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scribomaniac · 4 years

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Something Wicca This Way Comes Ch 10

After almost a year I am back and with a chapter update! It felt good to write again and I hope I can keep churning out chapters and finish this fic up in the next few months.

Killian couldn’t believe it. The past few hours were a blur to him and as he sat in his living room, staring down at his clasped hands, he tried to process it all. Emma was the Firestarter. What did that even mean? It meant that she’d killed the judge, sure, but what else? Was she the one that tried to steal the Book of Shadows? Did she have anything to do with the break in? According to the Book, she could be either good or evil. Killian desperately wanted to know where she landed on that scale, but if he was being honest with himself, he was also terrified.

Liam obviously thought he knew the answer, since he was the one to trap her in the crystal cage after blasting her through glass windows. Killian had always trusted Liam in times like these. His instincts were always so spot on . . . except for that time with August. But maybe Emma had been behind that, too. If she was the Source’s bodyguard, if she had gotten close to him only to kill him and his brothers.

Clenching his jaw, Killian wasn’t sure what to think anymore.

“We have to question her,” Liam’s voice broke through Killian’s thoughts. His voice soft but firm.

Killian shook his head, “No. No, I can’t. It’s too soon.”

“It’s been an hour, Kil,” Will shrugged, “we can’t wait forever.”

“The longer we wait, the more vulnerable we are.” Liam sighed as he stood from his seat. “We need answers, and she can give them to us. Now you can stay here and try to . . . process all of this, or you can come upstairs with me and Will.”

After zapping her with the crystals, Will orbed Emma’s body up into the attic. The plan was to keep her in the crystal trap until they could think of what to do next. However, after an hour of sitting silently in their living room they didn’t have much to go on.

Liam wasn’t waiting any longer, though, and headed towards the stairs without waiting for an answer from Killian. “Come on, Will.”

Knuckles tightening, Killian’s nostrils flared as he stood up suddenly and passed his older brother, checking Liam’s shoulder with his own on the way up.

When they opened the door to the attic, everything looked exactly as they had left it, save for one small detail. Emma was now awake.

“Emma,” Killian breathed out. He stepped forward, then stopped, unsure of what to do. He looked her up and down, checking her for any wounds Tink might have missed earlier. “Are you—?”

Raising a delicate brow, Emma chuffed out a laugh, “What? Are you seriously going to ask me if I’m alright?” Looking around at the crystals, now dark and quiet, Emma snorted, “How chivalrous.”

“Who are you?” Liam asked, moving to stand in front of Killian.

Emma tilted her head, “You know my name.”

“Who are you really?” Liam squared his shoulders and raised his chin, looking like the strong Navy captain leading his crew into battle. “We know you’re the Firestarter. We know you’ve been trying to kill us—” At that Killian had to look away. Did they really know that? For certainty? “—so tell us, who are you?”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Emma smirked, looking like she was enjoying this all immensely. “I never lied about my name.”

“Just about everything else,” Liam sneered.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Will said slowly, walking up to stand very close to the edge of the invisible boundary of Emma’s trap. “Emma,” he bent down to look her in the eye. Killian thought he looked like a teacher about to ask a very small child why they hit their classmate. “Are you a good Firestarter, or a bad one?”

Raising a brow, Emma asked, “Really?”

“Christ, Will, we know she’s evil. She was working with that Spirit for Christ’s sake.” Liam yanked his youngest sibling away from Emma by the back of his shirt.

“Well it never hurts to ask! Besides, she was possessed by the Spirit, so,” Will stood back up to his full height and shrugged his shirt back into place. “And your questions wasn’t any better. Who are you—really? That’s the one thing we do know!”

“God you’re so annoying,” Emma pushed her hair from her face and looked down the ground, as if trying to hide from the Charmed Ones and their bickering. “I should’ve let Zelena kill you.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Killian found himself asking. It had been bothering him for a while now. Why hadn’t she killed him when he was powerless in her apartment? Why not let Zelena kill them—possession or no? If destroying the Charmed Ones really was her goal, then she could have claimed that victory at least a dozen times by now.

Emma didn’t look up at him. In fact, she acted as if she hadn’t heard his question at all. She sat as still as a statue in her trap, her knees brought up to her chest and her hands covering her brow.

Nostrils flaring, Liam stomped forward and grabbed a crystal lying outside the trap’s ring. “I’ve had enough of this.” He placed the crystal on the trap’s border, activating the other stones and striking lightning straight into Emma’s chest. “Now talk!”

Emma’s body clenched with pain but she rode the wave of electricity out silently. “Liam—“ Will started, his face easily showing his confliction.

Liam didn’t listen though, slamming the crystal against the border again, asking, “Who sent you?”

This time Emma did cry out, doubling over onto her side. Her cries echoed in Killian’s ears, and his eyes squeezed shut. He couldn’t do this. Not this. It might have been a lie for her, a ruse to get close to the Charmed Ones, but it hadn’t been fake for Killian. He couldn’t just cut the place in his heart she’d wiggled into. Couldn’t ignore the sirens going off in his head saying that this was wrong and make it stop!

At his limit, Killian turned and ran out of the attic.

At the bottom of the stairs Killian leaned over to catch his breath. With his hands resting against his knees, he sucked in oxygen as if he’d just ran a marathon. He could only guess what his brothers were thinking of him. A coward, perhaps. More than likely they thought him a fool. Liam did, he knew. And his older brother was right. He’d been tricked by a pretty face and a shy smile.

“Killian? You okay?”

Looking up, Killian found Tink standing in the dining room, a crease between her brows.

“Aye, I’m—I’m fine, Tink.”

Eyes narrowing, Tink looked him up and down before jerking her head back towards the kitchen. “Come on,” she said, “sit down and have something to eat. You look like you’re about to keel over.”

Knowing better than to argue with his white-lighter when she gets that glint in her eyes, Killian followed Tink into the kitchen and took a seat at the counter. Before he knew it a cup of tea was placed before him and he could smell meat cooking on the stove.

Back turned to him, her attention seemingly on the food in front of her, Tink casually asked, “So how are you feeling?”

Huffing out a laugh, Killian cupped the mug in his hands and focused on how the heat seeped into his skin. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “It’s still sinking in.”

Tink hummed and the pan in front of her sizzled. “I am too. I only met Emma a handful of times but I never would have guessed—a Firestarter,” she shook her head, “that’s so rare.”

“I should have guessed,” Killian said darkly, thinking about every interaction he’d had with Emma these past few months.

“Oh, Killian,” Tink paused her cooking to turn around and look at him with her big, sad eyes, “How could you have possibly known?”

“Liam knew—I should have listened to him.”

“Liam,” Tink said slowly, carefully, as she turned the stove off and placed a plate of bacon in front of him, “is suspicious by nature. Oh, don’t give me that look! I love him, but he could’ve just as easily been wrong about her as he was right. He’s too protective of you and William by half.”

Keeping the look on his face—brows furrowed, lips pursed, jaw tight—Killian continued as if he didn’t hear her. “I’m such an idiot. She was there the night of the Guardian attack, the arraignment, she just happened to be driving by the day the house was burgled—I mean, I bet she was the reason why I kept getting all those strange premonitions!”

“What premonitions?” Tink asked as she not so subtly pushed the plate of food closer to him.

Raising a brow, Killian picked up a piece of bacon and shoved it in his mouth. Speaking around the food, he explained, “I had a few visions of the past. One about a little girl crying and the second about Mary Margaret’s baby.”

Standing up straighter, the white-lighter’s eyes glinted with a strange intensity that confused Killian. “A baby?” She asked, leaning across the kitchen island to look Killian straight in the eyes. “Mary Margaret’s? When?”

Swallowing, Killian answered, “One was after I first met Emma, the night Nolan was attacked, and the second was when Liam brought up the Firestarter. I was reading the page when I saw some female demon take Mary Margaret’s baby from the hospital.”

“And what did that demon look like?”

“Uh—” Killian tried to think back. “I don’t know. She had long hair, wore feathers and diamonds.” Biting on his lip, he added, “I think she said something about being fair, or this was fair? It was a while ago. Why? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing—nothing, I just. I need to go.”

Before Killian could get another word out, Tink orbed away.

“Oh, is that bacon?” Will’s voice called out from behind Killian, making the middle Jones brother blink. “I’m starving!”

“I’ll bet,” Killian muttered, glaring at the strips of meat still on the plate on front of him. Torturing sure could whip up an appetite. He should know after all, since Killian had tortured numerous demons over the past few years. Stomach curling at the sudden memories, he pushed the plate of bacon towards Will and said, “Have mine.”

Popping a strip into his mouth, Will mumbled a thanks. Killian waited to hear more footsteps approach, signifying Liam’s entrance, but he never came. Turning around to look down the hall towards the staircase, Killian asked, “Liam still up in the attic then?”

Liam grunted, “No, I convinced him to take a break. He’s in his room with the Book of Shadows.” He took a moment to lick the grease off his fingers and then wipe them off on his jeans. “I think he’s looking for a truth potion recipe or something since Emma’s not talking.”

That hardly surprised Killian. He remembered what happened to the last demon they’d trapped—Glass was his name, or something like that. He’d tried to talk and had been turned into ash. Frowning, Killian realized that could have been Emma’s doing too. But then again, was she really so powerful that she could start fires that she couldn’t see? Inside of a crystal trap? If she could do that much damage when she wasn’t even the room, then surely the Charmed Ones would’ve been dead by now.

So that meant there was someone else who was that powerful. Killian’s mouth ran dry at the thought of it. Of Emma being there one minute, and the next swallowed up by Hell fire.

“I need to—” he stood up and shook his head. Unable to look his younger brother in the eye, Killian stormed from the kitchen. “I need to go upstairs.”

