is elsewhere to find Emma.  She’s standing close to the front door with Patricia, her eyes wide with comprehension. She has obviously surmised just what is going on here and he wants to tell her to run, to leave him and save herself, but just as the thought enters his mind, she shakes her head and nods in the direction of the empty seat at the bar she’d only recently vacated.  His eyes flit to Patricia and Jeff as well, only to find them thinking the same thing.  Whatever is about to happen here, they’re all staying.  

As casually as he can manage, he takes a seat next to the Evil Queen and watches her pour two glasses of rum.  Without a word, she hands him one, then clinks the glasses together in toast.  He doesn’t even feel the burn of the alcohol as it slides down his throat and when he lowers the glass, she’s studying him over the rim of her own.

“Have we met before, Captain?” she asks as though she’s just now noticed something about him that she finds familiar.  

His jaw hardens to the point of aching but he doesn’t even try to disguise it.  Instead, he stares her down.

“Aye.  We have.”

K&EK&EK&E

Most of it is a disjointed mess, the hazy memories he has of the days in the dungeon after the Evil Queen’s takeover.  He was in and out of consciousness from pain and despair, freezing one moment and burning with fever the next.  He remembers the foul smell of body odor and bile.  He remembers Liam cleaning his wrist, murmuring reassuring words, telling him to rest.

But that day…  That day he remembers in perfect detail.

He awakens to the sound of iron creaking, the words, “Get them up,” in a commanding voice ringing through the cell.

Liam shifts behind him and he realizes he must have been sleeping against his brother’s chest. They’re both wrenched to their feet and Killian immediately sways.  He feels hot, feverish.  He sees the floor rising up to meet him when his legs give out but Liam is there, grabbing his good arm and securing it across his shoulders to keep him from falling.

Then they’re moving. He’s not sure if his feet are actually walking or not but he’s definitely moving.  He hears Liam grunt and he tries to help, tries to put one foot in front of the other but it’s no use.  

“I’ve got you, sailor,” he hears Liam say.  “Don’t try to walk, save your strength.”

He has no strength, he wants to respond – but he doesn’t.  He’s gotten a glimpse of the castle corridors and the black knights surrounding them and he refuses to admit weakness in front of them.  

They’re ushered into the Great Hall where he sees some men from their ship along with a mixture of other sailors and a few of the castle guards, maybe fifteen men in all. A gasp sounds at their arrival immediately followed by an urgent whisper from Liam to keep quiet.  They stand there as others are escorted in and a moment later, he feels a presence on his left. Jefferson wordlessly and gently lifts his left arm to take some of his weight as Graham appears on the other side of Liam.

“They’re looking for him,” he hears Graham whisper.

Killian feels a moment of relief – the king must have escaped – but the relief quickly gives way to confusion when Liam stiffens next to him.

“Do they know what he looks like?” Liam whispers back – which makes no sense at all.  Why wouldn’t they know what the king looks like?

“Apparently not,” Graham replies.  “Just a vague description.  The king and queen were smart to keep them around only those most loyal.”

The conversation is too confusing for Killian to follow in his weakened state and he’s just about to give up on trying when Liam turns him in his arms and shakes him until his eyes open.  

“Listen to me, brother. I need to you swear… Swear to me that whatever happens in the next few minutes you won’t say a word.”

The jostling brings Killian’s foggy mind into focus long enough for him to notice that the doors are barred and the black knights have left the room.  

“Why? What’s happening?” he asks in sluggish tone.

“Just swear it to me, sailor,” Liam says urgently, shaking him again.

Killian wrinkles his brow and reopens his eyes, doing his best to keep them open this time.  He’s never seen Liam so intense and foreboding settles into his chest but he nods anyway, too weak to argue or insist Liam explain further.  

“Say it,” Liam demands.

“I swear,” Killian immediately responds in a voice stronger than he feels.

Liam’s eyes leave his to look at Graham and Jefferson in turn, nodding to each of them. Then he looks at the others standing around.  “That goes for the lot of you,” he announces in the voice he uses when he captains his ship, “not a word, do you understand?”

The men nod their agreement, many of them placing their right hands over their hearts and responding, “Yes, Captain,” as they do so.

Killian slumps again and Liam and Jefferson turn him so that his weight is shared evenly among the two of them once more.  As they wait, Killian does his best to survey the room.  It takes some effort, his eyes heavy, but he manages to notice several things.

The tables from the ball are still present, though most of them have been tipped over, but the thrones on the dais seem to be untouched.  The banners with the king and queen’s crest are still hanging from the walls but they’re askew and riddled with holes.  Rubble litters the floor, pieces of stone from the pillars and wood from the broken tables alongside shattered dishes and discarded wine goblets. There’s a stain of blood a couple of feet in front of him and he remembers vaguely that he’s standing in almost the exact spot where the king had been the last time he saw him.  That thought has him giving in to the weakness again, sagging further and letting his head fall.  

When the door behind the dais swings open with a loud bang, it startles him out of the near unconscious state he’s drifted back to and, when he looks up, he sees several black knights enter followed by the Evil Queen herself.  The men in the room shuffle nervously and Liam turns to the side, subtly positioning himself between Killian and the queen as she comes to stand before the thrones and surveys the room.

“Oh, this won’t do,” she says offhandedly when her eyes land on the banners.

With a wave of her arm the banners behind the thrones disappear to be replaced with new ones, black, trimmed in silver with the crest of a lion.  

“Much better,” she announces to no one in particular before turning back.  “So, these are the prisoners.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” one of the black knights replies.

Hands on her hips, she paces the dais, taking the time to look at each and every one of them.  When her eyes land on him, he holds her gaze, the dark brown not nearly enough to hide the demented evil in her soul.  She raises a brow and he feels his jaw tighten, fury boiling in his veins.  Her lips quirk into a smile at his defiance before she flicks those insanity-riddled eyes to the next man.  

K&EK&EK&E

“I must admit, I’m surprised I don’t remember you.  It’s not like me to forget such a handsome face.”

The words call him back to the present but the memory lingers in his mind, his fury so intense that he’s sure she’ll notice.  But if she does, she doesn’t let on, her posture casual as she leans back in her chair with a deceptive air of nonchalance.  

Doing his best to relax his jaw, he mimics her cool demeanor.  “Well, I wasn’t looking my best at the time.”

Regina’s answer is a sly smile but she doesn’t pursue the topic and Killian assumes it’s because she’s simply lumped him into a pile of other countless faces that she’s left bereft over the years.  Instead, she gets down to business.  “You know why I’m here, of course. Why don’t we make this easy and you just tell me which one she is?”

“Never.”

“I can offer you gold,” she suggests and Killian chuckles.

“I’ve got plenty of gold. A fact you should be well aware of considering how I procured most of it.”

Her eyes flash for an instant – but only an instant – before she sighs in exasperation.  “Fine, we can do this the hard way if you’d prefer... In this very crowded tavern... With all these innocent people about.”

The threat is clear and Killian can’t stop his eyes from glancing to the people around him, all of them still blissfully ignorant of what's happening in their midst.  

“It would be much easier if you tell me of your own free will.”

His eyes snap back to hers so quickly that she actually looks startled.  “Free will?” he asks and even he can hear the sharp accusation dripping from the question.  He knows he’s treading on shaky ground but he doesn’t care, the absolute wrath those words invoke too violent to hold his tongue.  “Interesting choice of words, Your Majesty.”  

K&EK&EK&E

“Well, they are a sad looking lot,” Regina says condescendingly once she’s completed her assessment of each man.

“Do you think he’s here, my Queen?” the knight to her left asks.

The queen takes a deep breath, her nostrils flaring.  “There’s one way to find out,” she replies, “Bring her in.”

There’s a collective gasp from the men when Snow White is escorted into the room, her arms held securely by two black knights and Killian feels some of his strength return as rage fills his chest.  

Snow’s eyes scan the men as she’s led to stand before Regina.  When she meets his gaze, her step falters and her eyes widen but no one else seems to notice.

“Ah, Snow, darling, what do you think of my new decor?” the Evil Queen asks with delight, waving a hand toward the banners.

Snow glances up and then meets her step-mother’s eyes. “I think they match your black heart,” she replies in a strong voice.

The Evil Queen laughs at that.  “Yes, they certainly do,” she agrees with amusement, placing her hands on her hips and turning again to admire her handiwork.

Snow rolls her eyes at the queen’s display of glee.  “You didn’t summon me here to discuss interior design, Regina.  What is it that you want?”

Regina turns back to Snow, dismissing the knights holding her arms by waving a hand at them. “Oh, I want so many things, my darling Snow… But right now,” the queen’s voice turns hard, “I want to ensure a certain prophecy is thwarted before it has a chance to come to fruition.”

Snow White’s shoulders stiffen for an instant.  “What prophecy?” she asks.

“You know what prophecy!” Regina bursts, making everyone except Snow shuffle nervously. Then the Evil Queen immediately turns away to take a calming breath.

Snow’s eyes dart to Liam while the queen isn’t looking and, for the first time, Killian can see fear in them.  

“Are you really going to play coy with me?  I know you know what I’m talking about.  That’s why you’ve kept his identity a secret for so long.”  Then, turning back, she adds, “Tell me, is he as handsome as they say?”

Snow White straightens but doesn’t answer.

Regina is undeterred by Snow’s silence.  “Ah, I’m sure he is.  How could he be anything else to have won the heart of a princess?”

Killian stiffens, realization hitting him hard in the chest:  The Evil Queen isn’t looking for King David, she’s looking for him. Liam’s hand closes over his arm in warning, subtly reminding him of the promise he made to keep silent.

Killian averts his eyes to the ground and finds himself studying the blood stain in front of him as he tries to process this information.  A prophecy?  What prophecy?  A thousand questions run through his head but he can’t make sense of them, his mind too foggy with fever.  He looks to Liam questioningly but Liam won't meet his gaze, instead simply increasing his grip again and Killian turns back to Snow who is staring Regina down as she says something about a sailor.

“He is a sailor, isn’t he?  I’m surprised at you Snow, that you’d give your blessing to your daughter with a commoner, but I suppose I shouldn’t be considering your own ‘prince’ is a simple sheep farmer.”

“That’s rich coming from the granddaughter of a miller,” Snow retorts.

The Evil Queen’s eyes turn murderous at those words. “My father was a KING!” she shouts.

“So was MINE!” Snow immediately responds, “And my mother a QUEEN, not some conniving, opportunist – ” Snow cuts off in the middle of her reply, her hands going to her throat, struggling for breath.

“Be careful what you say about my mother,” Regina hisses, looking absolutely livid, her hand raised in front of her in a way that looks like she’s gripping the queen’s neck.

Several of the prisoners grumble, some even taking a step forward to protect their queen but Regina waves a hand and they stumble back. It’s not until one of the black knights steps forward, voicing a wary, “Your Majesty,” that Regina lowers her arm.

She huffs out a breath. “Thank you, Claude,” she responds, “I nearly forgot why we’re here.”

Snow gulps in air, rubbing at her neck while Regina waits patiently, weaving her fingers together in front of her.  Once Snow’s breathing normalizes, Regina speaks again, her voice sounding almost conversational, “As I said, I won’t let this prophecy come to pass.  My knights are scouring the kingdom looking for your daughter but there are rumors that her lover didn’t escape.  As such, I’ve gathered all the men of the right age from the dungeon.  Tell me which one he is and I’ll spare your daughter’s life.”

Snow shakes her head in denial, straightening and letting her hands fall from her throat. “I won’t tell you anything,” she states with finality.

Regina laughs at that. “So this is a secret you think you’ll be able to keep?  I find it interesting that when I had a secret, you weren’t so tight-lipped.”

“I find it interesting that you still blame me and defend your mother when we both know – ”

“Enough!” Regina cuts her off, her voice rising again and taking a step in Snow’s direction. “You can tell me what I want to know of your own free will or I will make you tell me!”

Snow White seems completely unimpressed and actually smiles a little at that.  “Free will,” she replies thoughtfully.  “You know, I remember the last time you gave me the choice to do something of my own free will.  Do you remember, Regina?  You offered me an apple and told me if I took a bite, you’d let Charming live.  You were lying then and you’re lying now. You’ll never let Emma go free. You will hunt her until your dying breath.”

“Perhaps,” Regina replies, her tone slipping into something that makes Killian’s blood run cold. “But you’ll never know.  I’ve wanted to crush your heart for a long time, Snow, and I think the time has finally come.” She starts rolling up the sleeve to her dress, walking with purpose toward the other woman. “But before I crush it, you’re going to tell me what I want to know.  And fair warning: Once your heart is in my hand, I’ll know if you lie.”

Snow doesn’t hesitate when Regina’s hand shoots out, quickly knocking it away from her chest and darting across the dais.  She sinks to her knees in front of an ornate chest and yanks open the lid.

Regina laughs wickedly with what sounds like true amusement.  “There’s no escape Snow.  You’re not getting out of this room.”

While the Evil Queen speaks, Snow’s eyes meet Liam’s over the chest before locking onto his own. She doesn’t nod, she doesn’t say anything to him, but her eyes carry a command that Killian will forever understand: Be safe.  Survive.

When she turns back to the Evil Queen, she’s holding an apple in her hand.  

The apple, Killian realizes with a shock.  They’ve kept it here all this time?

Regina grasps what’s happening and starts rushing forward a moment before Snow lifts the apple in the same way someone would lift a wine glass for a toast.

“Free will, Regina,” she says with a smile…

And takes a bite.

K&EK&EK&E

Regina’s eyes narrow on him and he knows without doubt that she’s piecing the puzzle together.  There’s a part of him – a very small part, mind you – that worries over the dangerous turn this conversation has suddenly taken but the bigger part just doesn’t care. He’s been waiting for this for years. He’s bided his time and lived in the shadows long enough.  Besides, he knows there’s an excellent chance he’ll never walk away from this table alive, anyway, so if these are to be his final moments, he will, at the very least, use this opportunity to seize any amount of satisfaction he can get.

“So that’s where I remember you from,” she says slowly, “You were there that day.”

“Aye,” he replies.

“And that’s how you know my… pet,” she adds with a nod in Graham’s direction.

Killian flicks his eyes to Graham who has now moved to lean against a pillar in the middle of the tavern and he feels his jaw tighten.  “He and I have known each other for many years.”

“A friend of yours, was he?”

“He still is.”

“Even after he betrayed his country?  His princess?”

“He never betrayed his country or his princess.  It’s not a betrayal when you have no choice.”

For some reason those words make her pause, her eyes narrowing on his and considering him carefully. Her fingers drum lightly on the table and Killian gets the impression that she’s working through some complex riddle in her head – a riddle, it seems, that she thinks he has the answer to.  Her thorough study is enough to send his mind racing, trying to think why his statement would draw such a reaction but before he can reach a conclusion, she tilts her head to the side, her voice low, “So you believe the betrayal hasn’t happened yet.”

It hits him then that she’s talking about the prophecy, a vague memory of Leroy mentioning something about a betrayal the night he found Emma in Arendelle.  He tries to think back to exactly what Leroy had said but the only clear memory he has of that night is the terrifying moment when Emma had collapsed at his feet.  

Regina must see his confusion and she chuckles.  “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

Killian chooses not to answer that because it seems his lack of knowledge has eased some of the tension in her shoulders and while he’d like nothing more than to throw it in her face, he doesn’t have a death wish.

“So, you weren’t close enough to my step-daughter and her husband to be privy to their plans but you were close enough to the princess that she trusts you – and not only trusts you, but has enough conviction in that trust to seek passage on a pirate ship?”

Again, he chooses not to answer, instead simply raising an eyebrow.

“Just who are you?”

Killian can tell she’s trying to act like it’s idle curiosity but he can see the wheels turning in her head and it makes foreboding settle into his stomach.  “I’m not sure you’d believe me even if I told you,” Killian evades, casually moving his hand closer to his sword.

“Well, you must have been a member of Snow’s court.  A duke, perhaps?  Or an earl? Or maybe you were a mere stable hand,” she adds with scorn, “but – it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? The only thing that matters now is that you seem to be a better choice than my pet over there.”

He catches her meaning instantly and tries to twist away but she’s too fast, her hand shooting out and boring into his chest.

Her cold fingers close around his heart in the same instant the magic bursts, the force of it colliding with Regina’s so strong that it sends him and everything nearby flying. There’s a ripping feeling as her hand leaves his body but it’s overshadowed in the next moment when he lands hard on the ground, hard enough to knock the wind out of him and leave his head reeling. Stunned, he struggles to stand, but his muscles are sluggish and protesting and he can't manage to get his legs under him before he's knocked back to the ground by the panicked horde of people scampering and shoving toward the door.

Someone's foot lands on his stomach and another makes hard contact on his hip but he can't even worry about that right now. The most pressing concern is whether his heart is still in his chest. He can hear it pounding in his ears and that gives him some relief but it’s not until Regina’s voice booms through the air, her words laced with fury that he knows for certain that it’s not in her possession.

“WHAT THE HELL!?!”

The outrage and volume of Regina’s shout causes the entire pub to stop moving and it’s only an instant later that every single window and door slams shut, trapping the remaining patrons inside. A quick glance around tells him that a good number of people made it out and he frantically looks for Emma in the mass of bodies. The task is easier than he’d anticipated when her face appears in front of him just as strong arms lift him from behind. A glance over his shoulder reveals Graham who immediately shoves Emma to the side with a whispered ‘stay back,’ and for a moment Killian feels a flash of anger at his old friend but it’s squashed in the next second when the mass of bodies starts moving again and the space between them and Regina clears.

She’s not in disguise anymore and whispers filter through the crowd as they press into the shadows. He can see Emma on the periphery of his vision being pulled further back by Patricia but he doesn’t look because Regina is walking straight for him, looking absolutely livid.

“How did you do that!?” Regina demands at the top of her voice.

The strength of her anger projects across the room along with her words and Killian feels it hit his chest.  He’s still reeling from his flight through the air and it’s only Graham holding him steady that keeps him from swaying on his feet.  He inhales deeply while the crowd watches with bated breath, everyone seemingly enraptured by the scene playing out before them. They’re separated into two main groups, one gathered at the front door and one at the back with a few scattered against the far wall underneath the windows. Jeff is standing on the edge of the group at the back door, just off to his left with his sword drawn but pointed to the ground.  Emma is to his right, subtly struggling against the grip Patricia still has on her.

“How did you do that?!” Regina demands again, but doesn’t give him a chance to answer before she goes on.  “That magic came from inside you!  It’s not possible! Just who the hell are you?”

Satisfaction fills Killian’s body at how enraged and insane the Evil Queen looks in that moment. She’s completely unhinged, her eyes wild and frantic but, underneath the intimidating exterior, Killian can also see fear – the panic-stricken terror she’s trying to hide.  

He can’t help but smile. This moment is going to be as rewarding as he always knew it would be.  It’s going to be worth all the hiding, all the secrets, and all the pain to witness her reaction when she finds out.  

“WHO. ARE. YOU?!”

“I thought you said it didn’t matter anymore,” he taunts.

The queen’s eyes darken dangerously, reaching into the folds of her skirt and pulling a glowing red heart from its depths.  She holds the heart out in front of her, and without looking away from Killian gives it a slight squeeze. “Who is he?” she snaps to Graham but the huntsman just grits his teeth and shakes his head.  

When her fingers contract harder over the heart, Jeff rushes forward, both he and Killian supporting Graham to keep him on his feet.  “WHO IS HE?”

Pushing Graham into Jeff’s arms, Killian steps between them and Regina, leveling an even gaze on her. “This is starting to feel a bit familiar, isn’t it, Your Majesty?”  

K&EK&EK&E

A chorus of gasps sound as Snow crumples to the floor, immediately followed by stunned silence as the apple falls from her hand and rolls ominously across the dais where it stops right in front of the Evil Queen.

But Killian’s eyes don’t follow the apple, they stay on his queen, Emma’s mother, the most gracious and kind woman he’s ever known.  She’s lying on her side next to the chest in an unnatural position and Killian’s eyes sting with tears.

No.  The word hammers in his head over and over again. No, no, NO!

He wants to go to her, at the very least straighten her neck from the awkward angle it landed in, but he's frozen to the spot, her final unspoken command ringing in his head.

His attention is drawn back to Regina a moment later when she makes a sound of utter rage and bends to pick up the apple, hurtling it across the room.  Then she stalks toward her fallen adversary, fury coming off her in waves that Killian swears makes the air harder to breathe.  But once she’s standing over Snow’s lax firm, she stops abruptly, her eyes widening as she inhales a sharp breath. “’One will sleep both night and day,’” he hears her whisper.  

Another inhuman sound leaves her mouth and she spins, lashing out at Snow’s throne and sending it crashing to the floor.  The resounding bang that follows echoes through the hall and makes even the black knights jump in fright and step back.

She’s completely insane after that, sending one thing after another sailing across the room, causing everyone else to duck or take cover to keep from getting hit.  Killian closes his eyes and braces for impact when a table comes flying at them but Liam and Jefferson manage to move him just in time.  Pain lances through his arm, making him see stars when Jefferson inadvertently brushes his wrist and he falls to his knees, cradling his maimed wrist to his chest while Jefferson and Liam hover over him, protecting him with their bodies.  They stay that way until the mayhem quiets and, when he risks opening his eyes again, Regina is leaning over while bracing her hands on the arm of the Emma’s throne.  

The sudden quiet is tense while everyone watches carefully for her next outburst, bracing themselves to run but not daring to move lest they draw her attention.  She takes several deep breaths before lifting her head in a sharp motion, turning to the prisoners with a wicked gleam in her eyes as she seems to realize something.

“He’s here,” she says softly.

“Excuse me, Your Majesty?” the one called Claude asks.

“He’s here,” she says again, louder this time.  “She wouldn’t have taken a bite of that apple to save herself, only to save another, which means he’s here.”

Straightening to her full height, she walks to the center of the men, looking at them with disdain. “Which of you is Killian Jones?” she barks.

Liam and Jefferson look to each other over his head but neither say a word, nor does anyone else.

At their silence, the Evil Queen opens a palm and produces a fireball out of thin air.  

“If Killian Jones does not make himself known to me, I will kill each and every one of you!” Regina shouts.

Still silence.

People are scattering in the next instant as Regina raises her hand to throw the fireball at one of the men, ducking behind tables and hiding behind columns and Liam takes advantage of the distraction to bend down in front of him, meeting his eyes with determined resolve.  “Not a word,” he whispers urgently, then he raises a hand and clamps it around the side of his neck, holding him there and giving him a small smile before adding, “I love you, little brother.”

Killian’s eyes widen as he realizes what his brother is about to do and he opens his mouth to protest, but before he can Liam turns away and steps into the middle of the room, announcing, “I am Killian Jones.”

There's a scream bubbling in Killian’s throat but it doesn’t make it past his lips, a whispered, “Don’t,” coming from Jefferson, making him gulp it down.  So Killian watches, frozen in place as Regina turns on Liam, the fireball in her hand extinguishing with a tightening of her fist. Slowly, she makes her way across the room, her eyes alight with maniacal glee as she studies his brother.

“So, the rumors were true,” she says in a velvety voice when she reaches him, extending a hand to run it down his chest, “Handsome.  It really is such a pity that a man of your… caliber… has to die.”  She lifts the hand and runs it along Liam’s cheek. “And those eyes…  they’re as piercing blue as I’ve been told.  Such a pity,” she repeats.

Liam says nothing, just stands straighter and clenches his jaw.

“And so noble,” the queen adds with mock admiration as she steps back and presses her hand over her chest.  “But I wonder,” she continues, narrowing her eyes and tapping a finger to her lips, “Are you honest?  Are you really him?”  Regina’s eyes snap to Graham.  “You’re the huntsman.  The Captain of Snow’s personal guard.  If anyone here knows who Killian Jones is, it’s you.”

Before Killian even has time to blink or consider what those words mean, she steps forward and plunges her hand into Graham’s chest, wrenching a startled gasp from him.  His friend’s mouth falls open and his eyes widen as the queen yanks her hand back, clutching his still beating heart in her hand.

K&EK&EK&E

Regina's eyes narrow, the glowing red heart beating frantically in her palm. “If you remember that day, you know I can make him tell me.”

“I remember it perfectly. The question is:  Do you?”

“Of course I remember! Snow thought she could outsmart me, but it didn't work.  She ate that apple and I still won.”

Emma releases a small gasp that he prays Regina doesn’t notice just as magic starts gathering in his stomach.  He knows she’ll be angry later but he tamps it down because she can’t reveal herself yet.  They’ve got to get Graham’s heart first.  If they don’t, the man is as good as dead.  

Killian directs his attention back to Regina, taking immense pleasure in the tinge of madness in her eyes. “Did you, Your Majesty?  Did you win?”

“You were there!  You saw me crush Killian Jones’ heart!”

Killian doesn’t answer and Regina’s eyes switch to Graham, realization starting to flicker across her features.  “I crushed his heart!  I pulled it from his chest and turned it to dust in my hand!”

No one answers but Graham walks forward to stand to Killian’s right, a satisfied smile lighting his face.  At the same time, Jeff comes to a stop on Killian’s left.  Regina glances between the three of them, her chest heaving. “You couldn’t have lied!” she yells at Graham, “I was holding your heart!  You couldn’t have lied!”

She sounds nearly hysterical now and Graham takes another step.  Killian is tempted to pull him back but there’s something about the set of Graham’s shoulders that stops him.  He knows what he’s doing – after all, he’s been defying Regina right under her nose for years now.  He’d helped Emma escape, kept Killian’s secret, done god only knows what because the Evil Queen had ordered him to, and that’s not even mentioning the fact that he’s the one in the most danger at this very moment.

Graham stops a few feet away from Regina.  “Think back to that day, Regina,” he says softly.  “Do you remember what you asked me?”

The Evil Queen’s eyes drop to the floor, her brow furrowing.  It takes several strained heartbeats but when her eyes fly back to him, there's panic and understanding in them.

Graham smiles.  “I didn’t have to lie.”

K&EK&EK&E

Graham falls to his knees and Liam rushes forward to catch him.  

“You don’t need confirmation,” Liam yells desperately, “I am Killian Jones!”  

“We’ll see about that, sailor,” she says, seemingly intent on studying the heart in her hand while she absently motions for two black knights to separate Liam from Graham. Liam struggles furiously against their hold, grunting and twisting as he's pulled away, but he can't get free.

Once Liam is no longer blocking her path, the Evil Queen changes her attention from Graham’s heart to his face, leaning over to line up their eyes and giving the heart a small squeeze.  Graham winces and grits his teeth but not a single sound escapes.

“Is he?” she asks quietly, almost gently, “Is he Killian Jones?”

Graham doesn't reply, his eyes filled with fury when he squares his shoulders and boldly stares down the Evil Queen.

"More nobility," she comments, straightening and stepping back.  "Resistance is pointless, you know.  You will answer."

Graham shakes his head even as he winces again at the way Regina tightens her grip on his heart.

Wincing himself, Killian looks to Liam who is staring hard at Graham, both arms held tightly behind him by one of the knights. When Liam's eyes shift to his, he sees fear in them but he doesn't make a move or say anything.

"Is that man Killian Jones!?" Regina shouts and Liam directs his gaze back to Graham.  

But Killian doesn't look, he keeps staring at his brother, his heart pounding in his ears.

It won’t work! Killian wants to yell, the queen is going to find out the truth and when she does, they’re all going to die!   She’ll kill Liam for lying and everyone else for helping him.  She just said that she’d know a lie while holding someone’s heart. Graham is a strong man but he won’t be able to resist forever…

“ANSWER ME!” she commands.

Killian only barely notices Graham's grunt of pain or the way he falls forward onto his hands, too busy straining against Jefferson's grip. He won't speak, he gave his word, but he's got to do something.  Everyone in this room is about to die because of him, but when he tries to break free his body betrays him and his head swims at the exertion, a wave of dizziness nearly sending him to his knees.  It's only Jefferson's arm around his waist that keeps him from falling, squeezing warningly even as he pulls him back.

His body sags, pain and fever threatening to pull him under and a dizzy haze filling his mind that blurs what's happening around him while he struggles to remain conscious. He can tell the queen is becoming more outraged by the way her voice raises, he can hear Graham's agony filled shouts of pain as he continues to resist, but the actual words don't register.

Why are they even bothering? he wonders in despair as blood rushes to his ears and blocks out everything.  He already feels like he's dying.  They shouldn't even be trying to save him.  There's an excellent chance this fever will kill him either way.

It's the jolt of Jefferson catching him as he nearly crumbles to the floor that brings him back to consciousness and he opens his eyes to meet Liam's across the room.  His brother's look is hard, carrying a message that Killian can practically hear shouting in his head.  He’s telling him not to die.  He’s telling him to fight, that there's something bigger going on here and he's got to survive.  

Somehow, Killian nods to his brother, and the clear relief he sees on Liam's face fills him with such determination that he starts to feel his strength return, the world sharpening back into focus and the blood clearing from his ears.  

Turning back to Regina, undiluted rage rockets through him just as Regina shouts again, “IS THAT MAN JONES!?”

Graham slumps instantly at the question, seemingly giving up the fight, but Killian knows better. Then, the huntsman raises his head to the queen, pain still riddling his features as he grounds out the word, “Yes.”

She didn’t ask if it was Killian Jones, just ‘Jones.’

It’s not a lie.

Killian feels a mix of satisfaction and agony flush through his body.  Satisfaction that they have managed to thwart the Evil Queen and agony because he knows what’s going to happen next.  

Regina looks positively giddy when she straightens.  “Thank you,” she says to Graham in a sickeningly sweet tone, holding his heart out to the black knight to her left.  “I think I’ll keep this,” she says of his heart, “It might come in handy.”

The queen turns on Liam in the next second even as the other prisoners all start yelling things at her back.  

Killian is struggling again.  He won't speak, he knows there's no way to stop what's about to happen, but his body acts instinctively because he can’t just bloody stand here and watch his brother die for him but –

But Liam doesn’t struggle, he doesn’t run. He stands straight and tall as the queen approaches, his voice full of conviction when he speaks his final words. “My princess will destroy you.”

Liam’s calm faith and utter belief makes Killian still and even the Evil Queen's step falters for one second.  

“Not now, she won’t,” she replies, quickly closing the remaining distance and sinking her fist into his chest.  Liam’s eyes land on Killian as the queen yanks out his heart and an instant later he collapses to the floor.  

Dead.

K&EK&EK&E

Regina shakes her head in disbelief.  

It can't be.  It just can't! The moment of her greatest victory cannot, now, be the moment of her most devastating defeat!

But…

But the pirate has blue eyes – bright, smug-filled blue eyes – that are glittering with an air of cool triumph that no one else in the realm has dared level on her in years.  And the princess… she has her magic now.  And Merlin said only Killian Jones could unlock it. And he'd been in Arendelle… the first place she’s sure the princess had used her magic.  And he's been her most persistent adversary… the most illusive…. the most mysterious… and…

And it can't be true but...

But when he raises his eyebrow at a cocky angle, when those intense blue eyes sparkle in mockery, when his pristinely white teeth flash in victory, she knows.

“You're – ”

His grin widens into a full-fledged smile. “I’m Killian Jones.”

[seriouslyhooked]

Some Call It Magic (A CS AU) Part 6/?

When Killian Jones moves to Storybrooke he instantly senses something strange about this little town in Maine but he’s willing to overlook all the bizarre signs for one reason: the single Mum living next door to him. There’s only one problem. Killian is nearly positive she’s a witch, a brewing potions and casting spells witch. But when true love is involved, does a little thing like magical powers really matter? Story rated M.

Part 1 Here, Part 2 Here, Part 3 Here, Part 4 Here, Part 5 Here. Also On FF Here.

A/N: Okay all, so I am back with the next chapter of ‘Some Call It Magic’ and I am very excited for it because it brings the first date. I know it’s been a while, but it’s a bit longer to make up for the gap in updates. It’s also the first chapter that is almost exclusively Emma and Killian alone with each other, and that in itself was such a treat to delve into. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you all think!

Fretting over what to wear had never been Emma Swan’s style. Since she was a kid she’d never felt that inclination to linger on her fashion choices, not just because she didn’t have much in the ways of a wardrobe when she was in the system, but because it didn’t seem very practical to her. At the end of the day, did it really matter if she chose a black dress over a red one or wedges over heels? She never thought so, and yet here she was, staring at her closet and desperately seeking some kind of inspiration for the night ahead.

“Come on, there’s gotta be something,” Emma muttered aloud, looking through the same slim pickings she’d had for so long and wishing that she’d had the foresight to go out and shop for something new and different.

It just didn’t feel right to wear something ordinary this evening even if she had no idea where Killian and her were going. From what Emma knew about Killian, she trusted that whatever he had planned would be intimate and romantic. He just seemed like the kind of guy who managed to pull off amazing first dates, and that was part of the reason Emma was stressing out so badly now, because her track record with dating was anything but pristine. In fact, she might just have one of the worst (and most limited) relationship histories of anyone she knew, and that was really saying something.

But just as defeat was about to wash over her and Emma was seconds away from throwing on any old thing, she noticed a garment in the back of her closet that eluded her before. It was a dress she didn’t recognize in a soft pink shade that was highly unusual for Emma’s typical wares. Honestly it was hard to imagine that she’d ever bought the dress, and she wracked her brain trying to think of a moment when she’d ever seen something so soft and elegant and thought she should buy it or had been gifted a dress by anyone she knew. The garment very clearly did not belong, but for whatever reason Emma’s instincts were telling her that this was the answer to those silent prayers she’d been sending up for the past hour.

With a speed she hadn’t utilized since coming upstairs to get ready for this evening, Emma put on the dress and found that not only did it fit perfectly, but it felt beautiful on her as well. There was comfort here even in its higher quality and Emma appreciated that. The last thing she wanted was something stiff and formal, and even though she took in her appearance after doing up her hair and makeup and almost felt like another person was staring back at her, Emma’s hope that she might just have found the perfect fit grew and filled her heart with a gorgeous sense of anticipation that had been lacking thanks to all of her ensemble worries.

Emma tried to think back on all of her past experiences when it came to dating, and she honestly couldn’t recall a moment when she’d ever felt like this, with butterflies beginning to get the best of her and filling her with this restless energy that had no clear outlet. She knew she certainly had never felt these kind of nerves or this excitement for a date before, and even when she’d been seeing Henry’s father (which was her one semi-solid and totally committed relationship), she had felt more excitement at not being alone than excitement about the man himself.

But things with Killian were different clearly. The past few weeks had shown that time and time again, and Emma had slowly come around to the fact that she couldn’t group him in with all the other men she’d known before him. It wasn’t fair to either of them for her to hold him to those past standards, and it was also very freeing to do away with those old conceptions. With Killian everything felt so new and possible, and for once in her romantic life Emma wanted to give into that and to trust that there wasn’t some other shoe that was going to drop or red flags she was missing. She only hoped that this date would prove that little bit of faith well worth it and help more appear so this wouldn’t just be a one-time thing.

Carrying this sense of resolution and all of that flurry of emotion that came with first date jitters with her, Emma moved down the stairs from her room to where Henry and Elsa were waiting, hoping beyond hope that they wouldn’t make this a huge deal of this. The last thing Emma wanted was too much attention because it would just compound her nerves about all of this, but at the same time who was she kidding? There would obviously be some response, and the best thing to do was toughen up and ready herself for whatever was about to come her way.

“Oh Emma, you look wonderful!” Elsa announced happily when Emma entered the living room, and though Emma knew her friend was holding back to the best of her ability, there was a clear level of glee on display in her expression.

If Elsa thought for even a second that she was hiding her delight at Emma’s date tonight, she was dead wrong, but Emma had to appreciate the effort on her friend’s part. In fact, Elsa was doing much better than Emma had anticipated since there was no jumping up and down, avid applause, or happy tears being demonstrated in this moment. As far as Emma was concerned, this could be considered a substantial victory on the part of her friend.

“You think so?” Emma asked, taking a look back down at the outfit she’d finally chosen and twirling slightly as she did. It was a moment of insecurity for her, but Elsa was fast to put those worries to rest.

“Definitely! Killian’s going to lose it when he sees you,” Elsa promised and Emma smiled at the thought, kind of enjoying the idea that Killian would be as worked up about all of this as she was feeling right now.

“Say cheese, Mom!” Henry said suddenly from where he popped up behind the couch, surprising Emma with the action, but before she could reply her son was clicking the button on the polaroid camera he’d gotten for his last birthday and taking her picture.

“I didn’t realize a simple date merited a photo shoot,” Emma said and Henry’s grin grew wider as he pulled the photo out to wave it around and make it develop faster.

“Who said it’s going to be simple? I bet Killian’s got lots of good stuff lined up.”

Emma looked her son up and down trying to size him up, but Henry had developed just as good of a poker face as she had. He was so hard to read when he wanted to be and Emma couldn’t tell if this was just his positive outlook on life or if he’d gleamed some information about her outing tonight from Killian already. Either way Emma didn’t really mind and she wanted to enjoy the easy back and forth with her son a little longer since it was a good distraction from all of her thoughts at the moment.

“But a photo for a first date? That seems kind of excessive…” Emma taunted and Henry shrugged.

“Who knows maybe it’ll be your last first date.”

Henry’s claim prompted Emma to face a slight moment of dueling emotion. On the one hand she really liked the sound of this date being that important, and on the other she was worried that Henry was building up his hopes to high. There was nothing set in stone about this relationship despite Emma’s ever growing feelings for their new neighbor, and this was just a reminder that she wasn’t the only one who could potentially get hurt. Henry’s feelings were at risk here too, and Emma’s first instinct would always be to protect her little boy.

“Besides you look pretty, Mom, and I thought you might want to remember that.”

It was hard to deny the heartwarming element of that compliment from her son, and Emma did not miss the tiny ‘aww’ that emanated from Elsa across the room, but there was more to all of this than simply commemorating the moment, and Emma noticed a slip in Henry’s façade that gave him away. Then she did the math about what else could possibly motivate her son to take a picture of her in this state, and she came up with a highly probable likelihood: someone had put him up to this.

“How much are you getting?” Emma asked and Henry had the good sense to look a little embarrassed at being caught in his slight bit of deception, but Emma took comfort in the fact that he immediately came clean to her, not even trying to hide the truth in any way.

“Ruby said she’d pay me twenty bucks if I got a picture before you left.”

Now that Emma could totally believe, and though Emma had denied her best friend’s offer to watch Henry tonight, opting instead to ask Elsa since she was the most laid back of the friends (which wasn’t saying very much), Emma knew that the second she left there would be a mass migration of her friends to this house. For whatever reason they all just couldn’t help themselves, and Emma wouldn’t be surprise if they were still here when she got home too, waiting up to see the end of a date that they were almost more excited for than she was.