He took the stairs two at a time, bringing a light layer of perspiration to his skin. The door to the attic was still open, and from the top of the steps he could see Emma in the same spot he left her in. She looked tired—crystal lightning would do that to you—but otherwise fine.

Hearing his arrival, Emma turned her head to look at him. Their eyes locked, freezing Killian where he stood. Finally, after at least a minute of silence, Emma joked, “I’d invite you in, but the place is a mess.”

The joke fell flat, and the silence returned. Killian could hear his heart beating in his chest. He had so many things he wanted to say, so many questions he wanted to ask, but his tongue was a dead, leaden thing in his mouth, preventing him from so much as uttering the smallest of sounds.

His feet returned to him though, and one foot at time he crossed the threshold into the attic, then found himself toeing the line of the crystal trap.

To Killian’s surprise—or was it? Can he really be surprised anymore?—Emma stood up and looked him straight in the eye.

“Killian,” she whispered, her green eyes wide and bright and staring right into Killian’s soul.

Swallowing thickly, Killian heard himself ask, “Was any of it real?” The question was absurd, he realized. Of course it wasn’t real. How could it have been? Still, he found himself needing to hear it from her lips.

Emma’s brows furrowed and her lips locked together. She looked at war with herself, but that couldn’t be. Why would she be conflicted over such a simple question? Stepping back, the hairs on Killian’s neck rose as he considered that this might be an act; a way to regain his sympathy and trust. She’d played him for a fool once, but not again. Killian was stronger than that.

“Alright!” Liam’s booming voice broke the silence as he swiftly entered the attic, his hands full of the Book of Shadows. “Here were are—Killian?” The eldest Jones brother cut off upon noticing the younger. Narrowing his eyes, he looked back and forth between Killian and Emma, “Alright, mate?”

Killian tried—and most likely failed—to hide a grimace. Taking another step away from Emma, he nodded, “Aye. I’m—everything’s fine.”

“That’s good!” Will said as he trailed Liam in at a much slower pace. “Because Liam here thinks he’s found . . . something.”

“I have found something—look, close the door and come over here.” Will closed the door, then the three of them walked over to the corner of the room where they kept a chest full of scrying crystals, potions, and other witch-like items. “See this?” Liam pointed to the margins of a page about chakras and how to cleanse them. Right beside that though, underneath Liam’s finger, was a spell written in pencil.

“Who wrote that?” Killian asked, leaning in closer to get a better look. It must have been written ages ago as he could barely make out the words.

“Haven’t the foggiest, but it’s a truth spell. I can just about make it out, and once we have it we can use it on Emma and get out answers.”

Will hummed, pursing his lips in thought. “I don’t know Liam, that’s not very official, is it? It might not work.”

“But it’s worth a try.”

“We can barely read this,” Killian shook his head. “I don’t know. What if we mess it up and hurt—” Killian glanced over his shoulder. Emma was watching them, but without any signs of interest. As if she didn’t care a lick about what they were talking about. As if she didn’t care what they did to her. “Someone?” Killian finished lamely.

Liam gave him a dry look, opening his mouth to continue the argument when the attic door banged open. Before any of the Charmed Ones could so much spin around to greet their intruder, a very angry Mary Margaret roared, “Get away from my daughter!” And with the wave of her arm, she sent the Charmed Ones flying.

#charmed au #charmed #ouat #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #something wicca this way comes #liam jones #liam jones ii #tink #mary margaret #snow white #is this any good? idk but here it is!

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officialthiamlibrary · 4 years

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Hello Thiam fans!

As many of you have probably seen from some previously answered asks, the mod team has been working on revamping how we do things around here. So we're here to make some exciting announcements!

First of all, a huge congratulations to our new head mod! Alicia, or ExtraSteps as you might know her on Discord and ao3, has been a part of the OTL team for around two years and we are confident that she can lead us as we move forward to create a fun interactive space for the Thiam fandom.

Also, please join us in welcoming our newest OTL mod! Some of you know Autumn -aka Auddieliz09- as a mod on the OTL Discord (Alpha Liam). She's joined the team to help coordinate events, assist in fic recommendations, and create content for the blog. We're all excited to work together and can't wait to start moving forward to give our fellow fans new content to enjoy and bring back some old favorites!

Next up, we want to let you know that we've set up a new format for answering asks. We've put a lot of thought into the way we've done things in the past and have taken all of your input into consideration to create a system and format that gives you everything you ask for to the best of our abilities.

And last, but certainly not least, some of you might be wondering if we're planning to host a Thiam holiday event. The answer is yes. As soon as we get the details sorted out, we'll make a formal announcement, so keep an eye out!

As always, if you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to contact us here on tumblr or by DMing the mods on Discord.

-Alicia, Minna, Tabby, Mary, Tara, and Autumn

#otl team #announcement

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scabopolis · 5 years

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emma x killian au: a bit of disaster, a bit of magic

Holy moly! This (really needs to be edited one more time, but we’ll save that for AO3, shall we?) monstrosity is my gift to @hollyethecurious for the @cssecretsanta2k19 (thank you for your tireless work on this!), and is my first attempt at Emma x Killian fic (eek!).

Hollye, what a joy to chat with you over the past month. I present to you a wordy as all getout friends to lovers fic that takes place over six holidays (five holidays with a bit of disaster, and one with a bit of magic), a soupçon of Captain Cobra, and brief appearances by older brother Liam, as well as (one hopes!) romance and a whole host of other good things. Hope it brings some joy to your season. And I’m thrilled to be able to start following you on Tumblr now and send messages without fear!

And I swear -- post-road trip, a more edited version will also appear on AO3. Happy holidays!

---------- title: a bit of disaster, a bit of magic fandom: once upon a time pairing: emma x killian word count: 12,400 | AO3 link: here ----------

summary: When Killian and Emma first meet on Thanksgiving she has some rather unsavory words for him. But then they somehow manage to navigate a series of holiday disasters together. In so doing they also stumble upon a bit of holiday magic.

Thanksgiving Or, the holiday where Emma calls Killian a pervert

As far as holidays go, Killian finds this Thanksgiving to be relatively textbook. Liam and Kate both made far too much food, took utter delight in teasing him for his lack of love life, and then he went home laden with abundant leftovers.

Only for things to rapidly become significantly less than textbook. It all started when he poured himself a glass of wine at home.

Home: the place wherein he poured himself the aforementioned glass of wine as he began to wind down for the evening, and then somehow proceeded to spill all but a single gulp on his bedding. Bedding: the freshly laundered, high thread-count duvet and sheets, put on the bed this morning, now soaked with Malbec.

With one set of sheets in the hamper and the second set wine soaked, Killian tossed back the remaining gulp of wine and resigned himself to an evening of doing laundry. On Thanksgiving.

In retrospect, Killian knows he should have just taken his brother and sister-in-law up on their kind offer to stay the night, but he’d found himself emotionally overwhelmed by the end of the night. Over dessert and coffee Liam and Kate informed him they were likely going to start trying for their first kiddo in the new year. And as excited as Killian is at the prospect of having a little nephew or niece to dote on next Christmas, it also served as a reminder of how close he’d gotten to having it all once. And how it doesn’t seem at all likely he’ll ever get that close again.

These kinds of maudlin thoughts are exactly why Killian poured himself that glass of wine. Wine that, as Killian holds the clean sheets up to the light in the laundry room, quite remarkably seems to have not stained. He does the complicated hand twisting and folding technique his mum once showed him and sets aside the fitted sheet, reaching for the flat sheet.

Killian hears the door to the shared laundry room open behind him as one of his neighbors enters. He slides his stacks of laundry together to make room on the folding table and is about to greet whoever walked in, commiserate over their fate of doing laundry on a —

“So, is this a normal thing you do on Thanksgiving, you sick pervert?”

Okay. Maybe not.

He turns around slowly to meet the steely gaze of one of his neighbors whom he’s seen from time to time in the mail room and hallways (and once in a rather lurid dream he still feels guilty about). “Do I normally do laundry on Thanksgiving? I wouldn’t consider it a tradition as such, but —”

“No. I mean steal women’s underwear.”

“Pardon?”

She steps closer only to swipe a pair of his briefs off the table. The pair of underwear is, admittedly, a little absurd, but nothing quite warranting such a vitriolic reaction. They’re the rare white elephant gift he actually opted to keep. Aside from being the most comfortable pair he owns, he quite enjoys the whimsical print of yetis sledding and decorating Christmas trees. He takes a step towards her and she backs up.

“What is wrong with you?” she asks.

“I’m not certain what is happening here.”

“What’s happening is, you’re a sick fuck.”

He frowns. That seems, to put it mildly, uncalled for. “Okay, hold on now —” he takes another step towards her

“You stay there,” she demands, pointing a finger at him.

He holds his hands up in a placating gesture. He has so lost the thread of this conversation. And he really should have just stayed at Liam’s house for the night. “I won’t come near you, lass, but if you could return my trunks I would —”

The indignation on her face makes her appear incandescent. “Yours?!”

“Yes, mine.”

His neighbor starts sputtering and then she goes silent, her jaw clenching in a way that is, if he were to be honest, rather intimidating. Still, Killian does (for some unknown reason that would likely require a good amount of therapy), what he so often finds himself doing whenever he meets his match: he smiles.

His smile only makes the frown lines on her face deepen.

“Look,” he says, in his most sensible tone of voice. “Do you really believe I would be daft enough to steal your undergarments and then remain in the laundry folding them knowing any moment you might return?”

It’s only for a split second, but her features relax as she considers his words. Then she full on glares at him, clutching the briefs in her fist. But then her eyes dart to one of the dryers on the wall.

“Have a look,” he says, gesturing with his head to the dryer.

“Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.”

“I would despair if you did.”

She remains true to her word, keeping one eye on him as she opens the dryer and roots around inside. He knows she’s found what she’s looking for when he hears her groan. “Fuck me,” she mutters to herself, and then pulls out a pair of briefs identical to his own.

She groans again. “This isn’t possible.”

“Yet here we are.”

She shuffles over and hands him back his briefs. Killian has to actively work to keep in his laugh as he watches her remove her clothing from the dryer and start another load. From the way the pink in her cheeks burns brighter, she’s aware of his gaze.

“So, is this a normal thing you do on Thanksgiving?” he asks. And there’s that rather becoming jaw clench of hers. “Accuse men of stealing your underwear, I mean?”

She remains silent and Killian decides to show mercy, finishing up his folding and stacking the clothes in his basket. His neighbor gives him a wide berth as she carries her laundry basket on her hip and leaves - no, flees - the room. But not before she mutters an apology. “Sorry if I, uh, said — you know?”

“Now, what could you have possibly said?” he asks, all faux innocence.

If possible, her blush gets even brighter. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Once back in his flat he texts Liam the whole story. As he putters around, remaking his bed and pouring himself another glass of wine, he bursts out into little chuckles of laughter replaying the scenario. Laughter which Liam echoes in emoji form once he responds. Frankly, this woman is Killian’s hero (Liam's too, as he offered to buy her a gift basket for helping keep Killian's ego in check). Maybe he’ll see her in the mail room and can assure her of her place of honor in Jones family lore.

He’s settling into the couch with a book when there’s a knock. Killian frowns, his eyes darting to his wall clock. It’s somehow only half-eight, but he isn’t expecting anyone. He looks out his peephole and smiles at the sight of one his young neighbors holding a platter of baked goods. They’ve only chatted in the elevator and occasionally in the halls but Henry is a warm and charming young man, and Killian always looks forward to their interactions. Which doesn’t explain why he —

“Mom, get your butt over here.”

“You knocked, he didn’t answer. He’s probably asleep.” And then the woman from the laundry room comes into view and it all makes a little more sense.

“When you mess up, you apologize. Those are the rules.”

“The rules for what?” she asks.

“For life.”

“Who taught you these rules?”

“You did.”

She huffs out an exasperated laugh, but wraps an arm around Henry’s shoulder and pulls him close. “God, why couldn’t I suck more as a parent?”

Killian decides to put her out of her misery and answer the door. Young Henry looks delighted at his appearance, and his mom appears miserable. Like she wants nothing more than to sprint in the other direction.

“Mr. Jones! Happy Thanksgiving! This is my mom, Emma.”

“Sir Henry, Happy Thanksgiving to you.” He looks to Henry’s mom. “And to your lovely mum.”

Henry shoves the platter of treats at him and Killian bobbles it before holding it steady. “These are for you!” Henry needlessly explains. It’s a platter teeming with pumpkin pie, cookies, and some sort of toffee almond concoction that looks delightful. “My Aunt Mary-Margaret is the world’s best cook,” Henry says.

“Well, thank you, Henry. And please give my thanks to your aunt.”

“I will. Now my mom has something she wants to say to you.” Emma looks ready to protest but then Henry smiles up at her, his grin wide and toothy and she shakes her head, affection for her son apparent. “Goodnight, Mr. Jones.”

Emma watches as Henry walks down to the end of the hallway, unlocks the door, gives his mom a thumbs up, and walks inside. Once inside, Emma turns to him and mumbles something barely audible.

“I’m sorry. What was that, love?”

She huffs out a breath, fluttering a strand of her hair in the process. “I said, I’m sorry for calling you a pervert.”

“And?”

“And for trying to steal your underwear?”

“What about for calling me a sick fuck?”

“I did not!” she protests, but at his look her brow furrows in concentration. “Oh my god. I did, didn’t I?” She shifts her weight from side to side and he’s pretty certain he hears her mutter another curse word under her breath. She looks up and locks eyes with him. For a moment all he can think is wow, green, but she starts talking again. “Look, Henry and I had a really great day at my sister’s house but then I got this message from my ex, Henry’s dad, and to be honest it sent me into a bit of a tailspin. So then I go grab my laundry and there you are with a very peculiar pair of underwear and all I could think was ‘not today, asshole’ and then — well, you were there. I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven, Emma.” Then it’s his turn to frown, gesturing towards the direction Henry walked as he leans against his doorway. “How did you know who I am?”

“Oh, I mentioned what happened to Henry and he asked me to describe the neighbor.”

“Smart kid.”

“Yeah.” She fidgets again, kind of shaking the tension out of her hands as she rocks back on her heels. “Well, I…that’s all, I wanted to say, so…”

“Nice to meet you, Emma. And Happy Thanksgiving.” She backs away from the door giving him a perfunctory little wave. For some reason, after he closes and locks the door, he finds himself looking through the peephole to watch Emma’s retreat. She lingers outside the door for a second before smacking her forehead with the heel of her hand and then does an entirely unbecoming and yet endearing full body shake and flail, tossing her head back and groaning. She appears to catch herself, and Killian watches as she looks to his door. Her eyes close in resignation. “You saw that didn’t you?”

“Every single second.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Killian.”

Christmas Eve Or, the holiday where Killian almost freezes

It’s a working theory of hers, but Emma is willing to argue with anyone who cares that Christmas Eve is far superior to Christmas. The whole day is filled with baking, and listening to Christmas music, and lighting every baked good themed candle she owns. Plus! she doesn’t have to wake up to an overeager eight year old shaking her at dawn. It’s wonderful.

As she stores the vacuum in the hall closet (one last round of pre-festivity cleaning), her phone vibrates. She pulls it out of her pocket, smiling when she sees it’s a text from Killian.

Texts from Killian: another thing that is wonderful these days, if not unexpected.

11:12 AM - Killian to Emma My oven is on the fritz. Can I use yours for a bit?

11:13 AM - Emma to Killian Define ‘a bit’…

11:14 AM - Killian to Emma Ok. Less ‘a bit’ and more ‘a while.’

11:15 AM - Killian to Emma And by 'a while' I mean the rest of the day.

Emma snorts at that one.

11:17 AM - Emma to Killian It’s all yours. Though, I thought your fruit cake would be in door stop mode by now?

11:19 AM - Killian to Emma For the last time, woman, it’s not a bloody fruit cake.

When Killian proudly told her and Henry over Saturday morning pancakes he was preparing a classic Christmas cake for their Christmas Eve celebration, and then proceeded to explain the weeks long process behind making the cake, Henry frowned. “I think that’s a fruit cake.”

Which was the first, but certainly not the last time, Killian insisted: “It certainly is not!” And then Killian proceeded to explain, again, what a Christmas cake was.

From Killian’s explanation of how to prepare it, though, there shouldn’t be any baking required today. Which begs the question as to exactly what Killian is doing. As the host of the event, Emma is only responsible for appetizers (thank you Trader Joe’s), and booze with the rest of the guests bringing the meal.

A meal which apparently includes a British man she met a month ago, bringing a fruit cake to the Christmas Eve celebration with her family and closest friends. What is her life?

Dare she say it, life is pretty great these days. And Killian is definitely part of why that is.

After their ignominious beginning, she and Killian found themselves bumping into one another constantly. If they didn’t cross paths in the mail room, hallway, or elevator, it was Henry - her kid who would find a way to make friends with a paper bag if given the opportunity - who started inviting Killian to join them everywhere. While on their way to the movies it was a “hey, Killian, wanna come?” More than a few times Henry went to check the mail as Emma cooked dinner and when he returned Killian was with him. “I told him all about your chicken and dumplings, mom!”

Somehow Killian joining them for chicken and dumplings turned into the two of them texting throughout the day — Killian in between clients at the physical therapy clinic, and Emma whenever she needed a break from real estate contracts — and then a second glass of wine once Henry went to bed. Apparently, unbeknownst to Emma, this was all leading to Killian celebrating Christmas Eve with her family and friends. Oh, and coming over the next day for Christmas morning pancakes.

Despite what her sister and brother-in-law would like people to believe, Killian is only spending the holidays with them because his brother left for his in-laws earlier in the week and Henry didn’t want him to spend the holiday alone. That’s it! If it was more than that, would she be okay with Killian coming over while she was in her cleaning clothes? Obviously not. So, suck it universe.

Killian shows up ten minutes later looking fine and not at all biteable in a truly horrendous Christmas sweater that no one has a right to look as…completely adequate…in as he does. His arms are laden with grocery bags.

“All this for a fruitcake?”

“Christmas cake. And no. That has been done for some time, as you well know. I told Mary-Margaret I’d make Yorkshire puddings to go with the prime rib. And Liam would disown me if I didn’t make mince pies.”

“How British of you.”

“Well, I am British.”

“You know what I mean.” Emma grabs him an apron so he doesn’t mess up his Christmas sweater and as he makes himself at home, she buzzes around getting the apartment ready - pulling the folding chairs and table out of the closet, making sure Henry has enough clean clothes to wear for dinner, etc. Henry spends the day floating in and out of the kitchen to bug Killian. He plays his video games for a little bit and then is back to the kitchen and gets annoyed because there’s not enough room for him to make a sandwich. He is only appeased when Killian reveals he brought over leftover Chinese.

“Why did you bring so much extra food?” she asks, ignoring Killian’s disapproving stare as she bites into a cold eggroll. She’s pretty sure he also brought over a gallon of milk and what looks like leftover roasted vegetables. Weird.

“Do you know what the two of you are like when you’re not fed?” Killian shudders in horror, and Emma smacks him in the back of the head. She also pinches mince pie filling to be a brat.

When she comes out in her loungewear, after having showered, there is the most wonderful smell of cinnamon in the air. Before she even asks Killian hands her a mug of mulled wine. How did she even get this and what does she have to do to keep it forever? Emma freezes at the thought. By this she means his friendship. Obviously.