“My son the paparazzi. How quickly your allegiance shifts,” Emma joked as she ran a hand through Henry’s hair and looked down at the picture he had taken. It actually wasn’t a bad shot all things considered, but Emma did have that moment that she’d had before when looking in the mirror in her room where she wondered if that woman could really be her. This person staring back at her seemed so hopeful and not jaded. It was a strange thing to come to terms with.

“Don’t worry, I already told Ruby I wouldn’t take any of you and Killian together. She offered big money for that shot, but I told her we should play it cool.”

Emma laughed at Henry’s very astute observations, and she sent thanks up to the universe that even her ten year old understood there were in fact some lines of normalcy in the world. It was just funny to Emma that a grown woman like Ruby was less interested in rules of decorum than a little boy was.

“Well thanks, kid. I appreciate that,” Emma said and Henry’s smile grew all the wider.

“Besides, if we give it a couple of dates it won’t be so weird. Then I can take all the pictures I want.”

And there it was again, the flare up of awareness that Emma always seemed to find when there were expectations placed on this budding relationship with Killian. Suddenly those butterflies from earlier began to sour some and the hope that was building all day in anticipation was undercut with the old naggings of her cynical mind that she had to be smart and listen to her head over her heart. Yet thankfully before Emma could wade too far back into the mire of those thoughts, the doorbell rang, alerting them all of someone’s presence at the house.

Oh shit he’s here! Emma thought to herself as she froze in the doorway. She was too hyped up to even think of moving at this point, but soon enough an external nudge came to push her into action.

“Go on Mom. It’ll be great, you’ll see.”

With Henry’s words to urge her on, Emma found herself smiling and pulling the door open to reveal Killian who somehow looked even better dressed up than he had in all the casual ways Emma had seen him up to now. Emma hadn’t thought that was even possible, but here she was gaping at him and failing rather miserably to keep her appreciative thoughts private. That sorry fact was clear enough when Killian threw a knowing smirk her way, but in the end Emma didn’t care about her momentary pause. She was so distracted by the man before her, that she simply didn’t give a damn.

“You look stunning, Swan.”

Damn it had his voice even gotten sexier in the past twenty-four hours? Emma felt like it must have because as it washed over her she felt a shiver of desire running through her.

“Thank you,” she mumbled back before waving her hand and trying to extend a similar compliment. “And you look…”

“I know,” he said teasing her and Emma had to love that slight sense of cockiness, not only because it was playful, but because Killian had purposefully used it to make her feel more comfortable. Emma wasn’t sure how she could be so certain of that, but she felt it to be true, and she appreciated it just as much as she did the bouquet of flowers he handed her in an utterly romantic gesture that Emma was far from used to.

“Oh, um, this is really nice but you didn’t need to get me anything,” Emma said, knowing she was lacking the cool she usually prided herself on and fighting hard not to go red in the process. It was just that no one had ever given her flowers before, aside from maybe Henry when he they made their trips to the meadows in the spring time or when they were gardening out back. This was different from Emma’s past experiences, and though it was one of those cheesy first date expectations, Emma found that she loved receiving them all the same.

“Need had nothing to do with it, love. I just wanted to get something worthy of you, but I should have known nothing ever could be.”

His words floated through the air holding a pitch and tone of total honesty that had Emma smiling again and finally giving into that kiss of crimson against her cheeks. Killian was really good at this whole flattery thing, and Emma was half a second from telling him he didn’t need to even try. She was already interested in him more than she ever had been in another man, and the more thoughtful things he did, the worse her infatuation was bound to become.

“Hi Killian!” Henry’s voice said from further inside the house, and the interruption had Killian’s eyes leaving Emma’s as he turned to greet her son with a genuine smile. Emma watched his honestly happy reaction to seeing Henry and her heart skipped again before she turned to look at her son too.

“Good evening, lad. Hope you don’t mind me stealing your Mum away for a few hours.”

“Are you kidding? This is great! Elsa and I are getting pizza and watching Indiana Jones.”

“Is that right?” Killian asked before nodding over to Elsa in greeting and offering his thanks for her watching Henry tonight. “Which one have you selected, might I ask?”

“Raiders of the Lost Ark, duh,” Henry said and everyone ended up laughing at his clear disdain for the thought that he’d watch any other in the series.

“Henry and I are also going into town to get a little ice cream after pizza,” Elsa filled in. “So we’re really living it up tonight.”

Emma could acknowledge that was true, and it made her feel better about going out at all. She knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Henry would be well cared for and thoroughly entertained tonight and that lessened many of her reservations in and of itself.

“And I get to stay up an extra hour,” Henry added easily.

That last claim was a transparent ploy to get a postponed bedtime and Emma had to try hard not to openly laugh again at her son’s antics, especially when his eyes looked to her with a pleading earnestness she was used to from her kid. It was hard to say no to that face, especially when he gave her such a relatively easy time of being a parent, but lines had to be drawn, even if Emma was willing to negotiate a little bit.

“Half an hour, and only if you promise not to give Elsa a hard time when bed time does roll around,” Emma replied and Henry beamed up at her like he’d gotten exactly what he wanted.

“Deal! So… where are you guys going?” Henry asked and Emma looked back to Killian, intrigued to find that out herself but Killian only smirked and shook his head.

“Nice try mate, but I’m afraid that remains a secret, at least for now. I do promise to have your mother home at a reasonable hour though.”

Emma couldn’t tell if she was happy for that because of Henry’s clear sense of comfort from the comment, or a little disappointed. Of course it was a first date, and as such nothing could – or rather should – really happen, but Emma also didn’t like the idea of this night ending even though it hadn’t even gotten its chance to really begin yet.

“Drats,” Henry mumbled and this time it was Killian who laughed while Emma stood there slightly mortified until he filled in. “Sorry, but Ruby told me I’d get an extra ten bucks if I knew where you guys were going.”

“I expected as much,” Killian replied easily, which of course set Emma to worrying that her friends had been giving Killian a hard time this week, but before she could spiral into that kind of mentality, Killian surprised her by reaching out for her hand and intertwining their fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world to do despite their audience. “But not to worry lad, I’ll be sure to make it up to you somehow.”

That promise of course set everything to right with Henry, and the next thing she knew, Emma found herself leaving the house with one final farewell to Henry and Elsa before Killian led her to his car, opening her door like a proper gentleman would. It was incredibly foreign to Emma all of this politeness and good manners, but the rest of this felt familiar, especially the fact that she and Killian always seemed to have this kind of comfort together where words came easily and silences were never awkward.

“So Henry seemed okay with this from all appearances,” Killian said at one point, motioning to the two of them with his right hand as he did and Emma smiled.

“’Okay’ is putting it mildly,” Emma said before deciding to divulge that whole photo incident to Killian who only smiled and laughed at her son’s ambush.

“He’s a smart lad. I’ll have to thank him for that later.”

“Oh?” Emma asked in a teasing way. “And why’s that?”

“Because even if he was a little mercenary in his motivations, he had the foresight to capture an image of you tonight and that’s something to be valued.”

“Sounds like you’re telling me you like the way I look,” Emma flirted, hoping she was doing it right. After so many years of not caring about interacting like this with anyone it was hard to be totally sure.

“I’m saying you’re nothing less than beautiful, Swan, and anyone who would deny that is either blind, a fool, or both.”

Well that was quite a statement, and though Emma had been overwhelmed by Killian saying she looked stunning earlier she hadn’t really had the chance to respond in any way. Now, however, she did, and she chose to couple her words with action too, taking Killian’s free hand in hers again and linking them once more as he had when they were back at the house.

“So this is a destination date then?” Emma asked as they passed the sign saying they were about to leave Storybrooke, and Killian shot a glance her way that lit something up inside her that was happy and warm and bright.

“Aye, love. We haven’t far to go, but I thought it might be best to try something away from too many nosey neighbors.”

Thank God, Emma thought to herself at his words and then she ended up smiling thinking about how much relief that little bit of distance would bring her.

It wasn’t that she wanted to be far from home, per se, but Emma did appreciate that they’d be out of the Storybrooke bubble in which all happenings were fair game for the gossip mill the next morning. Since Emma and Killian had been on the minds of people for weeks, she could only imagine how much more fodder the town would have if their first date was some kind of public spectacle.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a genius?” Emma asked and Killian laughed at that, his thumb running over her knuckles lightly as he did and sending a zing of awareness through her.

“I wouldn’t go that far, Swan. I’d just say that as a man who has waited so long for this chance, I couldn’t bear the thought of interruption.”

Killian’s words made it seem like he had been waiting for the opportunity at a date with Emma longer than the few weeks that he’d lived here, and though it was kind of crazy, Emma could relate to that. Maybe it had to do with that sense of recognition that she always felt with him, but when she let her hope win out, her instincts were constantly telling Emma that Killian just might be him, the person she’d been waiting for to make the world she already loved so much truly complete.

When the car crawled to a stop just a few moments later, Emma was still fixated on Killian and trying to make heads or tales about whether a man like him could actually be real, but when she looked through the windshield and saw their destination all of her excited adrenaline returned. For there they were in front of a place she actually knew very well and already had a fair many fond memories of.

“You know about this place?” Emma asked as Killian stepped around the car to get her door and he chuckled, scratching just behind his ear in a slightly bashful way.

“I do now. I take it you’ve been here before,” Killian replied and Emma nodded, her gaze returning back to the structure before them.

Locksley Observatory was a relatively well known spot to visit in the area thanks to its being open to the public most weekends and its unique proximity to the sea, but perhaps the most enthralling part of the whole locale wasn’t the observatory itself, but the manor house, aka the ‘Castle By the Sea’ that also lay on the same property. The manor belonged to a very wealthy family who spent most of their time in bigger cities far from here, but this was their summer home, and every once in a while when Emma had been here with Henry there were notices that the family was at home so visiting hours might be slightly different. Emma had never been inside of there though, and when she realized that Killian wasn’t heading around back to the observatory but to the house itself she was shocked.

“Wait, we’re going in the castle?” Emma asked stunned and Killian nodded. “How did you possibly pull that off?”

“It’s amazing what a reporter can do when he calls in a half a dozen favors,” Killian joked and Emma just shook her head not fully understanding, but then when they reached the front walk way of the house Killian stopped, raising her hand up to his lips to kiss gently. The action was so intimate and set Emma’s heart fluttering in her chest, but that was only compounded by Killian’s continued words. “I was thinking we might explore the place together, Emma. Or if not we could always -,”

“This is good!” Emma responded almost too eagerly and when Killian’s wry grin appeared again Emma tried to regain some composure. “I mean you’ve gone to all the trouble…”

“There was nothing even close to trouble in planning any of this Emma, not when it was done in the service of an evening with you.”

What was a girl to say to something that sweet? The truth was that Emma didn’t know, so she followed her instincts, taking a step towards him and closing the space between them to press a gentle kiss upon his lips.

The kiss was reserved and restrained in a way, a bare brushing to be honest, but it still held all the magic Emma had been dreaming of since meeting Killian, and the best part was that when she stepped away Killian looked just as lost in all of this as she felt. Because in that moment Emma knew they were truly in this together, and she was filled with an unwavering faith that tonight was going to be everything she’d been hoping for and more.

………………..

If Killian had walked into this evening with a series of hopes for what a first date with Emma Swan might bring, they had all been exceeded the moment that the two of them arrived here at this estate for their night out together. Even all this time later, after the two of them had explored a bit of this vast and unusual manor house (that was apparently the stuff of legend in this area), and then sat down to a flawlessly crafted dinner made by a chef far more talented than he, Killian was still reeling from just how glorious this all had been.

It started in the moment when he first arrived at Emma’s doorstep, taking her in in all her splendor and finding her even more entrancing than she had been in all their previous interludes together. But then that kiss at the doorway to the castle, that tiny taste of what their connection might bring if given the chance, had upended everything in the most delicious of ways. It was impossible for Killian not to be on cloud nine in the sight of such a flawless moment, and he truly felt all through this first segment of their night together like he’d accomplished something amazing in having secured Emma’s good opinion.

For Killian though, he was just happy that all of this had worked out in his favor. In retrospect navigating through an old house might not have been the most romantic idea for a first date, but Killian’s fears about his potential missteps were quickly done away with when he saw Emma’s genuine curiosity flourish and grow. She saw this all the way he’d envisioned while planning, as an adventure for the two of them to go on together before settling down into the more expected candlelit dinner a proper date should have. In fact, Emma had been almost childlike in her wonder and excitement in the face of the secret passageways and the giant library this place had to offer.

In truth the whole evening so far had imparted upon Killian a chance to see Emma in a totally unguarded situation for the first time, and to say that she was lovely in such an honest and carefree state of mind was simple fact. There truly was not another creature in Killian’s whole acquaintance who could even begin to compare to Emma Swan, and though he’d been sure that he wanted more with Emma even before this date began, the seamless nature of their night together and their easy connection all evening long was the proof he needed to know that he was all in with this woman and with the future they might be able to find together.

“So you never did end up telling me how you stumbled upon this place,” Emma observed when they’d both finished their dessert and were moving hand in hand to the observatory across the estate.

Killian took the opportunity to look back at Emma when she said the words, loving the sight of her wearing his jacket though the night around them was amazingly mild for a September’s eve. She was a vision in that delicate dress of hers, but seeing her wrapped up in something of his fed that need inside of Killian to lay claim to Emma somehow. It was a primitive want, but he couldn’t seem to shake it, and though he’d never had that need to see another woman marked as his before, he wanted that chance with Emma now just like he wanted the chance to be seen as hers by anyone and everyone.

“There was limited stumbling involved, love. It simply took a little digging into what kind of treasures this part of the world had to offer.”

Killian went on to explain the train of people he’d been in contact with to get all of this together, but the main person in his arsenal of aid and assistance was his good friend Will Scarlet, a man he’d met back in New York who ran in the same circles of the Locksley family. Killian then laid out to Emma his and Will’s rather interesting history and the unique kind of bond that had sprouted between them despite the vastly different circumstances of their lives. Will was from money, essentially born to inherit an empire without really doing much of anything (though he kept himself busy with a literacy foundation he’d started in his family’s name years back), and Killian was a go-getter who’d had to earn everything he ever got.

“He sounds like quite the character,” Emma said with a laugh as Killian recounted the interesting ways that Will was a walking contradiction and a few more of their more interesting stories that had transpired over the years of their friendship.

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Killian replied with an easy smile. “But I gather you’ll eventually get to see for yourself.”

“Really?” Emma asked with a sense of surprise.

“Aye, love. I was told in no uncertain terms to expect a visit sometime soon so that Scarlet can see the woman all of this could be for.”

Even in the fading light of the day around them Killian could see that subtle flush that came to Emma’s complexion. It always fascinated him that she reacted this way to his compliments, because he assumed that she must be so used to receiving them, but somehow he knew that she wasn’t. Emma was a woman who didn’t give herself or the details of her thoughts and her life away easily, but for some reason she’d chosen to let him in a little bit, and just that small opening was enough to keep Killian trying for everything she was willing to give.

“Well I hope I don’t disappoint,” Emma said with a shaky laugh and Killian squeezed her hand a little tighter, drawing her eyes back up to his.

“You could never, Emma. It simply isn’t possible.”

A beat past between Emma and Killian and the air between them grew thick with all the building chemistry that had been building up since their first meeting. In this instant Killian felt compelled to lay the whole truth out there for her now. Emma should know the depth of his regard for her and about how he was already well past the feelings of a mere first date in his heart. He wanted every card out there on the table, and yet the words wouldn’t come. Instead all Killian could do was marvel at this woman and his good fortune to even be here with her at all.

“You’re a real charmer, you know that?” Emma asked then, clearly trying to rise above the more intimate moment with a jest and Killian laughed, allowing her to deflect a little if it made her more comfortable, all the while knowing that the current of need between them still remained.

“Is that a bad thing, Swan?” he asked and Emma pretended to consider before smiling again.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she joked, but Killian knew that she had decided and that her being here with him still was the testament to that. Emma wouldn’t draw this night out if she wasn’t interested him. She didn’t play games and Killian knew she hadn’t proposed the idea of this date lightly, so her being here meant that she’d seen something worthy in him, overly charming tendencies and all.

By now they’d reached the edge of the path from the house and there were two directions that the two of them could move towards. One was the beach, and the other the observatory. Since there was still enough light around them from the sinking sun, Killian wondered at the merits of going on the beach, but he decided to keep his same course that he’d laid forth all night. He would leave the power up to Emma and wherever she went he would eagerly follow.

“Where to next, love?”

Emma hesitated at the crossroads for a moment, clearly grappling with the choices before her before she silently bent lower to take off her shoes, signaling a walk on the sands was about to happen. That was all Killian needed as indication to do the same thing and the next thing he knew they were out there on the beach, feeling that subtle coastal breeze as the last of the day’s light began to fade.

“Henry and I have a tradition,” Emma said as they moved on the sands taking in the view. “Every time we come here we have to find a shell to bring back home.”

“Any particular kind we’re looking for?” Killian asked and Emma shook her head.

“Nope. Any shell works, but it has to be whole. That’s the only rule.”

“I take it you’ve been here a number of times then, love. How vast is this collection you two have amassed might I ask?” Killian inquired as he split his time between looking for a suitable shell for Henry and gazing upon Emma whose hair fluttered in the wind, sending her sweet scent of blossoms and vanilla his way.

“Oh we’ve got dozens of shells at the house,” Emma admitted. “We come here a lot. It’s always been a special place for Henry and I. That’s part of why I was so surprised when we got here. I thought for sure that someone must have told you about it.”

“Alas they did not,” Killian confessed. “But if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is it that makes this place so important? I mean aside from the clearly superior coastline and the easy access to a world class telescope.”

Emma laughed at his summary of what the observatory offered before bending down to pick up a purple shell that while almost pristine had the tiniest chip on the upper rim. She tossed it back to the sand gently, keeping up the search before answering Killian’s question.

“This was one of the first places Henry and I ever came to when we moved here. It was a week after we got to Storybrooke, and let’s just say I was overwhelmed by the town and the neighbors and the general aura of happy, open, well-adjusted people.”

Killian could readily understand that. It had taken him aback when he first arrived in town, and as someone who’d never experienced anything like the feel of a tightly-knit small town community before, he could only imagine what it had been like for Emma to try and assimilate. Couple that with the fact that she would have felt a determination to protect her son above all else and it was the makings of a real migraine to say the least.

“I was still doubting whether it was right to come here at all. I didn’t really know what to do. I wanted to believe that Storybrooke could be the kind of place Henry and I needed after relocating from the life we’d had before, but I needed proof that if we did this then everything would really be as good as people said it would be.”

“You’re one of those seeing is believing people I take it,” Killian said.

“How could you tell?” Emma said with a bit of sarcasm that wasn’t biting but playful.

“Because I can recognize the signs. In my line of work you have to see the evidence before you jump to the conclusion. You can’t just craft the story to suit your tastes. You need every piece of the puzzle to be certain of anything.”

“Exactly,” Emma said clearly glad that he understood her. “And I wanted that back then so I was struggling.”

“What ended up changing your mind?” Killian asked.

“Henry of course,” Emma admitted, smiling at the thought of her son as she did. “We came here and he was so happy. Between the beach and the telescopes it was like Christmas for him, and I couldn’t understand it because what started as a sunny day turned into a total wash. There were clouds everywhere and you couldn’t even see the stars so what was the point? But he just looked at me and said that clouds don’t stay in the sky forever, and the stars would be back, we just had to be patient. I know he was just talking about the weather, but I figured if my four year old could have faith, then I could try too.”

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you’ve a brilliant boy on your hands with that one, love. I’ve never met a lad like him before. He doesn’t forget a thing and he’s always got another ten questions up his sleeve. It’s a real joy to see and to spend time with him… and with his mother.”