Once Mary-Margaret and David, then Ruby and Mulan arrive, the evening, dare she even thinks it, is borderline perfect. Continuing the British Christmas theme, Killian brought Christmas crackers from World Market. Henry got so excited at the hat and little joke in his that he hug bombed Killian and the poor man spilled his hot chocolate down the front of his sweater. Henry apologizes profusely, but Killian assures him it’s okay, losing the sweater for just a black tee underneath. Which, again, is fine and makes Killian look fine and Emma really needs the commentary in her head to quiet down.

“Hate to see a Christmas casualty,” David muses as Killian tosses the sweater aside.

“True, but good things tend to happen to me when I do laundry on a holiday,” he replies.

And Mary-Margaret gets this wide knowing grin, which Emma does not care for at all, but her heart is currently beating fast enough that she lets it pass.

The high-point of the night might be when Mary-Margaret serves slices of Killian’s Christmas cake alongside her caramel apple pie. Ruby holds up her plate, sniffs Killian’s cake, and with a perfectly cocked eyebrow simply asks “Fruit cake?” Henry almost falls out of his chair laughing.

Mulan and Ruby are the first to leave, needing to get to Granny’s where they’re staying the night. Killian offers to stay and help clean up but Emma refuses. The man spent all day cooking in her kitchen – she’s not going to make him clean, too. But when Henry hugs him goodnight and tells him they’ll see him for pancakes, Emma has to admit she’s a little sad to see him shuffle down the hallway back to his own apartment.

Henry proceeds to line up his mom, his aunt, and his uncle, debating as to who deserves to read to him that night. David wins the privilege outright when, upon Henry asking each of them to share their Percy Jackson voice, he actually recites from memory an excerpt from the book Henry is currently reading. Fucking show-off.

Mary-Margaret doesn’t even wait for them to leave the kitchen before she looks at Emma like she must say something or she’ll burst. As Emma is want to do, she ignores it. No wonder David lobbied so hard to get the bedtime story invitation. The two were in cahoots. As they do dishes, Mary-Margaret keeps dropping conversational breadcrumbs =, waiting for Emma to take one up. Which Emma steadfastly fails to do. So Mary-Margaret stops being subtle.

“So, Killian was here all day, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Huh,” Mary-Margaret says, drying a wine glass and setting it aside. “Interesting.”

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“You know what you’re doing.”

“Do I?”

“God, you’re annoying,” Emma says, smacking her shoulder with the back of her hand.

Mary-Maragret frowns and does it right back. “I like Killian.”

“He’ll be thrilled to hear it.”

“And I think you like Killian, too.”

Emma glares at her. “Well, he’s my friend.”

“Who you very much would like to be a naked friend.”

“Mary-Margaret!”

“What?”

She steals the towel away from Mary-Margaret and snaps her with it. “Can we be done with this conversation?”

“No. Because I have something important to say to you.” Emma groans and Mary-Margaret takes a step forward, placing a hand on either side of Emma’s face. “I know you think you’ve got this bruised and battered heart. But that’s not true, Emma. You have the most open heart of anyone I’ve ever known. And I don’t know how you do it, but as someone you let see that big beautiful heart, I just need you to know how lucky I am to have you in my life. Anyone would be so lucky to have you. So be brave.”

Emma feels her eyes go glassy and seriously! Mary-Margaret has been in her life for more than twenty-years. How does she always do this to her? She reaches forward and hugs Mary-Margaret tight, blinking the tears back.

“I love you,” Mary-Margaret says.

“Shut up.” Emma holds her even tighter. “I love you, too.”

After Mary-Margaret and David leave she gives Henry a final tuck into bed then takes a moment to look around the apartment. The space feels emptier than when the day started. It must be the come down from an almost perfect night. Right? Not like she’s feeling morose because there’s a person down the hall who she very much wishes was still currently in her apartment. Someone to perhaps share leftover pie and a glass of wine with. That would be absurd. It’s just that the whole night felt a little magic, and now it’s over.

Emma blows out the living room candles and that’s when she sees it — Killian’s ugly Christmas sweater draped over the back of the couch. Which Emma immediately decides she should return to Killian. It’s urgent. That sweater could mean a lot to him. Or, something.

She locks up the apartment door and heads to Killian’s. Knocking on the door triggers a feeling of panic and she’s tempted to drop the sweater and run. But then he opens the door and his already bright eyes somehow get brighter. This was the right decision.

“Emma! What are you —”

“You forgot your sweater.”

“Thanks, love.”

She immediately notices that his apartment is very dark. Was he already getting ready for bed? This early? She stands up on her tiptoes to peek, and his smile falls. Killian wedges himself into the doorframe, closing the door behind him and obstructing her view. Emma narrows her eyes.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Nothing.”

“Do you have someone over?”

“No. I’m just —”

“Why are all your lights off?”

“Being energy efficient. Climate change.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“Huh. Fine, then. You should probably stain treat this,” she says, and hands him the sweater.

“Thank you.” He reaches for it and the moment he does Emma pushes him aside to crash into his apartment. All the lights are off. He's lit a few candles, and oh fuck. Does he have someone over?

“Killian, your lights are off.”

“What do you call those?” he asks, pointing to the three-wick sugar cookie candle Mary-Margaret got him.

“Killian.” It’s a tone that usually convinces Henry he in fact does need to wear socks with his shoes but simply causes Killian to smirk at her.

“Maybe I want to romance myself, Swan.”

“Gross. All your lights are off," she repeats. "Even the light on your microwave.”

He looks like he wants to protest but must sense she is in a particularly stubborn mood because he stops himself. If she weren’t trying to get him to fess up Emma would take a moment to gloat that the look always works.

“I was working on a project this afternoon and think I crossed some wires,” he says, running a hand through his hair in, she presumes, some mild embarrassment.

“More than your oven is on the fritz," she realizes, making sense of why there is currently milk in her fridge. "Isn’t it?”

“Seems that way.”

“Well did you —?”

“Aye, I tried, but it didn’t work, and with the holiday the electrician isn’t able to come until Thursday..”

“Well, why not call —?”

“How do you think Leroy is going to feel about me doing an undisclosed wiring project and killing the —?”

“—yeah, I get it. Look, I need to get back to Henry, but pack a bag and I’ll see you soon.”

“Do what now?”

“It’s going to be 12 degrees tonight, Killian. You are not staying in this apartment without power.”

Emma watches as he mulls over her words, considering whether or not he should abide by them. “I could sleep on your couch and then away to my flat in the morning.”

She shrugs. “Or, you could pack a bag.” A little voice inside her head, the one that sounds suspiciously like Mary-Margaret is cheering her on. Telling her to press a little more. That it’s worth it. “Come on, Killian. You can’t freeze to death on Christmas Eve. Imagine how that would play on the evening news.”

He laughs, shaking his head in that way he does. If she isn’t mistaken, it's tinged with a little more affectionate every time. “Depressingly, I imagine.” He breaks eye contact long enough to look down at his slippered feet. For all the times he’s made her blush in their month of friendship, it is ridiculously rewarding to see the tinge of red on his cheeks as he looks up at her. “I’d love to join you and Henry for Christmas.”

Emma dashes home and checks on Henry. He is, predictably, still fast asleep in that way he most frequently is — legs akimbo and sticking out of the blankets like he’s preparing to start running the moment he wakes up.

As she waits for Killian she changes into her pajamas and makes two hot chocolates, adding an extra large dollop of leftover whipped cream to the top pf each.

Killian’s knock is borderline inaudible and it makes her smile, how she knows he’s being careful for Henry’s sake. She takes his bag and invites him to get comfortable on the couch — “it will soon be your bed, after all” — and, as has become the habit, they face each other as they sit there. There’s a lot she loves about their friendship, but high on the list is the way their conversations always start in the middle rather than at the start. She loathes small talk.

“Your family and friends are lovely, Swan.”

“Eh,” she says, scrunching her nose in consideration, “they’re alright.”

“You and your sister appear rather close in age.”

She nods. “We’re only a year and a half apart.” Killian smiles, like he is happy to accept that as a complete answer if she so chooses. And maybe it’s that she’s listening to her sister, or maybe it’s Christmas, or maybe it’s that Killian faintly smells of his sugar cookie candle, but she takes a deep breath and sets her mug on the coffee table. “I’m adopted, actually.”

He hesitates, uncertain. “Emma, I didn’t mean to —” She doesn't want him to be uncertain.

“I was with a family for three years and they couldn’t keep me. I was so young that my social worker really didn’t want to put me in a group home, so they opted for short-term care while they searched for a permanent solution. But at the end of the two weeks, when they got ready to move me to a new home, Mary-Margaret had an utter fit. Refused to let anyone near me when she found out they wanted to take me away. And then she grabbed me by the hand and pulled me into her room, barricaded the door, and we hid under her bed. She was five.”

“You remember all that?”

“I remember her grabbing my hand and us hiding. Mary-Margaret remembers some and my parents filled in the rest.”

“So after that?”

“They decided to adopt me.”

“That’s quite the story.” Killian gently places his mug beside hers and he inches closer. His hand hovers over hers for only a moment before he settles, giving her fingers a little squeeze. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“Please don’t let this go to your head,” she says, and rotates her palm to squeeze his hand right back, “but you’re really easy to talk to.”

“Well, don’t let this go to your head, but I can see why Mary-Margaret did what she did.”

There’s a teeny part of her that doesn’t want to inquire further, but she blames her damn sister and her damn hope speeches for asking, “And why is that?”

“Because I think you’re the type of person it would be impossible to say goodbye to.”

Emma doesn’t know about that — a whole host of boyfriends might say otherwise — but she believes he believes it. Sitting across from him on the couch, his lack of electricity, and the two of them in their pajamas, Emma feels almost a glimmer of magic come back into the room.

Christmas Or, the holiday where Emma almost accidentally murders Killian

Killian wakes up to the sound of giggling and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. The gas fireplace is already switched on, as are the Christmas lights, and he’ll have to ask Emma later how she managed to prevent Henry from crashing into the tree in his excitement to get at his presents.

“I’m going to set the table, so go ahead and gently wake Killian —” And that should prepare him, but he doesn’t hear the rest of Emma’s prompt as a hurling mass of eight year old runs into the living room and jumps on top of him. “Oof,” Killian groans. “Merry Christmas, Sir Henry.”

Henry leans his face down and grins. “Merry Christmas, Killian.”

“Henry, I said gentle!”

“Yeah, but you kinda winked when you said it.”

Killian manages to sit up just enough to watch Emma try and deny that she did in fact encourage the barbarism of her child. He raises an eyebrow in question and she responds in the first true “harumph” he’s ever heard in real life.

“Breakfast is ready,” she says.

Killian sits at the table and apparently the Swans take their Christmas breakfast seriously. Fresh fruit, and coffee and — shit, he forgot to mention something, didn't he? he thought she knew?— breakfast burritos smothered in avocado and tomatillo salsa.

“So, what’s the plan for the day” Killian asks, and then takes a sip of his coffee. Emma passes him the bowl of fruit, and — of fucking course — there’s bananas in it. He pours a little on his plate and hopes he can get away with just coffee for breakfast.

Henry explains that they always eat breakfast first because his mom thinks delayed gratification is good for him — “I stand by that,” Emma says — and then he and his mom exchange presents, and then they play boardgames, and then have Christmas Eve lunch leftovers, and then they go to a movie and have popcorn and milk duds for dinner.

“Milk duds play what part in delayed gratification?” Killian asks, pushing his plate, he hopes discretely, aside.

“I’m not a monster,” she says.

“Why aren’t you eating your burrito? Aren’t you hungry?” Henry asks.

“I’m not a big breakfast person.” At that precise moment, Killian’s stomach growls louder than it’s every growled before. Liar, it seems to proclaim. He sighs. “I’m actually allergic.”

“You are?” Emma asks. If her wide eyes are anything to go by, she is horrified.

“To burritos? That sucks,” Henry says.

“No, not to burritos, but the avocado on top.”

“No you’re not.”

He laughs, because of course Emma would argue with him about his food allergies. “I assure you I am.”

“But when we got lunch last week, you ordered that sandwich with avocado on it.”

He doesn’t think he should be as flattered as he is that Emma remembers that. “I took that one to go. For Liam.”

“But…but…” and then she drops her fork to her plate and covers her mouth with her palm. “Oh my god I could have killed you!”

“Emma…”

“I almost murdered you on Christmas.”

“I can assure you…”

“That I almost murdered you? Because, yeah, figured that one out.”

“It’s not nice to murder people, mom,” Henry helpfully comments then reaches for Killian’s plate. “Can I have this?”

“It’s all yours.”

“What else are you allergic to?” Emma asks.

“Nothing.” She doesn’t seem to believe him as she sits with her arms across her chest, challenging him. “Seriously. Just the avocados.” And then quietly adds, “And kiwis and bananas.”

“So the fruit is also poison,” she says. “Anything else?”

“Latex.” The instant he says the word he regrets it. It’s true, completely, but with the way Emma is looking at him it feels a little…inappropriate to say.

“Latex,” she repeats. She doesn’t break eye contact as she takes a sip of coffee and sets her mug aside. “Interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?” Henry asks.

Emma maintains eye contact, but her cheeks go a little rosy. "Well, um, see the thing is…" she trails off.

Killian cuts in. “Because when I go to the doctor, sometimes the doctor or nurses wear gloves with latex in them.”

“That’s not interesting,” Henry says.

Emma makes him an omelette and then proceeds to apologize all morning. After they open presents (Killian will remember the look of delight on Henry’s face for all his days), she also makes a quick batch of chocolate chip muffins and insists he eat several. The rest of the day unfolds just how Henry said it would. Except Henry didn’t mention he’d only make it two-thirds of the way through the movie before falling asleep on his mom’s shoulder, curled up in the seat. As he snoozes he kicks his feet out into Killian’s lap and Emma rolls her eyes and helps herself to the rest of Henry’s popcorn.

“No personal space boundaries,” she whispers.

When they make it back to Emma’s, Henry wakes up just enough to shuffle to his room. And much like the night before, they find themselves on Emma’s couch talking over the day when she reveals she has a present for him.

“We said we weren’t buying presents, Emma.” He completely bought her a present but was planning to bend the rules by giving it to her on New Year’s Day. Surely New Year's Day presents are a thing somewhere. Right?

“It’s just a little something,” she says.

As Killian opens the gift he registers the novelty print first, and he is almost certain he knows what she got him. It’s three pairs of underwear in rather absurd prints and patterns. The same exact brand and style she tried to steal from him on Thanksgiving.

She grins as he laughs tossing the paper aside. “Did you know you can get them personalized?”

“Excuse me?” he asks.

She takes one of the pairs out of his hands and shows him the inner waistband. There it declares in embroidered thread "Property of Killian Jones."

“Just in case someone else tries to steal your underwear.”

“Nonsense, Swan. That’s our thing.”

The silence stretches between them as Emma rests her head on the back of the couch, her face turned towards him. Over the course of the night they’ve moved close enough to one another that their knees are touching. How did that happen?

“Killian, I want to tell you something.”

He swallows. “You can tell me anything you want, Emma.”

“I —” she begins, and then cuts herself off. “I —” she begins again before stopping, letting out a frustrated groan. She offers him a tentative smile. “I want to thank you for doing everything you did for us today. It meant a lot to Henry.” She pauses, and it looks like she's going to say more, but she simply adds, “And to me.”

“Of course, love.”

“And I’m sorry for almost killing you.”

“I fully intend to use your guilt to my advantage in our relationship for years to come.”

She smiles. “The electrician is coming tomorrow?”

“He said he’d arrive somewhere between 7am and 3pm.”

“Nice he could narrow it down for you.” She looks away and fiddles with the hem of her sweatshirt. “Do you want to stay here again tonight?”

“Aye,” he says. “If you'll have me.”

"I'll have you," she whispers, her lips tinged with a smile.

And he knows he shouldn’t be disappointed. Staying the night on her couch is wonderful and generous and it means another day of getting to wake up with the Swans. But there was a little part of him that thought she was going to say — he’s not entirely sure what. Strangely enough it’s the feeling of disappointment that confirms for him a long held suspicion of his. That with Emma the more she gives him, the more he wants. Every smile she gives makes him want 1,000 more. Every story she shares makes him want to share 1,000 of his own. He’d do anything for her to know he understands her. And he’d never intentionally hurt her. And that this Christmas was one of the best of his life, and is there any way she’d be willing to give him her New Year’s Eve, and Valentine’s Day, and perhaps Flag Day, too?

Boxing Day Or, the holiday where Emma breaks herself

For as relatively calm and almost perfect as Christmas was, the day after is completely different.

Henry comes running into Emma's room at 8:00 AM insisting they don’t have enough batteries. When she calmly reminds him about the extra supply in the hall closet, he runs off without a thank you. A little later she’s pouring herself coffee and Henry runs into the kitchen, grabs the poptart package out of her hand and runs out again. “I’m putting together my legos!” he shouts.

“We are leaving in one hour, Henry.” Silence answers her from his bedroom. “That means shoes, scarf, coat and gloves.” More silence. “Henry!”

“Got it mom! One hour!” Door slam.

She squeezes her eyes shut, feeling the beginnings of a headache. Killian barely stifles a laugh as he watches the sequence of events from the coach.

“How much for you to take him off my hands for the next two to three years?” she asks, trying to ignore how cute he looks waking up in her apartment, sleep rumpled with hair sticking up every which way.

“You want me to bring him back as a pre-teen?”

“Good point. What about one of those boarding schools in Switzerland rich step-mothers always want to send their kids to? You know those ones in movies with the Olsen twins?”

“You’re truly trying to cast yourself as the stepmother in this situation?”

“Shut up and come get your coffee.”

She can see why Killian and Henry get along so well. Much like her son, Killian can’t simply stand up and walk into the kitchen. No. He bounds off the couch — she has no doubt he was tempted to hurdle it simply to prove he could — and then swaggers towards her. Does he always lead with his pelvis? God, why is she thinking about his pelvis? Once he’s in front of her, his mess of hair appears even more riotous and her fingers actually twitch with the urge to smooth it down. Instead she hands him a cup of coffee and picks hers up again. If her hands are busy maybe she’ll keep them to herself. And why did she think having him sleepover again was a good idea? What was she thinking?

Well, to be honest, she knew what she was thinking originally. But then late last night he shared why it is that Christmas is usually a hard season for him — a reminder of losing his mom as a child and his fiancé just two years ago — and all she could think about was how lucky she was to have walked into their laundry room that night.

Killian is a big one for eye contact — she knew that the day they met in the laundry room and it’s been confirmed a million times since — and it has a very squirm inducing impact on her insides. His heavy lidded eyes make everything twist up, and flutter, and race in a way that is almost painful. But like a good kind of painful.

“What’s your plan for today?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Betray your kindness for a bit longer and wait for the electrician to arrive. Yours?”

“Henry is going ice skating with a few of his friends. I’m going to go for a run after I walk him to Avery’s, but no plans after that.” She clears her throat as her pesky thoughts urge her to ask him to spend the day together. Naked, a part of her brain unhelpfully suggests.

“You’re going to walk in this weather? And then run in this weather?”

“I snagged a parking spot right in front and Avery’s family only lives a few blocks away. There is no way I am sacrificing my parking spot.” She turns away from Killian to top up her coffee. “And running is good for me. Helps me make sense of my thoughts when they’re all muddled.”

“What is making your thoughts muddled?” he asks.