Killian didn’t know what he expected when he gave his honest assessment of Henry’s abilities to Emma. Perhaps he’d thought she’d smile or laugh or offer another funny tidbit about the voracity of her kid, but instead she looked almost stricken, as if Killian had inflicted some sort of wound on her when that was so far from his intention.

“Look, Killian, tonight’s been… well it’s been wonderful, way better than any first date has a right to be, but I have to be honest with you: this thing between us, it would never just be between us. You understand that, right?” Emma asked and though Killian was still a little lost from her sudden change of tone he nodded, giving Emma leave to keep speaking. “I have more than myself to think about here. I have to think of Henry and what getting into something serious would mean for him.”

A trickling of understanding began to seep through Killian’s consciousness and it sent a cold chill through his body. Emma was trying to push him back after this evening that they’d shared together and it was a terrible thing to consider. Tonight had been a hint at only the beginning of what he was starting to want with Emma, and if this was all they were every going to have because she couldn’t trust him… well it might just break Killian’s heart.

“What are you saying, Swan?” Killian asked, hating that he needed to hear her say it when her words would have the power to wreck him completely. Emma in response closed her eyes and took a deep breath before exhaling it and looking back at him.

“I’m saying that this scares me – you scare me. I don’t do this, Killian. I don’t get close to people like this because I know what it’s liked to be burned and to have nothing but scars and heartache to show for it. I know what it’s like to let someone in only for everything to go wrong and for people to get hurt, and as a mother I never want to put Henry through that. I don’t ever want him to know what that’s like.”

“I would never do anything to hurt you or Henry, Emma, you must know that,” Killian said reaching back for her and taking some comfort in the fact that Emma didn’t resist his advances. Instead her hand came up to rest against his chest, and her body leaned a tad closer to him, telling Killian that even if her mind was resisting, her body was succumbing to that same truth and need that he’d given way to almost from the first moment they met.

“I do,” Emma whispered, causing Killian’s heart to beat painfully in his chest. He felt hope stirring once more, but this was still too volatile a situation to make heads or tails of. “But…”

“But nothing,” Killian said, hating to interrupt her but needing her to see that he meant this and he wasn’t willing to give up their chance without a fight. “No one can tell the future Emma, and I can’t promise you exactly what will come, but I can swear to you that I’m not the kind of man who toys with people I care about, and I care about you and about Henry more than I can say. So whatever you think will change things, whether it’s just fate’s design, or circumstance, or something else that you’re not telling me, I’m letting you know right now that I am in this. No matter what comes I’ll be here.”

That was already quite the profession, and Killian could tell that it was a lot for Emma to take in. Her green eyes had widened considerably, and he could see the swirling of emotion within them giving away how overwhelmed she was, but the fear from before was quickly fading, and Killian believed that now was the time to lay it all out there. How else, after all, was this woman to trust him with whatever it was she was keeping tucked away from him if he wasn’t willing to trust her in return?

“I know you have doubts love, but I know who you are. I know you Emma, and nothing is going to dissuade me from the fact that this, scary and unknown as it might be, is worth giving a shot,” Killian said as his hand came to cup her cheek. “We can take this as slowly as you command. I’m not trying to push you into something you’re not ready for or that you don’t want, but I think the thing that scares you most is that you do want this, love, just as badly as I do. You just have to trust yourself and learn to trust me too.”

“I do trust you,” Emma said quietly, and though the truth of her statement shone through in her tone, she seemed almost as surprised at her reply as Killian was. “Or at least I’m trying. I want to trust you.”

“Then that’s all we need, love. The rest of it will come, but that’s the most important thing.”

Emma nodded at that and once again her smile returned, bringing Killian a sweet sense of relief that only Emma ever seemed able to give him and the next thing he knew they’d separated the lingering space between them and were yielding to a kiss that had been weeks in the making. Unlike the one that Emma had bestowed upon him at the start of the evening, this one was hardly reserved and gave way to all the passion and pleasure and chemistry Killian had been anticipating would live within Emma from the start. The sparks that the kiss ignited inside him set his whole body alight and he swore that feelings this strong couldn’t possibly exist, yet here they were.

Time passed strangely in that moment, and by the time the two of them broke apart Killian hardly knew which way was up. All he knew was that he would never have enough of Emma, and that he wanted to spend the foreseeable future claiming moments like this one as often as he could. From the smile on her face, Killian was also able to hope that was what Emma wanted too and he felt empowered to speak candidly to her about his thoughts on that kiss. The only problem was that there were no words to describe the euphoria he’d just found.

“That was…” Bloody hell, why couldn’t he think of anything to say? A dozen words went through his mind, all of them good but none of them perfect, but it didn’t matter in the end because Emma only smiled as if she could read his thoughts and agreed whole heartedly.

“Yeah, it sure was,” Emma responded before casting her gaze off for a beat and then seeing something that drew her attention. “Hold that thought.”

Killian watched then as Emma moved over a few feet and bent to grab something from the course ground beneath them and when she returned she had in her grasp a smooth, fully formed shell that was striking for one reason – it was a deep cerulean blue the likes of which Killian never would have thought would grace a shell in its natural climate. There were veins of white throughout the scalloped exterior, but it was so out of the common way that Killian was shocked, and then even more pleased to see that it was perfect, without a single chip or malformation in sight.

“Do you think it’s a sign, Swan, that a shell like this one should find us after a kiss like that?” he asked and Emma glanced back up at him curiously, almost as if she was searching for something that Killian couldn’t fully understand but then she bit her bottom lip and smiled.

“Yeah I think it might be,” she said, tucking the shell into the pocket of his jacket that he was still wearing before taking Killian’s hand again and heading for the observatory.

They tarried there inside the tower a while too, and it was a well founded activity because there wasn’t a cloud in sight and the stars were fully there’s to enjoy as the sun fully faded from the horizon. But even if Killian would have liked to stay there forever, it wasn’t an option. The end of their night would eventually come, and when he could see the hour was late enough for Emma to feel likes she should head home, he maneuvered them back to the car and drove them home to Storybrooke once more.

Walking back up to Emma’s front door, Killian felt the impending separation that had to come, bit he hoped to draw out this final moment they had together and postpone that lonely walk he’d have to make from Emma’s door to his own. As he did he soaked in this feeling that only a spectacular first date could bring, looking at Emma who was wearing her heart on her sleeve as she had been since their talk back on the beach and still allowing that openness of before to permeate between them.

“I had a really good time tonight, Killian,” Emma whispered finally, and the silkiness of her voice wrapped around him in a tantalizing way. She wasn’t trying to be flirtatious either, it was just a natural ability she had to draw him in and Killian was so far past trying to resist her.

“I’m glad to hear that, love, because it means that should I ask you’ll likely indulge me in another night like this one.”

“You mean you’re not sure if you want to ask?” Emma countered, her humor returning and that element of mischievousness infiltrating her persona. Killian chuckled as he stepped towards her, but it ebbed away when she mirrored his actions, filling the space around him with her all consuming presence once more.

“There’s nothing in the world I’m more certain of than my desire to do this again, Emma. I just want to make sure your feelings are the same,” Killian confessed and Emma beamed up at him before giving him a look that told him she had something to say that would likely brighten up his whole bloody universe.

“I might be on a somewhat similar page,” Emma said and her mirth and playfulness was the last push Killian needed to close the remaining gap between them. He muttered about how he’d get her on the same damn page in no time before kissing her and feeling all of that electricity and magic and hope all over again.

In this kiss as with their others, Killian gave all of himself to Emma, but he was also aware of their surroundings and the need to be somewhat more reserved than they had been before. Being so close to home meant that Henry could be watching, or more possibly that Emma’s friends could be spying on them, but Killian couldn’t resist the chance for this last interlude together, especially since it would have to tide him over at least until tomorrow.

Breaking away from her in the end was hard, but it had to be done, and when Emma turned around to shrug off his jacket Killian helped her with the action, letting his fingertips linger on her skin in the moment and cursing himself for doing it. He was already wound too tight, already wanting too much, and now he was just teasing himself and her into more of a frenzy. But it didn’t matter, because someday, even if it wasn’t today or tomorrow, Killian would get his chance at more with Emma. He just had to be patient.

With a quiet goodbye, Emma slipped back into her house then and Killian, deciding to preserve her privacy over lingering longer as he might have wanted, headed back home, entering the place that could feel nothing but empty after the night he’d had. Though there was one tiny form of consolation, and it came in the form of that loveable kitten that was always so eager to see him. Automatically Killian moved down to pay Luna some attention before tossing his keys on the side table and hanging up his jacket.

Only then did one last thing click for Killian – in giving back his jacket Emma had likely given back the shell that was meant to be a keepsake for Emma and Henry. Hoping to right that wrong and return the item before he forgot, Killian moved his hand into the pocket of his coat, finding that the shell was still there safe and sound. He let out a relieved breath upon the discovery, but when he pulled it from the confines of the leather jacket, he was surprised to see the colors weren’t those that he remembered, for instead of a crisp blue and white there was now a warmth that hadn’t been there with gold swirled around in the design as well.

“What the…?” Killian muttered aloud, wondering if his mind had been playing tricks on him back on the beach or if it was doing so now, but in his gut he knew what he’d seen, and he knew that somehow, someway, this tiny ornament had been changed along their jounrey back home.

There was no logical way to describe this transformation, no rational way to understand how it could have happened but it had, and though it was a shock to see, it also didn’t surprise Killian, not really anyway. Because underneath all of his reason and his rationale and his search for things that made sense, Killian’s heart was telling him there was nothing to be feared. This was just another little piece of a puzzle he’d been grappling with since arriving in Storybrooke, one that included gardens that grew too quickly, explosions in kitchens that left no trace of damage, and a woman next door and her exuberant son who pulled him in like nothing and no one ever had before.

In the face of his uncertainty, it was that last part that Killian clung to, because to him it was the only part that counted. No matter what was going on in this town and with the people who lived here, one thing was for sure: Killian had meant what he said tonight about not going anywhere, and he intended to stay and to fight for a chance to be a part of Emma and Henry’s lives come hell or high water.

So he wrote a note that said as much and left it on Emma’s back porch railing with the shell in a spot he knew Emma would see the next morning when she came to check her flowers.  And with that, Killian returned home once more and headed to bed hoping that this would be the proof Emma needed to know that he could be trusted with anything and that his feelings for her would remain through anything that she could possibly throw his way.

Post-Note: So first and foremost I want to thank you all for your patience in waiting for this update. I was planning to get it out earlier, but with everything that happened this week it just didn’t get done like I hoped. However getting to write this fluffy installment helped to brighten my mood considerably and I hope it’s granted even a little bit of that to you all. As you can probably guess from where I am ending this chapter, yes, Killian is well on his way to uncovering the truth and (surprise!) it’s not going to change how he feels or what he wants. What will be unfolding in the next few chapters is Emma’s personal character development. This will be one of the hardest things Emma has ever had to do (coming clean about her magic and hoping Killian won’t reject her) and it will take some time to all come together, but I promise the pay off will be worth it when it comes. Anyway, hope you are all doing well and thank you again for reading!!

[startswithhope]

a dare and a truth...

Bed sharing prompt courtesy of @bookstoreromantic": “Would you please get comfortable and go the fuck to sleep already?"

Rated T - 2000 words - Modern AU - AO3

A warm breeze ruffles the wheat stalks on either side of her truck as she folds her arms beneath her head, smiling up towards the starry night that will be her blanket until dawn. Her friends had thought this a good dare, forgetting that she’s slept in much scarier places where real danger lurked in very real shadows. A night spent alone out here is a piece of cake, no matter how many stupid campfire tales of demonic scarecrows or sickle-wielding serial killers they might have spun.

She’s surprisingly comfortable in the bed of her truck, thanks to the thick pile of blankets beneath her and the lingering buzz of rum from too many pulls of Killian’s flask. Her cheeks warm at the thought of him, the constant will they or won’t they like a rubber band deciding if it wants to pull them together or break from the pressure. It’s easier to want the former when she’s alone and the idea of him can be just a fantasy without the real life implications of what being together might actually entail. Caustic flirting used to be their thing, but she’s sensed a shift, more sincerity and a longing in him that mirrors her own in ways that has her running a bit scared.

Yeah, she’s not scared of serial killers or movie monsters, but Killian Jones, he has the ability to absolutely terrify her.

A rustling too strong to have been caused by the wind catches her attention and she leans up onto her elbows, scanning the fields for what is probably just a crow set out to disturb her solitude. There’s nothing to be seen in the darkness and she’s too lazy to dig out the flashlight buried somewhere in the cab of her truck to go on a search...

“Evening, Swan.”

A scream bubbles up her throat as she’s scrambling to her knees, hands blindly searching for something to grab as a weapon as her brain slowly matches the voice to the unexpected intruder somewhere behind her.

“Fuck! Killian...what the hell?”

Killian saunters around the front of her truck, both hands in the air in supplication as he approaches.

“Sorry, sorry, I should have called out when I was getting closer so you’d know it was me.”

Her heart is racing out of her chest, both from being startled and his presence, but she does her best to calm her breathing the closer he gets.

“You think so? Jesus. You’re lucky I didn’t bring my gun.”

He laughs at that and rakes his right hand through his hair, letting his scarred one fall back to his side before it disappears deep in the front pocket of his jeans. Her heart does a familiar pang at that little vulnerability, the way he tries to hide his scars just as she does hers. They’ve spoken of his loss, not just of the use of his left hand, but of his first love in a car accident years ago, leaving him alone in ways she can’t help but understand. Loneliness for her left scars that no one can see, but she feels, in the walls she’s built up around her fragile heart.

But then, his expressive eyebrow is arching as he leans his hip with purpose against the truck by her hand and she’s pulled from her inner musings and back to the present, where those walls are feeling shakier and shakier by the moment.

“You wouldn’t shoot me, Swan.”

Wanna bet?

“Whatever. What the hell are you doing out here?”

“What, not happy to see me?”

Yes. No. Yes?

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she shifts off her knees so she can lean against the back window of her truck and crosses her arms over her chest to wait for him to actually answer her question. His head cocks a bit to the side and she keeps her expression blank, a difficulty as the moonlight illuminates his stupidly handsome face as his lips curl into a stupidly adorable smile.

“I was dared to come out here and keep you company, love. I think Regina was hoping you would, in fact, have your gun and she’d finally be rid of my obnoxious arse.”

She can’t help but laugh at that, knowing it isn’t really true, even if Regina and Killian interact as well as oil and water set on fire.

“Sorry to disappoint her...wait, what are you doing?”

Killian has one foot up on the back bumper of her truck and he’s poised to hoist himself up, but he freezes and looks up and meets her gaze.

“Joining you, I hoped...uh....thought...? Would you prefer I sleep down here on the grass?”

Fuck. She can’t tell him that yes, she wants, no…needs him to sleep on the grass because having him sleep next to her in the bed of this truck all night is definitely more than she can handle.

“Fine, come on up. But if you snore, it’ll be the grass for you, buddy.”

The truck creaks with the added weight as he climbs in beside her, the brush of his arm against hers as he leans back against the window sending sparks along her skin. Clenching her fingertips against her thigh she looks away and out into the fields, matching her breaths to the sway of the wheat as her entire body comes alive at his proximity.

“It’s quite peaceful out here, isn’t it, Swan?”

It was.

“Yeah…”

Silence falls between them for a minute or so and she summons the courage to look over at him beside her. His head is resting against the worn blue metal of the hood of her truck and his eyes are directed at the sky, his lips pressed tight as if he’s holding himself back from speaking.

She wants to say something, ask what’s on his mind, but she’s a bit afraid of what that might be. His head shifts to the right and she finds herself looking directly into his eyes, the darkness doing little to hide the questions lurking in the blue depths. She keeps the connection a beat longer than she knows she should before turning away and scooting downwards so she can lie down on her side of the truck. Even with her eyes once again trained on the stars, she can feel the heat of his gaze prickling along her skin. Closing her eyes, she lets out a long breath through her nose, anxiety and attraction in a fierce battle as she waits for him to stretch out beside her.

When he does, he manages to shake the entire bed of the truck as he rolls this way and that, seemingly unable to find a comfortable position. He ends up on his back, his arm just barely touching hers with his legs bent at the knees. He lets out a frustrated sounding sigh and is still for a moment, but soon she feels the truck rock again as his legs fall flat.

“Would you please get comfortable and go the fuck to sleep already?”

“Sorry, love, my legs are too long. I’ll be settled in just another moment.”

Knowing he’ll really only fit if he turns on his side and bends his knees, she turns first, putting her back to him and giving him the room to follow suit. He catches on quickly, this connection they have constantly finding them in sync in odd moments such as this. As his breath begins to caress the back of her neck and the sounds of the creaking truck gives over once again to the sway of the wheat, she finds herself wondering just why if they seem to fit together so well does she continue to push him away?

She knows why, but dammit, she’s fucking tired of it.

Reaching behind her back she blindly searches for his arm, grabbing his wrist and dragging it over her waist as she scoots her back up to align with his chest. A shiver takes a ride up her spine as he exhales her name in surprise against her hair and she weaves her fingers over and through his where they are tentatively resting on her belly. It’s only in that moment that she realizes she’s grabbed his scarred hand, the puckered skin beneath her palm smooth to the touch. She presses down a bit harder at his slight flinch, letting him know that it doesn’t bother her in the least. It’s interesting, actually, that her need to give him reassurance managed to calm her own nervousness at making such a bold move.

“Emma?”

“Shhh, let’s just sleep, okay?”

He shifts behind her and she lifts her head, letting him slide his other arm beneath her neck as he tucks his knees into hers and settles his groin against her backside.

“As you wish…”

She isn’t really comfortable, not with all of the blood in her body rushing to her cheeks and everywhere they are touching burning as if she’s standing too close to a bonfire. It doesn’t help that his body is pulled taut behind her, seemingly poised to pull away as if he fully expects to be pushed. So she does, but just with her back, keeping a hand on his arm at her waist as she’s the one to rock the truck this time in her effort to turn towards him. They end up face to face, albeit a bit tangled, and she slowly reaches her hand up and curls it around his neck.

He’s on the verge of speaking when her mouth steals the question from his lips. It only takes him about two seconds to respond, his scarred hand gripping hard at her waist as a shaking breath parts his lips for her tongue. He tastes of marshmallows and rum, the sweet and spicy combination so intoxicating she doesn’t hesitate when his hand cushions her neck as he rolls her to her back. The kiss goes off the rails a bit after that as almost a year of tension breaks and it’s all hands and lips and hot breaths against oversensitive skin.

As she lifts her hips up to press against his thigh that has settled between her legs, his mouth suddenly pulls back and out of reach.

“Emma?”

“Shh...just kiss me.”

No “as you wish” this time, just compliance in the form of a kiss that manages to steal what was left of her breath. They kiss until her lips are sore and the skin of her chin and throat are raw from the coarseness of his beard. They kiss until the sky begins to lighten from the morning sun and they’ve rolled from one side of the truck to the other and back again. It never moves beyond that, well, their clothes stay on at least. But it’s enough. It’s perfect.

Even if they the only words spoken have been each other’s names and a few laughs (and maybe a few moans), it feels as though entire conversations have happened with the slide of their lips and the curl of their tongues. So, it doesn’t feel strange when he pulls her tight against his chest and her leg drapes over his knee and they both fall asleep to the sound of the waking crows.

“So that’s where Killian went off to. Regina was so annoyed that he ducked out of the game…”

Ruby grabs Mary Margaret’s arm and pulls her away from the truck before they wake the sleeping beauties inside.