She freezes for a second, the question taking her by surprise, and then turns around slowly. And holy fuck why do his eyes have to be so focused on her and so damn blue?! It’s oppressive, his eye color. “I didn’t say —”

“You kind of implied.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

She bites her lip to stifle a laugh, shaking her head. “You know it’s moments like these that remind me you’re the baby brother.”

He laughs, nodding his head in concession. “True. But in this case my persistence is motivated by my own selfish curiosity."

“What makes you curious?”

“I’m curious about all sorts of things. But I have to admit that my thoughts have also been rather muddled these days.” ” He taps his lips, thinking, and that is not fair. “For instance, I’m curious about what you wanted to say to me last night. Before you stopped yourself from continuing.”

How did he —?

“I’m curious about why you’re taking such shallow breaths right now,” he continues, sidling closer to her.

“They’re not —”

“But really, Emma, I find myself wondering if you would be interested in knowing what has my thoughts muddled these days?” He moves even closer as he reaches behind her to set his mug on the counter-top.

She takes a shaky breath. “I might be.”

“Then ask me.”

Okay. So, last night she chickened out. Sitting on the couch with Killian — the fire going, and Henry asleep, and Killian sharing his life with her — Emma had every intention of doing herself, and Mary-Margaret, and every human being who finds men attractive proud by telling Killian that she thinks about kissing him. Thinks about it a lot. So, she's smart enough to see this moment for what it is: a second chance. Another opportunity to get it right. Because Killian wouldn’t be leading her like this simply to reveal his thoughts were muddled with — fuck, she doesn’t know — whether or not he should finally bump Russian Doll to the top of his Netflix queue.

(He should, by the way, but that isn’t the point. The point is, he’s trying to lead her somewhere and she has to decide if she’s going to follow.)

She sets her mug down and takes a deep breath. “Tell me?” She doesn't mean for it to come out like a question.

“Emma,” he says, leaning in and resting a hand on her hip. “It’s you.”

Now, here’s the thing. Nothing in Emma’s life has ever resembled the plot of a romantic comedy. Every time she let herself think — secretly and only in her head and only like three times — “maybe this is my big romance!” it crashes and burns and turns out the guy only looked at her with stars in his eyes because she kinda reminded him of his ex. Until she met Killian. Because no sooner does he whisper the words “it’s you” — and holy shit that is some Mr. Darcy level stuff — her son comes crashing into the room, dressed for ice skating and holding his jacket. Then he’s tugging on Killian’s sleeve and telling him he has to play Smash Brothers with him because he’s been practicing and he’s finally going to beat him but he’s only got fifteen minutes left to prove it.

Killian looks at her, a little helplessly as Henry drags him away. She smiles to reassure him it’s okay. They’ll get to talk soon. Right? At least that’s what she keeps telling herself as she gets into her running clothes and laces her sneakers.

“Henry,” she says, walking out of her room. “Time to go kiddo. I told Avery’s mom we’d be there in 10 minutes.” Henry must be losing to Killian. It’s the only explanation for why he so readily sets the controller aside.

“See ya later, Killian,” he says, and tackle side hugs Killian before sprinting for the door.

Emma grabs him by the hood of his jacket and pulls him back before he can bolt for the door. “Henry. Gloves.” She gestures to the coffee table where they’re waiting for him.

“Oh, right.”

As they walk out of the building, Emma is trying so hard to listen to Henry’s enthusiastic play by play of the game he just played with Killian but all she can think of is the fact that Killian is in her apartment. Waiting there for the electrician (and her?). Sitting there on her couch. Unless the electrician arrives while she’s on her run he’ll be there when she returns. What is she going to say? How do they even pickup that conversation?

It’s this state of distraction that she blames for missing the patch of ice on the sidewalk outside their apartment. She slips and lands hard not even certain of what happened.

“Mom!” Henry shouts, immediately at her side.

“I’m okay, sweetie,” she grits out, trying to catch her breath. “I just slipped.” Except for when Henry tries to help her up her knee buckles and pain shoots up her leg. Shit. She sits on the sidewalk and takes a deep breath, not wanting to scare Henry.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Can you do me a favor, bud?” She pulls out her phone, scrolling through the contacts. “Talk to Killian and ask him to come down, okay?” Maybe she should be the one to call but she kind of feels like crying and needs a second to gather herself. To focus on not bursting into tears from shock and pain.

After Henry hangs up — “Killian come quick! Mom fell!” — Emma steels herself and calls Avery’s mom to explains what happened. Thankfully she tells Emma they’ll just swing by and pick Henry up, no problem.

Killian comes running outside, not even wearing a jacket the idiot, as she hangs up with Avery’s mom. Emma has to stop him from picking her up and bringing her inside immediately.

Her whole body shivers; the sidewalk absolutely icy and freezing. “We need to wait with Henry,” she tells him.

Once Henry leaves, Emma reassuring everyone she’ll be just fine, Killian helps her up. He wraps her arm around his shoulder and she leans into him as he takes her weight and walks her inside. It’s amazing how being in pain can zap all sexual tension from an encounter because Emma isn’t thinking about Killian with his hand on her hip in the kitchen. Not at all. All she's thinking about is how nice he is, and how thankful she was that he was there to help and, okay, fine, maybe being in pain can only zap 80% of the sexual tension. Still. That’s a lot less sexual tension.

Once back in her apartment Killian settles her in the armchair and props her leg up on the ottoman. He buzzes around, bringing her water and ibuprofen, and then asks to see her ankle. She supposes this is kind of his area, so she nods and does her best to hold in a wince as he removes her shoe and sock. He moves her ankle gently from side to side and she braces herself for the pain but it actually isn’t that bad. Until he presses on a spot at the top of her foot and —

“Holy shit that hurts!,” she exclaims.

“Good news is it’s not broken.”

“Feels broken to me.”

“Probably just a really bad sprain but I can take you to get an x-ray if you want.”

“Or?”

“Or I collect some supplies from my apartment and I’ll wrap it myself.”

“That option is free?” she asks. Killian nods. “I choose that.”

“Keep this elevated.” Before he leaves for his apartment, he notices her struggle to get her other shoe off. He sighs affectionately, unlacing her shoe and setting it aside. Without asking he reaches for a blanket on the sofa, one he used the night before, and lays it over her lap. “Back in five minutes.”

The moment the door closes behind Killian tears spring to the corner of her eyes. Yes, Emma’s in pain, the ibuprofen not quite kicking in yet as she feels her ankle throb. And, yes, her butt is a little cold, but that doesn’t really explain why she starts to cry. These past couple of days have just been a lot. In a really great way, but it’s still a lot.

The tears must be something Killian notices when he gets back because in a flash he crouches in front of her, resting a hand on her uninjured ankle. “Hey now, what’s this?”

She shakes her head, not really sure how to explain. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

His raised eyebrow and tightly drawn mouth indicate he doesn’t believe her, but as she dabs her eyes with her sleeve, he takes to unpacking the supplies he brought over. The truth is that it’s not nothing; more like it's everything. It’s that his apartment is down the hall and when she demanded he come stay with her and Henry he could have refused, or used his spare key to stay at his brother’s, but he didn’t. And that while she has yet to hear an explanation concerning his “it’s you” statement, she has a feeling it’s something good. It’s everything to her — the ways both big and small he chooses her and Henry. And it’s only been five-weeks but she wants more. She want more weeks.

He wraps her ankle up then fits her to the pair of crutches he brought over. As he helps her stand, she stumbles and accidentally puts pressure on her ankle. She hisses at the sudden pain, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Careful, Emma,” he says, running a hand up and down her back in comfort. She looks up at him; his eyes are all soft and concerned. “You okay?”

It’s you, too, she wants to say. I don’t know how or why, or even what it means, but it’s you. She nods. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

New Year’s Eve Or, the holiday where Killian meets the ex

“So tell me about this party, Sir Henry.”

Killian’s noticed that when Henry has a lot to say, he has a habit of taking a deep breath and then clenching his fists at his side. It's like Henry’s little body is bracing itself for an onslaught of enthusiasm. “Well,” Henry says, fists clenched, “Aunt Mary-Margaret and Uncle David have this big farmhouse that is so cool and my friend Roland and his dad, and my other friend Violet and her dad, and my other friend Gideon and his mom, are all coming over too and we’re having a big party. And then after we eat so much food, we’re going to play sardines inside with all the lights off, and then after that we’re having a campfire out back, and then after that…”

Killian does his best to listen — really, he does — Henry’s enthusiasm is genuinely delightful so it isn’t hard to be interested. Usually. It’s just that as Henry is talking Emma walks out of her room dressed for the evening in a tight black dress and he kind of loses his head a bit. Actually finds himself staring at her, which he only realizes when she catches his gaze and smiles.

“Breathe, kid,” she says, breaking their stare. “Your aunt texted and said they’ll be here in five minutes. Got all your stuff?”

“Yup!”

“Go get your shoes on, then.” Henry runs off and Killian watches as Emma inspects Henry’s pile of belongings, confirming to her own satisfaction that Henry won’t be without a change of clothes or toothbrush.

“This party sounds fun, Swan. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather spend time with your friends and boy there?”

“Nope. We’re going to Ruby and Mulan’s, and we’re dancing until at least 1:00 AM because that’s when they bring out the dancing snacks.”

“Dancing snacks?”

“Donuts and coffee for the drive home. It’s the best.” He’s about to point out that there exists these wonderful things called donut shops that allows one to purchase a donut and coffee at a time that is not 1:00 AM, but her phone rings.

Emma halts her process of shutting off lights in the kitchen to answer.

“Hey Rubes.” As Ruby talks, Emma refreshes her lipstick in the hallway mirror. She pauses the action, groaning in aggravation at something Ruby says. “Seriously?! Can’t you be total dicks and tell them to leave? Since when? Fine! Be good people! Yeah, we’ll be there in about thirty.”

Emma hangs up and Killian tries not to laugh at Emma’s quietly muttered, “Well, shit.” She told him a few weeks ago her resolve to never swear in front of Henry gets a little weaker with each passing year.

“What was that, love?”

“Apparently the sister of one of Ruby’s co-workers invited herself to the party — much to everyone’s annoyance because Zelena is apparently awful — and then proceeded to be even more awful by bringing along her new boyfriend who, pause for dramatic effect, happens to be my ex.”

“No.”

“Yes,” she says, finishing her lipstick and dropping the tube into her purse. “And Walsh being Walsh, he’s too much of a —” Emma trails off, her eyes darting down the hallway to see if Henry is coming — “fucking narcissistic dickhole to leave once he realized whose house he was at. I know he’s only staying to drink booze and leer at me when I show up alone. Sure, he’s the one who got drunk one night and cheated on me, but I’m the one who is going to have to deal with him.”

“But you’re not showing up alone.”

“Yeah, but you’re my friend date. Not my date date.”

Killian’s heart clenches a little at that entirely accurate explanation.

Hard to believe it was only five days prior that he and Emma were seemingly on the emotional precipice of — well, something. He’s not entirely sure what, because first Henry interrupted their conversation, then Emma sprained her ankle, and then, as he was in the midst of applying his physical therapy degree in perhaps the most important context of his entire life, the electrician called to say he arrived. The man spent several hours trying to undo what Killian did, and then Emma called and asked him to pick up Thai takeout for a late lunch, and before he knew it, Henry was back from ice skating, and Emma was asleep on the couch with a bowl of Phad Thai balanced on her chest.

So, her assessment is correct. Right now they are friends and this is not a date date. Though he wishes it was, and he is certain all it would take is an uninterrupted moment for him and Emma to find that bit of magic again. He’s also convinced that Emma in her dress — black, and short, and lacy, with long sleeves and a neckline that is both wonderful and tempting — is a bit of magic in and of itself.

David texts Emma that they’ve arrived, and Emma and Henry both get bundled up to meet them outside. Killian grabs Henry’s piles of belongings and they’re out the door.

Emma has this whole theory that with surge pricing likely in effect all night, it would be wildly irresponsible to take an Uber to and from Ruby and Mulan’s house. Killian vetoes her theory with his medical opinion that as her PT, it would be wildly irresponsible to allow someone who sprained their ankle a week ago to walk a mile in high heeled boots. She scowls but he requests the Uber anyway. Fuck, he must be far gone because even her scowl is starting to feel like a kind of magic.

As the night goes on, Killian discovers that the problem isn’t if he should confess his feelings but rather what feeling he should confess to first. He watches Emma run in and hug Ruby and Mulan and thinks “I should confess how her smile makes everything better.” When he discovers one of his co-workers is also at the party, apparently a regular at the diner Ruby owns, Emma is kind, and warm, and eager to get to know the man, and Killian thinks “I should confess that my days don’t quite feel real until I am able to talk them over with her.” And then there’s the confession he’s been concealing for well over a month: that he wants to kiss Emma, and he wants to kiss her a lot.

Turns out Emma has a confession of her own to make. Well, not so much a confession as a bald-faced lie.

Killian and Emma are in the middle of a rather heated debate with a couple they’ve just met about the best claymation Christmas movie when a supercilious voice interrupts their conversation, seemingly not caring about a lack of courtesy.

“Isn’t this a festive coincidence? Us being at the same party?” Emma clenches her jaw at the voice and plasters on the brightest smile he thinks he’s ever seen. It screams false, false, false. She turns around to greet the man.

“Walsh,” she says, and then extends her hand to the woman who must be Zelana. “I’m Emma.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” she responds, ignoring the hand. Zelena looks at Walsh, the two of them laughing at some shared joke.

“Seriously, Ems, what are the odds?” he asks.

“Well, seeing as Ruby and Mulan are my friends, the chances of me being here were pretty high. I don’t even know how to calculate the odds of you showing up. Nor do I really care to,” she shrugs.

Killian chuckles at that, bumping Emma with his hip in what he hopes is a dual gesture of both affection and camaraderie. I’m here for you, he wants the gesture to mean. It also has the effect of catching the attention of both Walsh and Zelena.

“Emma,” Walsh says condescendingly. “You didn’t introduce us to your friend.” The emphasis on the word friend is mocking. Like, “look at me with my girlfriend, and here you are with just your regular old friend.” Killian hates this guy.

But, because he likes to think himself a gentleman, he extends a hand in greeting. “Killian Jones,” he says. “Emma’s —”

“Fiancé,” she cuts in almost immediately. Emma wraps her hands around his arm, snuggling into his side. “This is my fiancé.”

“Oh,” says Walsh, glaring. Killian doubts he’s jealous as much as he’s mad Emma’s potentially happy.

“But where is your riiiing?” Zelena simpers. Killian didn’t know the word ‘ring’ had quite that many syllables. “Could you not afford one?” He's decided he hates her, too.

“Oh,” Emma says, voice quiet. “Well —”

Fine. If they’re going to do this… “It’s at the jewelers. Being resized. It was my mum’s ring, and a little large for Emma I’m afraid.”

“Right,” Walsh frowns. “How did the two of you meet?”

“Neighbors,” Emma practically shouts. “We are neighbors. And that’s how we met.”

“Rather ordinary,” Zelena says, sounding bored.

“Well, the sex is great, so…” Emma trails off and Killian almost chokes. Her expression makes him want to laugh — she apparently took herself by surprise with that one. It’s like she can hear herself saying the words and would like to be able to stop saying them, but can’t.

He would never want Emma to think she caused him any distress. They’ll surely talk about the whole fiancé thing, but he’s been hoping all night for a magic opportunity to appear and maybe, he thinks, it’s time to make some magic of his own.

“Truth is,” he says, “I knew Emma was the one for me months before we actually met.” He looks down at her. “I know you’re sick of this story, love, but mind if I tell it once more?” She shakes her head, eyes wide and questioning, and he turns back to Zelena and Walsh. Walsh, who it must be said, looks like he’s sucked on something sour. Killian wasn't sure he'd ever confess this to Emma, but here they are.

“My first glimpse of Emma was in our apartment lobby. Henry must have been at a sleepover of some sort, because Emma was coming home at the early hours of the morning with her sister and friend, stumbling into the lobby clearly drunk and laughing. Then Emma shouted 'we should race!' and someone else said the loser had to make breakfast and no sooner did the words ‘ready’ come out of her sister’s mouth, than Emma took off her shoes and sprinted for the stairs.” He looks down at Emma and notices a rather stunned expression on her face. He hopes it's a good kind of stunned. Might as well keep going. “I think someone called her a cheater and Emma called them sore losers and she was up the staircase, and certainly to her apartment before the two of them even managed to stumble to the elevator. And I remember thinking to myself ‘this woman is amazing.’ We met officially in the laundry room a couple months later and she’s confirmed that thought every day hence.”

He feels that sizzle in the air, of hope and possibility and one of Emma’s hands leaves his arm to slide around his back, squeezing his waist gently. She turns into him further, away from Walsh and Zelena. When he looks down, she leans up and kisses him, soft and delicate on the corner of his mouth.

Walsh coughs, and Zelena says something he immediately opts to ignore. Magic.

“Killian,” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Emma, you have to come take shots with us!” And man, Killian likes Ruby a lot but her timing is on par with Henry’s. Ruby is wearing heels that must be at least four inches high and as she approaches their little circle, wedging herself in close to Walsh, she stumbles. It feels like it starts to happen in slow motion but then all of sudden it's over: the bright red cocktail in Ruby's hand sloshes over the edge of the glass and douses Walsh in what Killian hopes is something both sticky and impossible to get out.

“Fuck,” he shouts, pulling at the fabric of his shirt. “This is Tom Ford.”

Ruby holds her hands up and shrugs. “Oops.” She crouches down to be at eye level with the stain. “Sorry, Mr. Ford,” she says, slurring the words.

Walsh storms off and Zelena follows. They furiously grab their coats from the hook and leave, silencing the crowd with their ire. As soon as the door slams the strained silence in the room breaks, and Ruby turns to him and Emma with a big smile. “Happy New Year, guys!” Miraculously sober once more.

“Ruby,” Emma scolds, not sounding the least bit upset. “You are ridiculous!”

“Excuse you, I tripped.”

“Why didn't you 'trip' two hours ago when Walsh first showed up?”

“I could have,” Ruby says, "but it was so satisfying to watch it happen, wasn’t it?”

Emma looks like she wants to maintain her indignation, but then Killian bursts into laughter, and Ruby grins with unfiltered pride at her accomplishment.

Just as Killian is plotting as to how he and Emma can escape next — (she only kissed him about two minutes ago but it feels like it’s been a lifetime; why is it the second he manages to make a little magic the universe appears dead set upon stealing the moment from him and Emma?) — Ruby tells them “Ems, I wasn’t joking about shots. I need you.”

She looks over to Killian, her brow furrowed. “Actually, Ruby, I need to —”

“Go on, Swan,” he reassures, “I’ll be here.”

Ruby pulls Emma away, no further conversation, Mulan whooping loudly as they get closer. Was that a mistake? Or should he have followed them? What is he even doing? He has no strategy when it comes to Emma. He has no plan; only an intended end goal. Which is her in his life for as long as possible. Ideally with more kissing. Why has he been wasting all this time? He should have asked her out the second she and Henry brought him toffee almond bark.

He pours himself a glass of whiskey from the liquor cart in the living room and then escapes to the back porch, sipping on the drink, cheersing the smokers out there as they all make small talk. Ruby slides the door open a few minutes later. “Come inside future emphysemiacs of the world, the countdown is starting in one minute.”