“MM, not only is he in the game, I think he’s finally gotten on base.”

[welllpthisishappening]

Ice Time

Hello, hi, yes, hey there internet. You know what today is? In this mess of a world, today is an exceptional day because today is @optomisticgirl​ ‘s birthday. B is one of the kindest and most wonderful and talented people on this whole wide web, and you should all make sure to tell her that. Right now. Because it is B’s birthday, and because I love few things more than her love of Will Scarlet, here are about two-thousand words which include the following things:

An AU of an already massive AU, Will Scarlet dad-mode activated, snarky Killian, Will Scarlet best uncle in the universe-mode activated, babies, hockey legacy and the number thirteen. 

----

“She’s too small.” “Too small?” “Yeah, I thought there’d be—I don’t know...more of her or something.” Will tilted his head, something that probably would have been a laugh if he weren’t so goddamn exhausted bubbling in the back of his throat. And Peggy didn’t blink. She kept staring straight at the kid in his arms, an appraising look, like she was taking stock of an infant and not all together impressed with what she’d found. 

“More?” he echoed. “You want to expand on that?” Peggy shrugged. “I don’t know. Just something. Like she could do something.’ “She’s a baby, Jonesy. I’m fairly certain sleeping and laying here, while being almost questionably small, is more or less her prerogative.” “What?” “Haven’t got that far in vocab, huh? Don’t tell Mary Margaret that, she’ll start instructing you out of pure teacher-like need.” Peggy stuck her tongue out, Will’s laugh finally working its way out of him and he could still dimly make out Killian talking to Belle in the kitchen. They’d arrived at the apartment a few minutes before — laden down with team-branded merchandise and another tiny stick, Killian’s grin looking almost abnormally large when he held it out. 

As if it was payment in kind for unwanted gifts of yore. 

“When’s the last time you blinked?” Will asked Peggy, widening his eyes when she flinched at the question. “You’re going to do damage to your eyes that way and then how will we get on the ice?” “We can get on the ice?” “Is that not why you’re disappointed in the overall size and weight of Evie?” “I didn’t say anything about her weight,” Peggy argued, tugging her legs closer to her chest so she could rest her chin on her knees. And Will nearly cackled at that — even through the lack of sleep — Peggy’s expression turning so Emma-like that it was almost like being smacked in the face with family-type feelings and something about the future being now. 

“No?” “No,” Peggy echoed. “I just—I mean, when’s she going to be able to skate?” “There’s not really a scouting report out on her yet, kid.” Peggy seemed to consider that for a moment, mouth twisting in thought and eyes going thin enough that they were barely more than slits. Will had to bite his lip. He was fairly certain his kid had fallen asleep and he wasn’t willing to chance that with even more outbursts of vaguely familial humor. 

“Do you think she’ll want to skate?” “With you?” Will prompted knowingly. 

“I don’t like when you do the mind-reading thing.” “Ah, but you make it very easy.” She stuck her tongue out again. “You’re getting predictable, Jonesy. Got to keep your opponent on his toes.” “How long does it take for babies to skate?” “Probably when they have some upper-body strength.” She huffed, wholly and obviously dissatisfied with the answer. Will bit the side of his tongue. 

“Well, that’s dumb,” Peggy grumbled. “You think she can hold a stick?” “Absolutely not.” “But we brought her a stick.” “That’s because your dad thinks he’s way funnier than he actually is.”

“That’s not fair,” Killian objected, walking back into the living room with an arm slung around Belle’s shoulders and an equally knowing look on his face. “This is just tradition or something.” “Don’t be bitter,” Belle chided.

“Am I being bitter or am I presenting real and true facts?” “Having to add the precursor of real and true before your facts is not helping your cause.” “God, babe,” Will said, “the fact that you can even think the word precursor right now is stupid impressive.” Belle laughed softly, head falling to Killian’s arm. She might not have been capable of supporting much of her own weight either. And that probably shouldn’t have made something warm and wonderful explode in the general vicinity of Will’s heart, but he still was having a difficult time wrapping his head around the concept of a kid and a family and Peggy was doing that staring thing again. 

“When did I start skating?” she asked. 

“Not during infancy,” Will muttered. 

Killian clicked his tongue. “Fairly close though.” “Stop presenting my kid with unreachable expectations, Cap.” “Should we be offended that we don’t think Evie can reach Jones Line level expectations?” Belle asked lightly, tugging on Killian’s shirt until he moved with her. So she could sit down. “Or that they aren’t higher?”

“Legacy and all that,” Killian added. 

Will stuck his tongue out. 

And Peggy didn’t laugh, so much as she exploded with nearly eight-year-old noise, a pointed finger and impossibly wide eyes and—

A crying baby. 

Belle jumped up, reaching a hand out, like she’d be able to help from the other side of the living room, and Will wasn’t sure what he was saying, just mumbled syllables and quiet encouragements, back on his feet before he’d entirely realized he’d decided to stand. He swayed on the spot, Killian shifting back into Peggy’s space when her lower lip started to tremble. 

“It’s ok, Jonesey,” Will said, eyes flitting her direction. 

She sniffled. 

“Evie doesn’t even have any hair.” “Yeah, well you’ve got enough for all of us combined. So, you win on that front.” “Don’t tell Emma that,” Killian warned. “She’ll take personal offense to the state of Peg’s braid.”

Peggy’s hand flew to her hand, more than a few strands already coming loose by virtue of her constantly flailing limbs. Belle’s head dropped, resting on the top of Killian’s, even as her shoulders started to shake. None of them were apparently good at controlling their laughter, it seemed. 

That was kind of nice. 

Super nice, even. 

Maybe Will was the one who needed to work on his vocabulary. 

“I bet she can skate,” Peggy announced. “She’s got to, right?”

There was enough conviction in her voice that Will stopped swaying immediately, tilting his head when he met Peggy’s gaze. Steady. Even. Decidedly Jones-esque. With a stubborn streak that ran several miles wide, on and off the ice, and Will didn't bother mentioning that. 

Killian would probably bring them another stick if he did. 

“Maybe you’ll be able to teach her some better trash talk than just sticking your tongue out, huh?” Will asked, careful not to let his voice shake. Belle sniffled that time. 

He lifted his eyebrows when he didn’t get an immediate answer, the muscles in his neck starting to protest the angle he was keeping them in, but then—

“I’m a way better trash talker than MD is,” Peggy said. “Yeah, I can do that.” Will hummed. “I know you can. And maybe when she can lift her head on her own, we’ll get her on the ice with you, ok?” “Yeah, ok.” It took a little longer than that. 

After more family skates and another Winter Classic, photos on a variety of websites and hanging in frames on more than one wall of Belle and Will’s apartment. But then there were tiny skates being bought and Emma offering to braid Evie’s hair because “seriously, I’m so good at it, it’s absurd,” and Will didn’t hold his breath when his kid got on the ice with Killian’s kid. He wasn’t really sure he was breathing at all, so he couldn’t possibly hoard any sort of air. 

“You’ll pass out if you don’t get consistent oxygen to your brain,” Killian pointed out, dousing Will’s skates with snow when he stopped next to him.

“You suck at that.” “Breathing?” “Stopping.” “Eh, yeah, well, that might be true. But, uh—you don’t.” “Suck at stopping?” Will quipped.

“Don’t be an idiot. This is—” “—Honestly, if you tell me that you’re proud of me right now Cap, I’ll find a stick and check you.” Killian chuckled, bumping his shoulder against Will’s and neither one of them seemed all that inclined to skate. There was a deeper meaning to that. If Will thought about that too long he might cry and he couldn’t possibly cry before Belle did. 

And she was way too busy holding Evie up, while Peggy skated backwards in front of them and both Ruby and Mary Margaret took a rather large album’s worth of pictures. Emma might have been recording it. Or sending video to Matt. 

The specifics of it didn’t matter. It was all nice. 

Super nice, even. 

The best kind of nice possible. 

“I won’t do that then,” Killian promised. “I don’t think I could hold up against a check at this point, honestly.” “Because you’re old.” “Exactly.” Will scoffed, not entirely prepared for such a quick agreement or the overall width of Killian’s smile, pride in every inch. Even without saying it out loud. “So who do you think scores more goals overall in their career? My kid or yours?” “I’ve got more kids to choose from.” “Well, that’s not fair.” “Isn’t it just?” Killian asked. 

“You’re annoying, you know that?” “How come you didn’t bring one of our sticks out here?” “I didn’t think annoying would be a confusing word for you, but—” Will cut himself off, finally taking that deep breath his lungs desperately wanted. “Thanks for being here, Cap. For all of it.” “And I thought we agreed you weren’t going to be an idiot.”

His whole body slumped when he laughed again, blinking quickly so he didn’t do something totally embarrassing. And Killian’s smile didn’t change, but the hand that landed on Will’s shoulder was heavy in a comforting sort of way, like years and experiences and hockey sticks none of their kids were ever going to use. 

There simply weren’t enough hours in the day.

“You think she’ll take your number when she makes it pro?” Killian asked. “Or, like at the Olympics?” “Olympics, huh?” “That legacy, Scarlet.” Will scoffed, not entirely surprised when Peggy slammed into his side. HIs hand fell to the top of her helmet automatically. “Something like that,” he agreed. “You want to bet?” “Obviously.” They came up with terms later, shaking on it with photographic evidence and several future NHL stars watching on FaceTime. And none of it really mattered, even more years later, both Killian and Will pacing in a suite, while Emma eyed them with an obvious air of amusement. 

And Margaret Jones made her professional hockey debut with the number thirteen on her back. 

“Tough luck, Cap,” Will muttered. “Guess you can only have so much legacy.” “Is that a verb in this situation?” Emma asked. 

“I have no idea. Ask Mary Margaret.” “She’s taking pictures.” “There are professional people who do that,” Killian said, grunting softly when Evie crowded into his space. Her hair was in a braid. 

Emma shrugged. “It’s important to her and she said she was going to text Rol updates. But in even more important news, I guess this means neither one of you guys get to win your weird bet because—oh, my God, wait a second.” “What?” She opened her mouth. And closed it. And—

“Oh,” Belle whispered, a few feet away. 

“Took you guys long enough,” Evie muttered, tilting her head up when Killian glanced at her. 

“What do you know?” “How to do math.”

If asked, Will would promise it did not take him another few seconds to understand. That would have been a lie. It took a few seconds and another round of not breathing, but then he was adding and gaping at the ice and it all clicked. 

“Thirteen,” he said softly. “Like—” “—Seven and six,” Evie nodded. “It was my idea, so.” “So?” “So I think that means you won, right, Dad?” She rapped her knuckles on Killian’s shirt. “Right Uncle Killian?” 

“Eh, I don’t know, kid,” Killian objected. “This is a new number and—” “—I’m willing to concede on overall niceness,” Will finished. 

Killian’s lips twitched. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Deal.” Emma mumbled something that sounded a lot like idiots under her breath, a kiss to Killian’s cheek and the top of Evie's hair before she moved back to the front of the suite and Peggy was far better at stopping than any of them. She scored in the second period. 

And Will wasn’t entirely surprised when he opened the door the next morning to find a box sitting outside. With a hockey stick inside. 

From Peggy. 

[let-it-raines]

Betting on the Bullseye (Part 10)

Summary: Emma Swan loses a bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush to be her date to her office’s annual fundraising gala. Killian Jones is that celebrity crush. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost. What she doesn’t expect is for him to say yes.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Do you guys ever read your own fic summaries that you wrote when you only had chapter one written and cringe a bit? Because I do. Writing summaries and coming up with titles are weirdly difficult things, which I find funny since we all write so many words with little issue (sometimes lol).

Anyways, I know you guys are excited about this chapter, and I feel like I should tell you that rating definitely applies here. :D

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Found on Tumblr: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

Tag list: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic​ @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91@branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @galaxyzxstark @lifeinahole27 @andiirivera @ultimiflos @hollyethecurious

“Did you forget something in California?”

Emma’s standing in front of him with wet hair falling down her back and the brightest smile on her face. He’s not sure if it’s the color of her t-shirt or the smile on her face, but her eyes have never been so green. And she’s never been this beautiful. God, he’s missed her in a way that he’s never missed anyone, not at all caring how much of a sentimental fool that makes him.

He is one. Definitely.

“Hi,” Emma sighs, her shoulders slumping in relaxation as she moves toward him and wraps her arms around his waist as he does the same to her, the mug falling to the ground and clanking against the concrete. She’s warm against him and her hair smells strongly of the vanilla of her shampoo and body wash. He missed that, too, his sheets losing the scent after he washed them two days after her departure. He pulls her in a little closer, burying his head into her neck and kissing the skin there, and he simply savors this moment. He felt like he was never going to be here, the days and weeks seemingly stretching on longer than physically possible, but he is here. He’s here. They’re here.

“Hello, love,” he whispers into her neck before pulling back and releasing her to cup her cheeks, her skin as warm and as soft as her lips when he dips his head and bends his knees to slant his lips over hers. Yeah, he’s missed this too. He’s pretty much missed everything, but as she moves against him, her hands threading into his hair while the tempo of the kiss changes from soft and sweet to harsh and passionate, he knows that they’re not going to be wasting any time.

Emma pulls back from him when his tongue runs across the seam of her lips, but she doesn’t go far, resting her forehead against his while their breaths intermingle. “My poor swan mug has been abused since December. I hope you know that.”

“Oi, you were supposed to bring it back with you after your visit.”

“Only because you stole it.”

“Eh, that’s questionable. You did invite me into your apartment on the night we first met.”

“Speaking of,” Emma chuckles, pressing up on her toes and quickly sliding her lips over his, “do you want to come inside, KJ?”

“Absolutely.”

She pulls back from him then, the loss of heat immediate, but then she’s bending down and grabbing her mug and his bag before walking inside, her hips swaying in a way that he knows is intentional. Bloody minx.

He follows her inside, stepping out of the cool Boston air and into the warmth of Emma’s apartment. He remembers it well, even in his brief night here, but he can tell the subtle differences. It’s definitely cleaner, and he chuckles to himself thinking of how she’s likely spent the entire weekend before straightening up. There are some new pillows on her couch, a new coffee table without stains and scuff marks, and she definitely painted. He’s pretty sure the walls were an unfortunate beige last time where they’re now a light mint green.

But the kitchen is still tucked into the corner of the room, more like a kitchen alcove than anything, and it smells of cinnamon from a candle that’s lit on the kitchen counter. He shuts the door behind him, realizing he’s left it open far too long, and twists her locks, making sure to get each bolt and chain. Emma’s standing in the kitchen alcove, rinsing off her mug as if she doesn’t think he did that before boarding his flight, and he shakes his head and walks over to her.

“I washed that, you know.” He wraps his arms around her waist, only the slightest bit of hesitance despite how they greeted each other. But she relaxes into his arms, leaning back against him and looking up at him with a cheeky smile before bringing her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I don’t know where you’ve been. This has been out of my possession for a long time.”

“Again,” he hums, taking the mug out of her hand and grabbing her left wrist before kissing the small dot that resides there, “that is only partially my fault. You had an opportunity, and you missed it, Swan.”

“And I’ve gone without coffee for so long without my favorite mug.”

He quirks an eyebrow as she turns in his embrace and wraps her arms around his neck. He’s very aware of how real this is, of how she’s actually here with him again, but he keeps waiting to wake up from a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened in the past few months. So his hands snake up underneath her t-shirt, feeling the warmth that’s radiating off of her soft skin and firm muscles, and he knows this is real.

Definitely.

“That is a lie, Swan.”

“Definitely a lie.”

Emma leans forward a swiftly brushes her lips over his, once, twice, three times, before he tugs her impossibly closer and runs his hands up and down her sides, feeling her lack of a bra and groaning into her mouth while his thumbs brush the underside of her breasts. Her breath is warm when she gasps into his mouth after he finds her nipples, feeling them pebble the slightest bit under his touch, and he smiles into the kiss, their teeth clanking together as their heads turn.

“I totally intended to talk to you and spend time with you and, like, just watch TV and eat dinner or something, but I’m kind of thinking that’d be a bad plan right now, KJ.”

“How so?”

Instead of answering his question, which was stupid on his part, she slides her mouth over his and tangles their tongues together in a slick, warm slide, his breath escaping him with every movement. He feels his body come to life slowly as they move together. He thought it would be faster than this, harsher, and more desperate, but it’s slow as their tongues dance together and his hands continue to run up and down her sides and her back while her hands stay firmly planted in his hair, tugging on the strands to keep them in place, occasionally bringing him closer.

So maybe she answers his question without any words. He never really needed the words anyways. Emma’s hands leave his hair and trail down his chest to begin tugging on his shirt, trying to get it off but with no success while his grip stays against her hips and his body stays melded into hers. She huffs, whines almost, and he laughs against her lips before kissing against her jaw, trailing along her jawline until he gets to her ear, nibbling the slightest bit, and he hears her moan the sweetest of sounds that nearly cause all of the blood to rush away from his brain.

He doesn’t need that anyways.

“You need to take – to take off your shirt.” “An eye for an eye, Swan.”

“You mean a shirt for a shirt?”

“Aye, and then maybe we’ll do everything else.”

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

“Oh, God,” he laughs, nipping at her ear one more time before pulling back and stepping out of her embrace, grabbing his t-shirt at the nape of his neck and pulling it off while Emma watches him with her bottom lip in between her teeth and with her eyes trained on all of the skin he’s now exposing. He feels his cock twitch in his jeans, tenseness in his spine building, and he’s honestly not sure how they managed to take it at this pace…not that it’s been entirely slow. “There, darling, I’m shirtless. Are you happy?”

“Very.” She quickly lifts her own t-shirt over her head, her bare breasts coming into view while her wet hair falls against her skin, gooseflesh immediately rising. “Shit,” she whines, quickly taking the shirt and squeezing out her hair in an attempt to dry her locks, “my hair is still far too cold and wet for this, hold on.”

God, he loves her so damn much, and watching her bounce around her kitchen half naked while attempting to dry her hair with her t-shirt is now one of his favorite things in the world, especially with the way she’s muttering curses under her breath and desperately twisting and pulling at her hair.

“Just pull it up, love.”

“I know, I know. It’s the principle of the thing. You could have shown up, like five minutes later, and I’d have had it mostly dry.”

“Oh, okay,” he chuckles, taking a step toward her front door, “so I’ll just step outside and wait five minutes, okay?”

“No,” Emma groans, grapping his wrist and tugging him back to her so that he’s following her out of the kitchen alcove and down the hall to her bedroom, “that’s not necessary in the slightest. I’ll just get pneumonia from my wet hair or something.”

“A very solid choice.”

Emma turns and enters her room before he does, immediately stripping down and out of her leggings and socks while he undoes his belt and slings it off before unzipping his jeans, struggling to get them down over his boots until he manages to kick those off as well. He leaves his boxers on as he stalks over to Emma, threading his hands through her damp, pulled up hair and kissing her while gently pushing her back on the bed, attempting not to knee her stomach or crush her with his weight. They keep with the same pace as earlier, but he can feel nearly every inch of Emma’s skin against his, their hips rutting together in a slow rhythm, and he thinks he might lose himself right then and there if they don’t stop. Forty or so days doesn’t seem that long in the grand scheme of things, but when you’ve just started something only to have it ripped away, it may as well be a lifetime.  

Or maybe he just desperately needs to be with her.

His lips trail away from Emma’s, tracing down the skin of her jaw and her neck, worrying the beginnings of a mark into her collarbone, only moving away so as not to actually leave a mark. He lets instinct lead him, listening to where Emma gasps and groans to know what he’s doing right for her. They’ve only been together for a few times, all in one night, so he still has to discover the ins and outs of what brings her pleasure. But as he runs his tongue around the perimeter of a nipple, he knows he’s found a sweet spot.

“Oh fuck,” she moans, bucking her hips up and harshly threading her fingers into his hair. “Do that again.”

So he does, tracing her skin with his tongue before kissing the pert nipple, sucking and teasing all while his hand teases the neglected breast, Emma’s heart beating wildly within her chest while sounds of pleasure escape her mouth. When her fingers become even tighter in his hair, almost hard enough to pull his hair out, he bites down for a brief moment, pulling away and standing up while Emma blinks up at him.

“What’s wrong?” she questions, curling in on herself.

“Nothing,” he groans, pulling his boxers down and freeing his cock from its restraints. “Absolutely nothing is wrong, but you are driving me insane.”

“Oh.” Her eyes trace him up and down, and he smirks, stroking himself the slightest bit while she watches, her tongue flickering out over her bottom lip. “Well, um, condoms are in the drawer.” “That’s awfully presumptuous of you, Swan.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, sitting up and crawling over to her bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a box, ripping the package open before carefully tearing a foil package off of the strip.

“A new box, love. You keep proving that someone thought she was going to get lucky.”

“You are awfully cheeky for someone who’s going to get blue balls if I change my mind.”

“Right then,” he laughs, stepping over to her and sitting down on the edge of the mattress, reaching to take the condom out of Emma’s hand only for her to deftly roll it down over his length, her hands nearly as light as a feather, though that doesn’t keep every touch from driving him mad.

“Lie back.”

He does as she asks, maneuvering around and resting his head against the pillows while Emma follows him, kissing up his thighs and then straddling them, taking him in hand and teasing his tip between her folds until she slowly sinks down onto him, her walls encasing him in their heat. His hands find her hips even as his breath leaves him, but Emma doesn’t need him to steady her. She takes control, swiveling her hips up and down in slow, deep motions that make his eyes roll back.

She feels bloody fucking fantastic, every move of her body and bounce of her breasts driving him insane, and he tells her so through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw while his thumbs rub circles into her hips and her fingernails trace up and down his chest, tugging at the hair. When her movements start to falter, her legs shaking the slightest bit, he gently stops her movements, encouraging her to move off of him and lie on her back. She does so, her hair falling out of its loose band while she moves, and he takes but a moment to hover over her and cage her in, easily sliding back into her while her legs wrap around his arse. He begins to control the movements, the pleasure in the base of his spine nearly ready to burst with every thrust.

“Shit,” she whispers against his lips when he begins to swivel his hips, brushing her clit with the movements. “I’ve gotta – you’ve gotta…”

“Aye,” he responds, sliding his lips over hers and snaking his hand down between them, curling his fingers where they’re joined and spreading her arousal while he rubs circles around her bundle of nerves, making her gasp and bite down on his upper lip. “You are bloody brilliant,” he grunts when he knows that she’s getting close, every movement of his hips and his thumb driving her just as mad as him. “I have missed you, missed this, missed the way you feel wrapped around me, so tight and wet.”

Her eyes shut then, tightly, and he can see the sweat beading at her forehead, can feel the sweat on his, and she falls apart on a stuttered breath that nearly steals his. He tries to work her through it, pushing into her and finding his own pleasure while her hands continue to curl into his shoulders, holding on tightly even as her eyes open and a smile graces her lips.

“Hi,” she sighs, but he can’t respond to it, burying his face in her neck and whispering her name over and over again while he falls apart, nearly collapsing on top of her as his legs shake.

“Oh my god,” he groans, his body coming back to itself for enough time to brush his lips over hers, once, twice, three times, before pulling out of her and standing on shaky legs to get ready to dispose of the condom.

“Emma will do.”

He turns to look at her, his lips gaping open all while he carefully ties off the condom. “That was by far the worst joke you’ve ever made.”

“You don’t even know, bud.”

Later after they’ve cleaned themselves up, Killian slipping back into his jeans instead of bothering to get his suitcase from the other room and Emma pulling her oversized t-shirt back on, Emma tucks herself into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his stomach while he pulls her closer, rubbing his thumb back and forth over her left wrist. He’s content to sit like this for hours, until his limbs fall asleep and he has to suffer through that awful, painful buzzing that occurs when the blood flow has been stilted. After so little time together and so long apart, he wondered if they’d fall back into this sense of comfort or if things between them would be stilted, unsure. He’s never done this before, never been with someone who doesn’t live in the same city as him, so this is all new, uncharted territory.

He thinks they’re doing pretty well.

Emma’s fingers start tracing patterns in the skin on his chest, her nails parting the matted, sweaty hair and causing him to shiver at her touch. “Did you have a good flight?”

“W-what?”

“Did you have a good flight? I didn’t ask, and I feel like that’s something I should have asked about.”

“What’d you do? Make a list of small talk conversations for us to have. The weather outside is delightful, love. I think it’s a balmy sixty five, which is good for my hair. The humidity and all.”

“Shut up,” she giggles, the sound sweet even as she slaps his chest. “You know what I mean. I always have weird stuff happen to me on flights. I figured you might too.”

“Aye,” he answers, lifting her wrist and kissing her skin, “all of the time, but this time I simply boarded the plane, put my headphones in, and caught up on a lot of the shows I’ve missed while filming. Oh, and I ate any entire bag of salt and vinegar chips without my tongue breaking out. That was pretty exciting.”

“Wow, you are living the life, KJ.”

He scrunches up his nose as he dips his head and captures Emma’s lips with his before she can say anything else, smiling into the kiss when she gasps at the contact. He feels something inside of him twist, which is definitely not biologically possible but happening all the same.

“Hush, love. You’re just lucky I brushed my teeth again before I got here.”

“Wow, and you made fun of me for expecting to get lucky.”

“Well, maybe I just brushed my teeth because I really care about dental hygiene. It had absolutely nothing to do with you or making sure that I don’t absolutely repulse you.”

“Too late for that.”

She squirms away from him them, surprisingly quick on her feet as she moves to the other side of the bed, stretching out and reaching toward the end table when he grabs her waist and holds her back, leaning down and kissing up her thighs while she laughs, kicking her feet at him.

“Killian, st-stop,” she groans, reaching back while he continues to rub his chin into the back of her thigh, scruff leaving faint red marks, “I’m trying to get my phone. It keeps buzzing.”

“That’s my phone.” “Well, then, I’m trying to get your phone.” He lets her go, Emma scooting forward enough to grab his phone off the table. “You have a hell of a lot of missed texts from Elsa. Also, is this your girlfriend in your photo? She’s super hot.”

“She’s my lover actually,” he laughs, holding his hand out for his phone, “and I agree. Smoking hot. What’s Elsa saying?”

“Um, I don’t know. I don’t know your passcode.”

“050886.”

She quirks an eyebrow, folding her legs up underneath her and pulling her t-shirt down over her thighs. “KJ, is your phone password your own birthday?”

“Possibly.”

“That’s so predictable.”

“It’s easy to remember.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Emma types the numbers into the phone, swiping her finger and presumably going through Elsa’s texts, her facial expression neutral the entire time. “Oh man, are you in deep water with your sister-in-law.”

“What? Let me see.”

“No, no. You, my friend,” Emma laughs, untucking her feet from underneath her and standing on the bed, somehow not at all concerned how close she is to the running ceiling fan, “have forgotten to tell your family that you safely traveled across the country, and they are having a meltdown.”

Oh shit. He really did forget to text someone, anyone, and let them know he landed, and that does not fly with Elsa or Liam. Hell, even Will freaks out on him sometimes.

“Shit, let me text her.”

“What are you going to say? You forgot because you were having sex?”

“Exactly,” he smirks, shaking his head a bit and leaning forward to grab Emma’s ankle, running his fingers over the bones there while she continues to sway back and forth above him. “Elsa’s an adult. She understands.”

“Elsa is very much an adult who has sex with your brother.”

“Swan,” he groans, throwing his free arm over his eyes and trying to get that image out of his head, “why would you point that out?”

“Just to mess with you.” Emma squats down and quickly glides her lips over his before handing over his phone. “Why don’t you call her back? I’m going to go get some water. You want some?”

“Sure, darling.” Emma gets off the bed, gently hopping down onto the floor without so much as a stumble, and walks out of the room, her curly, tangled hair bouncing with every step.

He takes the moment to scroll through his phone, a few texts from Will and Robin having gone unread, but he mostly sees all of the texts from Elsa, each of them increasingly more worried about his whereabouts. The last one even uses Aiden to guilt him, a picture of the poor lad crying all while the caption reads I’m having a meltdown because my uncle won’t text my mom back. He shakes his head in disbelief over he sneaky tactics, just a little dramatic there, El. He presses her name, letting the dial ring until her voice sounds on the other end.

“Well, it looks like you’re alive,” Elsa groans into the phone, her displeasure with him even clearer than it was in the texts.

“Hi, El. Nice to talk to you too. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit dramatic?”

“Only Anna. And that’s just when I used to get mad at her for stealing my clothes. But seriously. You can’t just not tell any of us you’ve landed.”

He reaches up and runs his hand through his hair, knowing that it’s likely a disaster from the flight and the exertion with Emma. “I’m sorry. It slipped my mind, but I promise I wasn’t going to let you think I was dead. I’d have sent proof of life at some point.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’m sure you would have eventually remembered us as you traipse off to go visit your girlfriend.”

Almost as if she knew Elsa had referenced her, Emma walks back in her bedroom then, holding a glass of water while she sips on the other one, placing his on the table next to him before crawling back into bed beside him.

“I would have, El. I would never forget the little people.” “God, you’re corny,” Emma groans, shaking her head back and forth before taking another sip.

“Oooh, is that her, Killian? Is that Emma?”

He can practically imagine Elsa sitting at home bouncing up and down on the couch while Liam stoically sits on the other end reading one of his many war strategy books, the oddball.  

“Aye.”

“Can I talk to her?”

Emma’s cheeks go red, obviously hearing Elsa’s words. “Do you want to?” he mouths to Emma, trying to read her emotions.

“Sure, put her on speaker.”

So he does, hitting the button and hoping that this is not some kind of disaster. If he were one to wish on stars, he’d wish that these next two weeks go without any hiccups. “Um, Els, this is Emma. Emma, Elsa. I’ve got no bloody clue why you want to talk to her, but here you go.”

“I just wanted to ask her to make sure you stay safe, you know? And that you come back home. Anna is coming into town for your birthday, and let me tell you, she has been plotting out cakes for you like you haven’t eaten a carb in years. Are you coming, Emma?”

Okay, so there’s hiccup number one. Emma’s eyes go wide, her lips parting, and he watches as she works through her words, noticing the way she nearly bites her bottom lip twice before speaking.

“Oh, um, I can’t. It’s in the middle of the week, and I have work. Maybe the weekend after though. I’m sure you guys will have a great time bringing Killian into old age.”

“Oi, I’m turning thirty-three, love.” He reaches over and pinches her side, even as she swats him away. “I’m not old.”

“You are pretty old, Killian.”

“You’re older than me, El.”

“Semantics. I don’t think that really matters here. You definitely have more wrinkles than me,” Elsa laughs, her voice carefree. She obviously wasn’t too worried about him not making it to Boston if she’s in this good of a mood after just a few minutes. “Emma, it’s so nice to meet you, or hear your voice really. Maybe one day you’ll come back to California, and I can meet you in person. I promise you I’ll be much nicer than my husband was. Sorry about that by the way.” “Well, he doesn’t exactly leave room for competition, but that sounds wonderful, Elsa. I’ll have to figure something out.”

“Sounds perfect. Be good and be safe, Killian. Don’t be a stranger. Love you.”

“I love you, too. Give Aiden a hug for me. Maybe toss one in there for Liam.”

The moment he hangs up the phone, he shuts it down and places it on the bedside table, picking up the glass of water and taking a sip, not realizing how dehydrated he is until he downs the entire thing in one continuous gulp, his throat soothed the more cool water trickles down. When he looks over at Emma, she’s picking at imaginary lint of her shirt, her hair falling down and covering her face while her long, tan legs stretch out over the sheets. He reaches over and tucks her hair behind her ear, thumbing at her chin so she looks at him.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing.”

“Swan, we are so far past lying to each other. Tell me. I won’t judge even if it’s something like wanting to hang clown paintings up on your ceiling.”

He entire face scrunches up, the very obvious disgust at the idea evident on every inch of her skin. “While I appreciate your vague The Good Place reference, both Elanor and I, and any sane person, do not want clowns everywhere…anywhere.”

“What then?”

“I feel bad.”

He scoots his foot over toward hers, knocking them together and wiggling his toes. “About?”

“I’m going to miss your birthday. Your family is apparently having a party, your friends are going to be there, and what? I’m going to be sitting in my office eight thousand miles away? Is that how this is going to be? We just miss all of these big moments?”

“Emma,” he sighs, leaning over and thumbing at her chin again so she looks at him, her eyelashes fluttering down before she actually looks at him, “it’s fine. I’ve had quite a few birthdays, and this one isn’t anything special. Don’t get yourself worked up over it or freaked out.”

“But – ”

“But what? It’s just a day, and I’m leaving here, like, three days beforehand. There’s absolutely no need for you to waste a vacation day when you’ll spend all of it on a flight, maybe get to eat a piece of cake, and then get back on a plane again.”

“I hear the cake selection will be good though, might make it worth it.”

“Swan.”

She groans, throwing her entire body back against the bed. “I kind of hate that you’re being logical about this.”

“Well, someone in this relationship has to be the smart one.” He leans over and kisses the corner of her lips. “Now let’s go get something to eat. Is there going to be anything in the kitchen or do I have to put a shirt on for us to go out?”

“Who says you have to wear a shirt to go out?”

When he wanders into Emma’s kitchen, opening up the cabinets in search of food, he’s genuinely surprised to see it completely stocked and organized. This is not the Emma he knows, and his earlier thought of her cleaning before he arrived rings true. She did not have to do that, but he appreciates the effort, grabbing the bag of bread and figuring a sandwich will be fine. Emma jokingly protests, claiming she got better food at his house, before getting up and fixing her own food, the two of them eating standing in the kitchen, not even bothering to go sit down.

He eventually gets his suitcase from where Emma dropped it, rolling it into her room and opening it up so he can find some of his sweatpants, his jeans beginning to rub into his waist after wearing them all day. But before he even gets the chance to change, Emma grabs onto his belt loops, pulling him toward her and back to the bed, every intent that she has evident in her eyes. It’s much faster than the first time, the desperation they both felt at their separation finally coming to head (and to bed if he’s honest with himself) as they move together in quick, harsh movements, the only sounds in the room their harsh pants and their skin slapping together. Faintly, he thinks he can hear the busyness outside, cars speeding by, horns blaring, and a curse or two from Emma’s neighbors. But he doesn’t care about anything out there.

Not at all.

He must have fallen asleep without knowing it because when he wakes, it’s to the sound of the shower running. Emma’s side of the bed is cold, the sheets cool to the touch when he reaches out for her in an attempt to recreate the way she’d curled around him before he fell asleep. He groans as he twists to the side, his body a bit sore from last night, and fumbles for his phone, unplugging it from the wall. Emma must have done that as he definitely didn’t, and he smiles a bit until his phone displays the time of 3:14 in the morning.

“Bloody hell,” he grumbles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, looking over and checking Emma’s phone as well, hers showing 6:14. “Fucking time change.” He shouldn’t have any issue with it, his sleep already screwed from filming, but he feels like he’s been hit by a truck. Literally. Not at all figuratively.

He makes a futile attempt to fall back asleep, but then he hears the water in the shower turn off, Emma coming out into her bedroom five minutes later wrapped up in a towel, her hair completely dry and pulled up into a bun.

“Hey, did I wake you?”

“No, just woke up. I think my sleep schedule is going to be screwed up for awhile, until I get used to normal living, at least.”

“Okay, well,” she walks over to her dresser, shuffling through the drawers and pulling on her underwear before dropping the towel, her body almost completely exposed to his gaze while her hips move as she dresses, his mind replaying images of just a few hours ago, “I have to be at work at eight thirty. I was thinking of going in early to try to get off earlier, but if you want to get up and take a shower, we can go out and get breakfast.”

Groaning, he rubs his eyes before throwing the covers off, already trying to think himself down as if that would work. “Yeah, I think I’m going to need a cold shower after that little show you just put on, so that sounds like a brilliant plan.”

“You,” she looks back at him over her bare shoulder, her neck infuriatingly long, and winks, “are disgustingly insatiable, but I’ve already showered so that’s not happening.”

“That’s the point of the shower, darling.”

“No, that’s because you smell like sweat.”

He pinches Emma’s thigh on his way over to his suitcase, shuffling through for some clothes before he heads into the bathroom and takes a quick, cold shower. He didn’t remember to bring his own body wash in here, so he uses Emma’s, not at all minding that he’s going to smell like vanilla for the rest of the day. Before he knows it, Emma’s ready for work, he’s dressed, and she’s leading him out of her building, wandering down the cramped alleyways outside. He’s not familiar with Boston’s layout, but Emma obviously is, navigating the small roads and alternating busy streets with ease.

She leads them to a small coffee shop, the lights dim inside and the patrons quiet, and he appreciates it as he tugs his baseball cap further down on her forehead and keeps his sunglasses on until the last minute.

“I’m going to order while you get a table. There’s a really cool table upstairs that’s inside of an old bank safe. No one ever sits in it because the wifi is bad.” “That sounds dangerous.”

“The door doesn’t close, KJ,” she laughs, reaching back and squeezing his hand. “You want anything specific besides your coffee?”

“The blueberry muffin that’s sitting at the top of the display case.”

“Gotcha.”

He heads up the stairs, steps creaking and groaning under his weight, and finds the room Emma was talking about. Sure enough, it’s a small, empty section that looks to be within an old bank safe. It’s actually pretty inventive, though he does wonder why this place has a safe on the second floor and how exactly someone decided to change an abandoned bank into a coffee house. Emma joins him five minutes later, two to-go cups and a paper bag in her hand. She practically downs her entire drink in one sitting, the heat somehow not burning her, before shoveling her croissant in her mouth. The entire time he’s waiting for his coffee to cool, staring her down and slowly picking at his muffin.

“What?” she laughs, covering her mouth with her hand.

“You are inhaling your food. How have you not burned your mouth?”

“My creamer and stuff cooled it down, and old habits die hard. I’m usually eating breakfast while getting ready or while driving. And we walked here, which means I’m going to walk to work, so we really only have, like, twenty minutes.”

“It’s been three.”

“Oh,” she laughs, shaking her head while his coffee cools and his affection for Emma warms. Indefinitely, he thinks. “Sorry.”

“Tis nothing, love. I was just watching a modern medical marvel take place.”

She sticks out her tongue, showing the maturity of the twenty-eight-year-old that she is, and he barks out a laugh, throwing his head back and being thankful that he wasn’t drinking his coffee. He eventually does eat, sipping on his coffee even after they leave to walk toward Emma’s office, and despite the fact that it’s still before five in the morning for him, he’s glad to be awake.

He realizes that he’s never actually been to Emma’s actual office, only having gone to the museum for the gala, so as he follows her up several sets of stairs, the lighting dim within the corridors, he takes in the surroundings, trying to put together all of the things he’s imagined while talking to her on the phone. The actual office is a bit brighter than he imagined, large murals obviously painted by children coating the walls, and when Emma turns the corner into a small room, he knows it’s her office simply by the fact that she has a shelf of coffee mugs to the side of the room.

“For someone who made a big fuss about the damn swan mug, you seem to have quite the collection of other options.”

“Oh,” she gasps, almost as if she had forgotten he was behind her or that the mugs were there, “I don’t actually drink out of those. We have a Valentine’s Day party with a lot of the kids every year. Some of them hate it, which is understandable, but for the younger ones, they draw something and we get the picture put on a mug later on. I’ve just kind of collected them.” She shrugs, putting her purse down behind her desk. “They make me happy.”

That thing within him that twisted yesterday, the one he is sure is biologically impossible, twists again, his face heating as his lips stretch into a wide grin. Emma is incredible, in more ways than one, and he shakes his head back in forth in disbelief that she wants to be with him of all people.

“You make me happy.”

“Wow, cheesy.”

He shakes his head again, walking over to Emma and placing his cup on her desk before resting his hands on her hips, thumbs running circles on the skin under her shirt. She’s looking up at him with a bit of disbelief, and he understands. That’s how he looks at her sometimes.

“I’m serious, Emma. You do make me happy.”

Emma’s hands reach up to caress the apple of his cheek, tilting his hat up the slightest bit before speaking on a slightly shaken breath, “You make me happy too, Killian. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

[welllpthisishappening]

Sticking to the Color Scheme

There was hair in his face. And sparkles on his nails. And posters in his locker, hand-drawn masterpieces that they’d probably put in frames at some point. 

But for right now, Killian was simply content to hold onto his kid and make bets about games and listen to the regular scouting report. And, maybe, eventually make out with his wife in some corner of the Garden they hadn’t made out in yet. He wasn’t sure there many of those left. 

Rating: A great, big pile of pre-game fluff.  Word Count: 7.5 and everyone talking over each other.  AN: I’ve mentioned a few times that I love TJ Oshie on here (there’s a reason Killian took all those shootout shots in The PyeongChang Triple) and a few months ago he did an interview with his nails painted because, well, his daughter painted his nails. So, that’s like the most Killian Jones thing to ever happen. And I was like, I’m going to write that. This is the last season, so age updates: Matt’s eight, Peggy’s five, Roland is 17, Henry’s 22, Dylan is nine.  Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll and all Blue Line one shot updates coming on Sundays. 

“Not a word.” “I said no words, Cap.” “You were thinking them.”

“I was not. I was considering thinking them, but then I decided I’d rather not die before we could possibly clinch the East and that’d ruin whatever fairy tale we’re running with here.”

Killian glanced over his shoulder, stuffing his gloves into the corner of his locker and there wasn’t really that much room in his locker. There wasn’t really much hockey equipment in his locker. There were, however, several photos and hand-drawn pictures and the most recent one was leaving a trail of sparkles across the entire locker room.

“Fairy tale,” Killian echoed. “Isn’t that a little sentimental for you, Scarlet?” Will shrugged, stretching his legs out and propping his feet up on the lowest shelf. “Is it not? You take your option, your kids are painfully adorable and, suddenly, we’re rolling through some kind of postseason script that’ll probably inspire a movie at some point.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.” “I’ve put the appropriate amount of thought into this. And you better put up your sign or Pegs is going to be really disappointed.” Killian hummed, far too aware of his five-year-old daughter’s decorating tendencies and the letters that he was, at least, ninety-eight percent positive Emma had sketched at some point the night before.

“She made one for Rook too,” Will continued, eyes darting towards Killian when he was forced to use stick tape to press the piece of paper into one of the few open corners of his locker. “It was the most goddamn adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Wait backtrack a second, have you seen my kids before I have? Is that weird?” “It’s definitely weird, but they like me more and Dr. J wanted to discuss strategy on the PK. He’s got a lot of thoughts about forechecking.” Killian scoffed, something that felt like pride blooming in the center of his chest. “That’s because he’s frustrated we’re not scoring at least ten goals a game. How did you happen to see my kids before I saw my kids?”

“We just went over this, Cap. And because Gina told them they had, approximately, five minutes before Robin had to go on air and Pegs made him a good luck sign too. Although I think he got a different color scheme than we did. Something that was going to match his tie.”

“How could she possibly know what color tie he was going to wear?”

“Seriously you can’t figure out that string of communication on your own?” Will asked and Killian didn’t blink when he twisted, met with an expression somewhere between amused and all-knowing and they were probably going to get glitter on the ice.

“Ok, try and keep up,” Will grinned. “Ruby and Emma drew those letters last night at the restaurant, Rol helped outline them because, naturally they needed to be outlined, Matt thought everything should be blue, Pegs disagreed, Gina heard, promised to find out what color it should be and texted Emma when they got home. Locksley followed up with photo evidence so Pegs could make sure she picked the closest color while we were at morning skate and then went to the MSG studios when, as previously mentioned, Gina told them they could.”

“That wasn’t really that complicated,” Killian said and Will groaned, rolling his head when he made some sort of rude gesture that wasn’t quite as endearing as color coordinated artwork. “So they went across the street then?” “I thought you just said it wasn’t complicated.” “Don’t be an ass.” Will chuckled, shaking his hand out of his glove and running it over his face, the smile there genuine, like everything was, well, sparkly. And color coordinated. With well-outlined block letters and personalized pre-game messages.

God, maybe they were some kind of fairy tale.

“Holy shit,” Killian gasped, jerking towards Will and earning a pair of incredibly well-rolled eyes for his outburst. “When?” “You’re going to need to be more specific, Cap.” “When did this happen?” Will hummed in the back of his throat, squeezing one eye closed and his nails weren’t quite as perfectly colored as Killian’s, but there were still bits of blue and sparkles and they were going to inspire several different headlines if anyone saw. “Uhhhhh not last night, but the night before?” “Why are you spending so much time with my kids?” “We did this already,” Will chuckled, tugging his hand out of Killian’s grasp and shoving against his shoulder. “They like me better. And you were still here when I got uptown, probably doing something vaguely Captain-esque…” “I was on that hockey show Locksley does post-game.” “How many shows is Locksley on?” Killian shrugged, but the answer might have actually been six and Regina had outdone herself in the last few seasons.

They were all going to be set for life – with bright blue, sparkly nails.

“I feel like I should be insulted that Locksley isn’t inviting me on his shows too,” Will continued, leaning over to lace up his skates. “Whatever. I’ll score a hatty, your kids will love me more and then Locksley will have to acknowledge me.” “You realize how insane that sounds?” “Yes.” “Oh, huh,” Killian blinked. “That was not the answer I thought I was going to get. I was sure there was going to be way more banter.”

Will flashed a grin, glancing around the locker room when it started to fill up – new kids and more veterans and far more laughter than there probably should have been, all things considered, but they could clinch the East that night and things were vaguely fairy tale and, over the last few years, the New York Rangers locker room had become some kind of never-ending parade of absolutely adorable.

“I’m here to keep you on your toes, Cap,” Will muttered, pushing off his bench and catching a close-to-flying Dylan Havfrue around the waist. “Control your limbs, little man.” Dylan did not, in fact, control his limbs, laughter sounding impossibly loud even with the other footsteps approaching. Killian turned just in time for a flash of green eyes and dark hair and several incredibly potent limbs to fling themselves at him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck and a knee finding its way into his spleen.

He assumed it was his spleen.

He also assumed it was bruised.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy,” Peggy shouted and he could feel her smile when she buried her face into the crook of his neck. “Did you like your sign?” Killian tried to keep the hair out of his mouth when he answered, but that was a lost cause and he was too busy catching Emma’s eye from the other side of the room. She bit her lip lightly, trying to stop herself from smiling too wide and that was kind of a lost cause too.

She had a walkie-talkie in her hand and she looked a little tired, but that was par for the playoff course and there were Rangerstown posters everywhere.

Killian was, at least, ninety-six percent positive she’d hung half of them herself.

She’d still been in Chase Square when he walked out of the MSG Network studio across the street two nights before – balanced precariously on a vaguely rickety ladder with both Merida and Ruby spotting her. And he wasn’t really sure what had happened, but it felt like something in his brain had short-circuited and he nearly got hit by four different cabs when he ran across 7th Avenue.

Ruby didn’t appreciate that.

But it hadn’t really mattered because he was him and Emma smiled as soon as she saw him, sitting on the top step of the ladder like that wasn’t even more precarious than standing on it.

They made out in the backseat of the cab uptown – after he’d helped her hang the signs.

“Cap,” Phillip muttered, kicking at his ankles when it became incredibly obvious Peggy did not appreciate being ignored. “What’s happening with your face?” Killian blinked, trying to come up with an appropriate answer to that question, particularly when one of his kids was hanging off him and the other – decked in head to toe Rangers gear – was tucked under Phillip’s arm with an expectant look on his face that felt oddly familiar.

Emma smiled.

“He’s probably thinking about all the ladders he’s got to save people from,” she said.

“That was dangerous, Swan.” “Ruby and Merida were there.” “That does not make me feel much better,” Killian argued and Peggy moved again, a different knee finding its way into one of his kidneys. And several different ribs. He was going to be bruised before he even got on the ice.

It was worth it.

He might have been the most melodramatic part of the fairy tale. He hoped they didn’t put that in the inevitable film adaption.

“What exactly are we missing?” Phillip asked, directing Matt further into the locker room until they were both sitting on the same bench. And Phillip’s locker had a considerable amount of hand-drawn art on it as well.

“I had to hang signs before you guys could clinch and because you cold clinch and apparently the ladder was too rickety,” Emma explained.

“Had to or decided to?” “That’s not the question you should be asking.”

Phillip chuckled, glancing meaningfully Will’s direction. He nodded seriously, lower lip jutted out and Killian felt the smile on his face when he noticed the slight flush on Emma’s cheek. “Yuh huh,” Phillip grinned. “So, like, on a scale of one to ten how much did Cap freak when he found out? Actually, you know what, you don’t have to answer that. I don’t want to embarrass Cap in front of your kids.”

“You are playing with fire, Rook,” Killian growled, the vaguely ancient nickname working its way into the threat.

Phillip’s smile widened. “So what you’re really saying is like...a fifteen?”

“You want to get the puck at all or no?” “Please, you need me. And that other kid is nothing.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re pissed he’s breaking your record,” Ruby said, appearing out of seemingly nowhere with a clipboard in hand and a pen behind her ear. “And as a follow-up to that, where’s your kid, Rook?” “Ok, I have not been a rookie in nearly a decade,” Phillip sighed. “We were literally just talking about a rookie. Go bother him, Lucas.” Ruby narrowed her eyes and it looked like she grew several feet while she stared at Phillip, his lips pulled behind his teeth and Killian didn’t think he imagined the way his arm tightened around Matt. “You want to rephrase your official statement?” she asked. “Because that one was pretty shitty, honestly. Don’t let him touch the puck the entire first period, Cap.” “See, that’s that what I’m saying,” Killian said. “But seriously, Phillip, where is your kid?”

“If I say I’m not entirely sure does that make me the world’s worst father? Because I’m like only seventy-six percent positive that they’re here.”

“They are,” Emma said. “Reese’s told me she saw Aurora with someone who she assumed was Aurora’s mom and dad and an incredibly adorable kid wearing your jersey heading up to the team suite when they got here.” Phillip hummed, doing something that looked like an attempt at a wink. Ruby nearly cackled. “Oh thanks, Em,” he said. “That was definitely them. You can tell Mary Margaret her assumptions were correct.” “Good news,” Ruby mumbled. “You know what happens sometimes when you assume."

Emma glared at her. “Don’t you have something better to do than make sweeping allusions to vaguely antiquated curses in front of kids?”

“They didn’t even notice,” Ruby reasoned. She pressed a kiss to the top of Matt’s hair, laughing loudly his grumbled c’mon Ru. “Don’t be like that mini-Jones. You get on TV when you were across the street?” Matt shook his head, kicking his feet out and the banter was a strange pre-game routine they’d all fallen into. “No, there wasn’t enough time.” “You want me to beat up Locksley for you?” “Lucas,” Killian snapped, at the same time Emma yelled “Rubes” and Will was going to do permanent damage to his shoulders if he kept laughing while trying to make sure Dylan Havfrue didn’t end up on the floor in the middle of the New York Rangers locker room.

Merida shouted something on the walkie-talking again, something about fans and cheering and an appearance from Rangers legend Robin Locksley before puck drop.

“Oh God, did she honestly just call him a legend?” Will groaned. “Don’t let Gina hear that, she’s going to change his business cards if she knows that’s what we’re referring to him as.” “Why are you all being so difficult about this?” Emma asked, eyes flashing towards Killian and it wasn’t easy to balance Peggy when he held his arm out towards her. She moved anyway, letting her head rest against the front of his pads.

“I’m not being difficult. I'm being...practical. It’s so much work to redo business cards. Isn’t that right, Lucas?” “I was not in charge of my own business cards,” Ruby answered evenly. “I have several different assistants for that. Because I’m way more important than any of you.” “And modest too,” Phillip muttered. Ruby glared again, but he was already holding up one hand and shaking his head. “Don’t do it again, Lucas. I’m going to score at least once and assist on someone else’s goal. Two points, at least, so I can impress my kid.” “And his in-laws,” Emma added. “That’s neither here nor there.”

“Right, right, of course. Totally not part of the plan.”

“Hey, Em,” Will cut in, wincing when Dylan inadvertently elbowed him in the ear. “How many shows is Locksley on? Cap didn’t know.” Emma twisted, glancing up at him from underneath her eyelashes and, more than a decade later, that was just as distracting as ever, a few hours before puck drop. “You really don’t know?” she asked.

“It’s a lot, right?” “Four?” Ruby asked, gaze flitting around the room and they really needed to get dressed soon. Killian assumed Ruby had something vaguely vice-presidential to do. He hoped Mr. and Mrs. Vankald got along with Phillip’s in-laws in the team suite.

“It’s got to be more than four,” Killian said. “Six. A round half dozen because Gina is crazy. Don’t repeat that,” he added, mostly into Peggy’s hair. “I don’t want to get yelled at later.”

Phillip shook his head. “No, no, it’s not six. That’s insane. Who’d have time for six shows?” “Gina would make time.” “I mean that’s a fair assumption,” Ruby grinned. “But, not to repeat myself, you know what happens when you assume, Cap.” “Oh my God,” Emma groaned, fingers tapping absentmindedly on the back of Killian’s hand. “Count them. He does MSG-150, plus the post and pre-game stuff.” “You can’t count post and pre as different shows. That’s all part of the game broadcast. And MSG-150 is just part of the intermission same thing.” “Agreed,” Will said. “Anything game related only counts as one.” “That’s just because you don’t want it to be a lot numbers,” Emma pointed out. “Sounds like you’re a little threatened.”

Will tilted his head, eyebrows pulled low and Killian didn’t have to see her to know Emma was smiling. And he nearly dropped Peggy when he moved, earning another bruise for his efforts, brushing his lips over the top of her head.

The entire locker room groaned – including that other, incredibly fast rookie and both of Killian's kids.

“Hey,” Killian said, eyeing Matt with something he hoped was vaguely fatherly and not how much he wanted to make out with Emma pre-game. He didn’t really care about the number of shows Robin was inexplicably on anymore. “None of that.” Matt nodded, a twist to his lips and a flash in his eyes and he’d gotten very good at perfecting that very particular response.

“It’s three,” he said.

“What?” “Uncle Robin is on three shows. If you’re following Ru’s rules and saying that the game stuff only counts as one.” “How do you know that?” “I watch TV,” Matt shrugged. “He does the game stuff and The Hockey Show and Aunt Gina got him that fancy Locked In thing.” “That fancy Locked In thing,” Phillip echoed, working another shrug out of Matt and Killian was fairly sure there were cameras working into the locker room too. Mulan was probably on some kind of pre-game, photo gallery quest.

“Gina talked to someone in production, got them to agree to use the name Locked In for the show that used to be the coach’s show,” Emma explained. “There was a lot of discussion, a lot of debate, Gina glared at people. The usual.” Phillip nodded in understanding, but Killian mumbled don’t repeat that either in Peggy’s hair and Gina was going to murder all of them at the restaurant later that night.

Her nails were probably blue too.

“It’s only three shows,” Matt mumbled, like he’d won some kind of argument or settled some kind of debate and he probably practiced shrugging in the mirror as well.

And Killian didn’t know who laughed louder – Ruby or Phillip or even Emma, twisting into his side with both her arms wrapped around his middle.

It made his pads dig into his shoulders and the small of his back and he didn’t say anything, just hid his smile in the mixture of both Emma and Peggy’s hair.

“You’re definitely the smartest one, mini-Jones,” Ruby said, brushing far too long hair out of Matt’s eyes and tugging lightly on the front of his jersey. “Thanks for agreeing with me.” Matt muttered something that sounded like yeah, sure, but the tips of his ears had gone red and he couldn’t seem to meet anyone’s gaze, avoiding Killian’s expectant stare and possibly proud smile and Phillip was still laughing.

“Man, it’s like looking in a mirror,” Will said, hitching Dylan further up his shoulders and Killian hoped Ariel wasn’t anywhere nearby. She would yell.

“You know that doesn’t make any sense at all, right?” Emma laughed. She pulled her head away from Killian, lips still curled into a smile and he tapped his thumb on the back of her wrist – just over her laces and her nails were a slightly different shade of blue than Killian’s or Will’s.

“I think you got a few more sparkles than I did, Swan,” Killian said, nodding towards her hand. “When did you have time for that?” “We were all very well scheduled. She had a whole plan.” “For real?” Emma nodded, a camera shutter clicking a few feet away and if any of this ended up online Killian was going to break several sticks and a few whiteboards just to prove a point. “I expect a few more sparkles next time ok, little love?” he asked, somehow managing to get into Peggy’s gaze and she practically beamed in response.

“Only if you win,” Peggy said and it might have been ok if the internet got official documentation of that moment because it might have been the greatest moment and Killian was only slightly certain his heart hadn’t exploded out of his chest.

Will looked a little stunned, Ruby squeezing her eyes closed and she was absolutely on the verge of tears, but Emma’s walkie talkie made noise and they all jumped, Merida’s muttered voice sounding only vaguely stressed.

That was a step up from normal. Killian assumed it was because they’d hung the signs two nights before.

“Although,” Emma continued, brushing away Peggy’s hair from Killian’s face, “you are kind of right, Scarlet. It’s eerily similar to Killian.” “It’s the eyebrow thing,” Phillip said. He rested his head on top of Matt’s shoulder, working a not-so-quiet groan out of the kid and Killian felt a surge of affection that might get him to score his own hat trick and maybe he should have challenged Will to some kind of pre-game bet.

Will chuckled and he couldn’t sit down with Dylan hanging off his shoulder, but he could, at least, lean back and Peggy made some kind of strangled sound when he nearly ripped one of her latest works of art.

“Uncle Will,” she shouted, directly into Killian’s ear and both he and Emma mumbled some kind of reprimand under their breath. It didn’t make a difference.

There was art to protect.

“Sorry, sorry, Pegs,” Will said quickly. “The art is totally fine. I promise, kid.” She nodded enthusiastically, eyes wide and still just a bit cautious and Will grabbed more tape, some kind of precautionary measure against the creative inclinations of a five-year-old who had taken over an entire professional hockey team.

“Daddy,” she said, yanking on his pads and nearly strangling him in the process. “You never said.” Killian blinked, trying to make sure his throat hadn’t collapsed in the last four seconds and Emma answered for him. “Said what, babe?” “His sign!” “Oh, right, right, right. You know, we worked very hard on tracing those letters last night,” Emma said, glancing back at Killian and he was going to show up the rookie. He had his priorities straight. “And there was some debate about the color scheme.” “Blue is generally a safe bet,” Killian muttered. He shifted Peggy to his other side, dimly aware of several assistant coaches shouting and a few more camera clicks and they needed to go play a hockey game. “And I love the sign, Peg. You did a fantastic job.”

She smiled at him, peppering the side of his face with kisses and Killian’s entire being felt like it was going to explode – several varieties of emotions and most of them were just synonyms of happiness.

“You and Uncle Will and Rook got different ones!” Killian’s eyes flickered towards Emma – she shook her head in response, an unspoken she was determined that had basically become the subhead of Margaret Elsa Jones’ life at that point.

And no one was very good at saying no to her.

He assumed Peggy was the reason they’d been let on the set across the street before Robin was slated to do fan events and three shows in one.

“We’re totally going to win now, Pegs,” Phillip said.

Matt nearly screamed. “Don’t jinx it!” “Oh my God, it is like a mini-Cap. It’s so weird. Listen, Matt, you’ve got to do me a favor and when you play, you can’t pick twenty too, ok? Pick another number.” “Don’t pick Rook’s number, Dr. J,” Will mumbled, kicking lightly at Matt’s ankles and working a laugh out of him. “Plus seventy-six is way better. Looks good when you’re checking.” “Oh my God, Scarlet,” Killian sighed.

“We going to bet on something or what, Cap?”

“What do you want to bet on?”

Will shrugged, tilting his head and keeping an arm around Dylan. “I feel like you should get to pick since you’re just going to lose, so…” “Ok, that’s rude.” “Well, Rook claimed he was going to get at least two points, so I expect three points from you, Cap. At least.” “Three,” Killian repeated. “That’s it?”

Will gasped, nearly falling backwards off the bench when he tried to point and laugh at the same time and Killian probably would have made fun of that if he didn’t realize they were being filmed and he could hear Robin’s voice moving through the locker room.

“Awfully confident,” Emma muttered, lacing her fingers through Killian’s free hand.

Killian hummed, pressing another kiss to her hair, but Matt didn’t groan when he moved towards them. He slammed into Emma’s side, though, never quite as good on the ground as he was on ice and stopping was still a distinct work in progress.

“Three is easy,” Matt said. “Just get in front of the net, Dad.” “Yeah, Cap,” Phillip nodded. “Just get in front of the net. We’ll do the rest. And I really want to make sure Scarlet loses.” “Ok, that’s rude,” Will hissed.

Robin – and his video entourage – arrived in front of them before Killian could come up with some witty retort, pushing cameras into their faces and his tie was incredibly red.

“What the hell is this?” Killian asked, tugging on fabric and Robin couldn’t swat at his hands quickly enough. “A power tie? This is the wrong color entirely.” “Get out of here, Cap. And stop swearing in front of your kids.” “You just came at a totally inopportune time, Locksley. What are you doing here? Don’t you have a TV show to do?” “What do you think I’m doing? This is pre-game stuff.” “Part one of three,” Ruby muttered, waving a dismissive hand when Robin muttered what under his breath. “Don’t listen to them, Locksley. Scarlet, finish your terms.” “Terms,” Robin shouted. “What the hell? Guys, it’s not cool if you leave me out of the bets.” “Locksley you are a retired hockey player,” Killian pointed out. “A legend. If you will. And stop swearing in front of my kids.” “Who said that? The legend thing, not swearing in front of your kids. Hey guys, long time no see. Peg, the guys at the station put your picture up on set.” Peggy let out a noise between a scream and a gasp, trying to climb up and down Killian at the same time. “Really?” “I wouldn’t lie to you, kid. You’ve got to make one for Rol though. He’s super jealous of your dad’s nails.”

“Can we get back to the point, please?” Will asked. “Pegs, you’ve done a great job with the art, they should let you redecorate the Garden and wherever Rol is--” “--The national team training center, Scarlet, don’t act like you don’t know that.” “Whatever, whatever. I want at least three points, Cap and if I don’t get three points, then I get to take the lead in post.” “We do post in front of our lockers later,” Phillip muttered, but it didn’t make any difference and Ruby was already demanding to know what the hell that means.

Will widened his eyes in wait, pointing meaningfully towards both Peggy and Matt, like he was reminding Killian that his kids were standing there would make some kind of difference. As if he weren’t already far more competitive than a normal, healthy person should be.

“Yeah, that’s totally fair,” Killian said. “Game on or whatever.” “Oh God, I can’t believe you just said that out loud. You get that on camera, Locksley? I want that documented for posterity so we can show it when they inevitably retire Cap’s number and the league wants hysterical videos during the inevitable ceremony.”

“You’ve put way too much thought into this,” Robin said. “Why are you thinking about Cap’s retirement ceremony? Mini-Jones is going to wear his number anyway. Obviously.” “Obviously,” Emma repeated softly, just loud enough for Killian to hear it and maybe they could find a corner of the Garden they hadn’t made out in yet.

Matt’s ears were red. Again.

They were absolutely going to clinch the East.

Will nodded, tugging Dylan along with him when he took a step into Killian’s space and Robin directed the cameras towards them. “Game on,” he said.

Robin made Will repeat the whole thing on camera – something about good for the fans and the internet – but it gave Killian a chance to shift the weight of the five-year-old still clinging to his side and direct the eight-year-old with bright red ears towards the door of the locker room and Emma had turned her walkie-talkie off at some point.

And they were, really, overflowing with traditions now, but this one might have been Killian’s favorite and he was kind of a giant sap.

“Alright,” he said, not surprised when Peggy found a way to drape herself horizontally over his shoulders. “Scouting report.” He saw Emma’s smile out of the corner of his eye, twisting the ring around her neck, and Killian couldn’t quite remember when it started exactly – probably somewhere around the time that Matt could open his eyes.

It was definitely before he could form cognizant sentences.

Emma claimed it was playing favorites again, something about how he’d gotten used to the sound of games before he was even born, and Killian probably wouldn’t have ever admitted how much that made his pulse pick up. She absolutely knew anyway.

And the websites backed her up.

It became a trend that first season after Matt was born – hours spent on the couch in their apartment and the couch in Emma’s office and it was some kind of mutual comfort thing, Matt resting on his chest with a team-provided tablet in his hand and film in the background, mumbling a steady stream of commentary and explanations into an infant’s ear.

They kept doing it with Peggy – partly because it really did seem to help both Jones kids sleep and partly because Matt resolutely refused to stop learning how hockey worked once he could form cognizant sentences – and there probably weren’t any two kids in the continental United States who knew more about the game than the Jones kids.

They watched film and dissected game play and gave Killian a scouting report before every game. It was tradition.

“The Devils block a ton of shots,” Matt started. “You won’t be able to do much from the point because they’re going to get into the lanes.”

Killian nodded. “You were pretty adamant about getting in front of the net.” “I know.” “And?” “And what? Score and beat Uncle Will in the bet.” “You’ve made it sound awfully easy,” Killian said. “Their defense doesn’t give up many goals. It’s top in the Metro or something.”

“Yeah, but not on the PK. They’re garbage on the PK. Uncle Liam said a lot of stuff about them in Norwegian and... “Hey,” Killian interrupted sharply and Matt’s eyes widened when he realized what he’d almost said. “Tell Uncle Liam to stop being such a bad influence.”

“He’s not wrong.” “Yeah, I don’t care.”   Emma couldn’t quite mask her laugh, doing a pretty awful job of turning it into a sound that even resembled a cough. She tugged on the back of Peggy’s jersey, trying to pull her off Killian’s shoulders, but that was, apparently, a bigger challenge than getting into the zone against the Devils.

“Something to add, Swan?” Killian asked, ruffling Matt’s hair when he groaned as loudly as he possibly could.

She shook her head. “Absolutely nothing. Just, you know, that maybe you might have mumbled a few pointed words that weren’t in the English language during the last game against the Devils and now you’re--” He didn’t let her finish, which really wasn’t the best plan when both of their kids were standing there and they were in the middle of the hallway, which more than a decade later was still some kind of trend, and Killian really did have to finish getting dressed. He didn’t really care. He was going to kiss his wife and he could feel her smile when his lips found hers, the hint of laughter lingering in the minimal amount of air between them when one of her fingers hooked around a clasp in his pads.

“You’re a menace,” Emma mumbled, resting her forehead on his.

“Nah, a distraction at best.” “I have stuff to do.” “I have a game to play.” “Yours might be more important.” “Equal footing, love,” Killian argued and it wasn’t much of an argument because it was a bunch of absurdly sentimental, fairy-tale type of truth.

Until Matt groaned again and someone called for Killian from the locker room and they really did have things to do. Emma kissed him again before she pulled away.

“Screen ‘em,” Peggy yelled, her own laughter nearly louder than her game-time suggestions when Killian tugged her down. Her words weren’t quite words when he flipped her over, Emma rolling her eyes and that was a bit of a tradition too. The light in the hallway seemed to reflect off the sparkles on his nails. “Daddy, daddy, you’ve got to screen ‘em and then you can score!”

“Oh, yeah?” “Yeah!” “Like, at least, three goals,” Matt added, a smile on his face and belief in his words and Killian barely heard Ariel’s screech when she jogged down the hallway.

“Cap, what the hell? God, jeez, sorry Matt, sorry Pegs.’ “Relax, Red, we’re fine,” Killian promised. “And you might want to refocus your frustration for Scarlet because I’m pretty sure he’s bench-pressing your kid in there.” “Are you kidding me?”

“Tattle tale,” Emma muttered, smile still on her face and ring still pinched between her fingers.

Killian made a dismissive noise, certain the smirk almost worked as soon as Emma tugged her lower lip in between her teeth. “Just reporting the facts, Swan.” “God, you’re the most annoying hockey star in the history of the world,” Ariel mumbled. The words lost a bit of their edge when she started making faces at Peggy, though, slinging an arm around Matt. Her nails were painted too. “You going to score, Cap?” “Obviously.” “Ok, there’s no need to be quite so certain about it.” “Confidence is key, Red. Stop trying to undermine my father-type lessons.” “Jeez, laying it on almost too thick, don’t you think?” “He’s a giant sap, that’s why,” Emma said, a quiet hum of agreement from Ariel. “I mean, don’t get me wrong it’s cute, but that’s totally what it is.” Matt stuck his tongue out when he nearly growled in the middle of the hallway, Peggy far too busy giggling to be impressed by her parent’s continued and inevitable flirting in Madison Square Garden hallways.

Ariel rolled his eyes. “Nice nails, Cap.” “It’s good luck,” he shrugged. “Are yours a different color?” “Nah, they’re still blue, but we had to pool resources when Pegs decided she was going to take over the entire team, you know.”

“Ah, yeah, that makes total sense.” “I think the person behind the counter at Duane Reade thought we were planning something almost nefarious, honestly. Gina and I had to buy, like, fifteen different shades of blue.”

Killian blinked, surprise settling over him and it probably shouldn’t have, particularly when Peggy smiled, twisting back onto her feet. There was hair in her face.

Fairy tale. Or whatever.

Someone called for him again and it probably wouldn’t have been a very good lesson to be late for his own game.

“C’mon guys,” Emma said, tugging Peggy back to her side. “We’ve got to get back upstairs before we make sure Uncle Robin does something vaguely legendary outside.”

He was expecting the kiss, knew it was coming and they’d already kind of made out several times already, but Killian was still kind of greedy and absurdly happy and everyone’s nails were bright blue.

“I love you,” he muttered and maybe Peggy learned how to giggle from Emma.

“I love you too. Score some goals, ok?”

They won.

Easily.

By four goals, which wasn’t really all that surprising because Matt was right and the Devils PK was exceptionally shitty, and the new coach didn’t break nearly as many whiteboards as Arthur had, but that was neither here nor there because they’d won and Killian scored and assisted on Phillip’s second goal and they won.

He didn’t, however, win the bet.

He was only slightly frustrated by that.

And that was the biggest lie he’d told since he promised he was done after his second contract extension ended because he really, really hated losing and hated losing to Will even more, even when it was a stupid bet that didn’t really mean much of anything.

“It was a close call, Cap,” Will said, making sure to nod as sarcastically as he possibly could. Killian’s phone was already ringing a few inches above his head, no doubt some incredibly pointed opinions from Liam about those turnovers in the neutral zone and the way that one check looked.

He ignored his phone.

And Will.

There were already cameras by the time he got to his locker, reporters and recorders and that one guy from Newsday who still used a pad of paper because he didn’t trust technology and Killian’s hair was still slightly damp from the shower.

And, honestly, he should have realized exactly what Will had been planning from the get-go, should have known that he’d probably teamed up with Robin as soon as Killian left the locker room, but he could feel his eyes widen as soon as he heard the voices and Peggy leapt into his lap before he’d taken a full breath.

“Hi,” she shouted, standing on his legs and tugging on the fabric on his shoulders, a precarious balancing act that was also a bit painful.

That one check had totally fucked up his right thigh.

“Hey, love,” Killian mumbled. “What are you doing here? I thought you were upstairs with Mom and M’s and Uncle David.” “Mom had to work and Ru brought us down here because Uncle Will said we could be on TV!”

“Wait, what?”

“What part of that was confusing, Cap?” Will called from the other side of the room. “I told you I was going to control post and this is how I wanted post to go.”

Matt was already talking – giving a detailed description of the Devil’s penalty kill and how important it was to wrap up the series with a strong showing like that and Killian was fairly sure he’d heard the phrase Cup run several times in quick succession.

“Hey,” Robin cut in, leaning around one of the cameras and tugging the microphone away from Matt. “No jinx.” Matt didn’t look particularly impressed. “We’re totally going to win.” “We’ve got to get you some more media training. You can’t say that kind of stuff on the post-game.” “Rol would!”

“Ah, he’s got you there, Locksley,” Phillip laughed, his own kid in his arms and Dylan a few feet away and they were all going to end up on several different backpages for whatever stunt they were currently pulling.

It’d be some kind of incredibly heartwarming scene in the movie.

“Yeah, that’s probably true,” Robin admitted. “And this is, like, full circle or something from the first Cup run.” “Can you say that, Locksley?” Killian asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be less biased now that you’re some fancy TV guy?” “Ok, I am not a fancy TV guy. I am a normal TV guy.” “Eh, how many shows do you currently have?” Robin made a less-than-mature hand gesture behind his back, careful to avoid the cameras and the reporters and Killian had to push his face into his daughter’s hair to make sure his own laugh didn’t draw too much attention.

“Shut up, Cap,” Robin muttered and none of it was very professional, but none of them had ever been very professional and they all had painfully adorable kids who wanted to talk about hockey and scoring opportunities on the MSG post-game show.

“Eloquent. No wonder they put you on forty-seven TV shows.”

“You should have been able to get four points in a four-oh game.” “You want me to get points on every goal we have?” Killian asked, flashing a grin at Peggy when she moved her hands to the front of his shirt.

“Eh, I’m just going off of previously emotional moments in the highlight reel of your career.” “That didn’t sound all that sincere.” “And that rhymed,” Will pointed out, shrugging when Killian narrowed his eyes. “Don’t do that, Cap. This is the easiest post I’ve ever done. Dr. J is some kind of hockey soothsayer because you and Emma are obsessed with this game and force-fed him those aforementioned highlight reels for the last eight years.”

“Trust me, no one force-fed anything.” “That’s probably true, actually. Whatever. I hope this becomes a thing. What do you think, Locksley? Viewership through the roof?”

“Either that or some incredibly pointed columns in several different tabloids.”

Killian scoffed when he noticed the vaguely scandalized look on several different reporter’s faces and Peggy appeared to be answering a few questions of her own.

“What are you doing, little love?” he asked, but she didn’t hear him, or was, possibly, ignoring him, staring straight into the closest camera like she’d been waiting her whole life to stage a presser after the final game of the regular season.

“Good luck,” Peggy said and it clearly wasn’t the first time she’d said those two specific words.

A reporter smiled, Robin laughing under his breath, but several other reporters looked slightly frustrated and Ruby was going to have some kind of metaphorical field day writing that particular release.

“You have to argue against it, Cap?”

Killian arched an eyebrow, holding onto his kid a bit tighter out of instinct and the reporter widened his eyes when he didn’t answer immediately. “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,” he said, winking at Peggy when she twisted back against him.

“It’s a pretty good color for all of you,” the reporter continued. They were talking about the goddamn nail polish.

Of course they were.

“No, no argument,” Killian shook his head. Will made some kind of absurd noise at the word, but Killian didn’t look away from the throng of reporters around his locker and he was old enough that he didn’t quite care what they printed about him anymore.

And the nail polish had absolutely been good luck – even if he hadn’t won the bet.

“No?” That question came from a different reporter and Killian shook his head before the two letters were finished and Will was still making noise, Phillip shouting a slightly muffled argument when he was forced to play jungle gym for his kid.

Phillip definitely had blue nails too.

“How many times are we going to do this?” Killian asked. “Did you want the sparkles too, is that what the issue is?”

“That’s totally what it is,” Will agreed. “Hey, hey, Michael, if you ask Pegs, I bet she’ll do your nails before we start this Cup run.”

Peggy nodded enthusiastically and Killian wasn’t sure if his heart exploded or, simply, grew forty-six sizes, but it had been that kind of day and she was already talking about different shades of blue on one hand.

“We won,” she said said again. “Good luck and Daddy scored and Rook scored and now we’re going to win a Cup!” “No jinx,” half the locker room yelled at the same time Matt shouted “I told you!”

Killian smiled when the reporters couldn't come up with another question, a flash of blonde hair leaning against the open doorway of the locker room with Ruby draped over her back.

“You can quote her on that if you want,” he said, eyes darting Emma’s direction. “And when you inevitably write your sidebar on all of this, make sure you point out how well done everyone’s nails are even after the game ended, ok? That’s a sign of a true professional.”

The headline wasn’t all that creative the next morning – Littlest Jones Guarantees Blueshirts Look Good Ahead of Cup Run – but it was almost complementary and it was difficult for Killian to be frustrated when he was too busy getting his nails redone before the start of the Cup Finals. They used extra sparkes for the first game at the Garden.

And, years later, with another Cup run ahead of them and a different Jones wearing the number twenty on center ice at the Garden, Peggy almost looked nervous, eyes ducked and voice quiet, when she asked Killian.

“For good luck?” she whispered

He felt the smile inch across his face, something sentimental and emotional and maybe the fairy tale hadn’t ever really ended – just moved to a different generation and he would have bet Will and Phillip and Robin that there was a hand drawn sign in Matt’s locker already.

“What’s the name of that color, little love?” “Dad.” “Old habits,” Killian muttered and Peggy rolled her eyes, nearly jumping the few feet between them and swinging her legs over his. “C’mon, I bet it’s got a good name.”

“Front page worthy.” “You’re kidding.” “I wouldn’t joke about something as serious as no-jinx nail polish.” “Good alliteration.”

Peggy hummed, smile tugging on her lips and her smile looked exactly like Emma’s. The eyebrow thing, however, was all him. “The glitter is called set in stone.” “There’s glitter too?” “There’s no point if there isn’t glitter.” “Ah, of course,” Killian laughed, shifting so he didn’t end up with a foot in several different internal organs. “Alright, no time like the present, huh?” Peggy rolled her eyes at the cliché, but that was another old habit and they were a team full of traditions and family and she muttered the scouting report under her breath while she worked, promising as long as MD doesn’t crash into the boards too often, it’ll be fine.

It was – good and great and goddamn historic and every single one of them had bright blue nails when the Rangers won another Stanley Cup.

As tradition dictated.