At Ruby’s commanding tone, everyone tamps out their cigarettes or ceases vaping and moves inside. But Killian stays where he is. He’s too much of a romantic for a New Year’s Eve countdown. The strike of midnight without a kiss from Emma just might break his heart.

The door to the patio opens again, noise swelling as he hears a few people start the countdown with a loud “60! 59! 58!”

“Ruby, I’ll be right in.”

The door closes. “Not Ruby.”

At the sound of Emma’s voice, every nerve ending in his body starts firing. Heart beating wildly. Palms sweating. And he’s either halfway to being in love with this woman or he’s about to throw up.

He looks at her, and her smile is open and warm. He can’t help but smile back. “Emma.”

“Some party, huh?” she asks, standing beside him, forearms resting on the banister. Neither one of them are wearing jackets, and her sleeves might be long but they’re all lace. There’s no way they’ll last out here long.

“Yeah.”

She looks at him. “I feel like I should apologize for the whole fiancé thing. But —” she trails off.

“But?” he asks.

“I’m actually a little more interested in that story you told Walsh.”

His heart isn’t possibly beating loud enough for her to hear. Right? That noise is all in his head?

“What about it?”

“Was it true?”

Somewhere distantly he hears the group inside continue their countdown, now hitting “34! 33! 32!” and getting louder with each number.

“Yeah. The first time I saw you was in the lobby of the building.”

She immediately shakes her head, appearing almost angry at him. “No. Not that part. I remember that night with Mary-Margaret and Elsa. The other part. The part about me. About knowing —” A shiver runs through her. He can see the goosebumps on her skin, and yet she persists. “About me, and knowing that —”

“Of course it’s true, Emma. I wouldn’t make that up.”

Then Emma does the last thing he expects and punches him in the shoulder. Not hard enough to injure him but it’s surprising enough that it hurts. “Ouch!” he says, rubbing the spot she hit. “What was that?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Are you saying I should have?”

“Well, obviously.” She clenches her fists, and huffs out an aggravated breath. “I don’t make eyes, Killian. Okay?” She doesn’t punch him, but she does sort of push his shoulder. “I am not a make eyes person.” And she pushes him again. “Got it?”

“God, woman, would you stop shoving me?”

“No, because you are an idiot.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No. And are you listening to me? I DON’T MAKE EYES.”

“Okay, fine!” They’re almost shouting now, but he can still make out the “10! 9! 8!” from inside the apartment. “You don’t make eyes! I read you!”

“I don’t make eyes,” she says, for the fourth time, a little quieter but no less emphatic. “Except I do make eyes at you. Pretty much from the first moment I met you.”

What? Her words take a moment to register, and then all he manages to say is, “Oh.”

Emma is having a harder time keeping in her shivers now. She crosses her arms tightly over her chest and there’s something about seeing that which springs him into action. He steps closer and runs his hands over her arms, hoping to bring some warmth to her skin.

The group inside bursts into a jubilant shout of “Happy New Year!” and he has apparently been making eyes at him. This whole time.

“Oh,” he says again.

“Yeah.”

New Year’s Day Or, the holiday where Emma and Killian make magic

Emma is tempted to go inside for two reasons: one, to get out of the cold because sheesh, and two to text Mary-Margaret to inform her “I did the brave thing and all he did was say ‘oh.’ Twice!”

But something about the way Killian said ‘oh’ the second time and the way he looks at her now has her rooted in place. He’s running his hands up and down her arms to help warm her up. It feels better than anything has the right to.

“Happy new year, Emma,” he says. She hears the slight shake in his voice. Is he nervous, too? She kind of hopes so.

“Killian,” she says, and takes a small step closer. And, shit, she really hopes she’s not misreading his signals here. “Kiss me.”

For a fraction of a second Killian’s hands still entirely and then his brain seems to take over. One hand snakes around to her waist and he grabs her, bringing their bodies flush, and the other goes up to the nape of her neck. Killian’s thumb and forefinger are doing this massage thing which is utterly divine, and — Oh, she thinks, we’re kissing now.

It isn’t something she’s actively thought about — the logistics of kissing Killian — but that seems to be okay because her body is charged and humming in a way she’s never experienced before. She is suddenly struck by the sensation that she does not have enough hands. She tangles a hand in his hair, grabbing a fistful and earning her a grunt from Killian, which makes her want to do it again. But if her hand is in his hair then she can’t run it up and down the planes of his back and that’s a shame. So, she does that. But, she finds, if both hands are feeling the corded muscles of his back, then she can’t feel the firmness of his arms, which is a crime against the world. And if she’s gripping his biceps, then she can’t get a handful of what she has always suspected, and has now been able to confirm, is a phenomenal ass. It’s a problem scientists should dedicate the rest of their lifetimes to solving — too much Killian and not enough hands.

Killian runs his tongue along the seam of her lips and the sensation is so overwhelming she has to take a second, pulling away with a gasp. Only now they're too far away from on another so she wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her forehead to his. She keeps her eyes closed, wanting to savor the everything of the moment for another second.

“Emma,” he says.

She smiles, and opens her eyes only long enough to kiss him again, sweetly on the lips before nuzzling into his the space between his neck and shoulder. Either she's aggravated her ankle or something about Killian is affecting her because she's having trouble standing.

He laughs, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her once more, and yes! This is significantly warmer than the rubbing of arms things. They should have been doing this the whole time. The kissing is so much warmer.

“Emma,” he repeats.

“Hmm?” she doesn’t feel like she can actually say full words. Maybe it’s the not saying of full words that’s allowing her to feel this warm (also, made her something called a snowball shot and it was minty and wonderful and that might also be contributing to the warm feeling).

“How committed are you to this hanging around for donuts and coffee thing?”

“Why? You have a better offer?”

“I could make you hot chocolate,” he says.

“And?”

“That’s not enough?”

She smiles, opens her eyes and shakes her head at him. “Coffee and donuts. That is a beverage and a snack. You offered only a beverage.”

“Counteroffer: I steal a box of donuts from Ruby and Mulan’s kitchen and we bring them back to your place.”

“Now you’re talking.” Their plan is to get bundled up in their outerwear, say their goodbyes and then grab the donuts, but it all goes to hell when Ruby asks Emma why she’s being weird and in response she shouts “I kissed Killian and I’m stealing your donuts!” She grabs a box and runs. As they try to make their getaway Ruby’s shouts at them from the front door. “I’m sending you a request on Venmo! Donuts are for non-horny guests who stay for dancing!”

Safely tucked into their Uber (she asked about the true horror of surge pricing and Killian refused to answer), Emma finds herself fixated on the red glint of Killian’s stubble under the passing glow of streetlights. He swallows a few times as she runs her finger along the line of his jaw.

“Killian? Has your heater been working okay?”

He nods. “Right as rain.”

“Oh,” she says, disappointed. “Well, if it ever stopped working, you could stay at my place again.”

The corners of his mouth twitch as he holds in a smile, and she really wants to bite his neck but she also doesn’t want to negatively impact Killian’s Uber rating. “Is that so?”

“Just being neighborly.”

“Obviously.”

The rest of the ride to their apartment complex is wonderful, with the touching, and the smiling, and the knowing that she has a box of contraband donuts, but she wants more.

As soon as they get out of the car, Killian takes Emma’s hand but she stays where she is and pulls him back to her.

“I changed my mind,” she says. He looks uncertain, and she rushes to explain. “You should stay at my apartment even if your heat is working.”

“Well that sounds grand,” Killian says, his voice low.

“Well good,” she says, and that’s when inspiration strikes. Once in the lobby, she unzips her ankle boots and holds them out for Killian to take. “Trade you boots for donuts?”

“Deal,” he says.

“So.”

“Who would have thought, huh?”

“What?” he asks.

“I mean, who would have though that me calling you a sick fuck on Thanksgiving would lead to us fucking on New Year’s Day? Crazy, right?” She asks the rather audacious question in as casual a tone as possible. Killian looks a little dazed and Emma leans up to kiss him again, smiling as their lips meet.

“I —” he sputters.

“Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“Loser makes breakfast in the morning,” she says, and then she’s running through the lobby, clutching the donuts to her chest.

Killian’s laughter chasing her up the stairs is magic.

#cssecretsanta2k19 #captain swan #cs fanfic #captain swan ff #emma x killian #p: emma x killian #c: emma swan #c: killian jones #hollyethecurious #never stories

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justanotherwannabeclassic · 7 years

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Apparitions

Gifted with the ability to see ghosts, Emma Swan considers this more of a curse than a blessing. When a pair of ghosts named Milah and Liam request her help in befriending a loved one, Emma is introduced to a heartbroken Killian Jones. Easy enough, right? But somewhere along the way, Emma begins to see Killian as more than a friend, and must wrestle with realities of dating while hiding her secret while also helping his loved ones move on.

Rating: T

Author’s Note: I'm so glad to finally be posting my "ghost fic", as its been named in my Google Drive for months. Originally inspired by a conversation in the Hub, and written for the CSLB/ @captainswanbigbang, this is my foray into writing the supernatural. Many, many thanks for this story go to the Hub, which inspired me, and to my wonderful beta, @lenfaz, who is a delight in so many ways. (Especially considering I broke Rule No. 1 with Dead Liam.)

I'm so excited for you all to see the art by @bleebug and @welllpthisishappening. They're great artists and cheerleaders. This story doesn't really have any triggers, however if this might be upsetting to anyone who has experienced the loss of a loved one or for those who struggle with death, in general, because ghosts are dead people and the concept of dying comes up a lot.

Warnings: This might be upsetting to anyone who has experienced the loss of a loved one or for those who struggle with death, in general, because ghosts are dead people and the concept of dying comes up a lot.

Art: [Photoset by @welllpthisishappening] [drawing by @bleebug]

Read also on AO3!

Apparitions

"I see dead people."

Emma hates The Sixth Sense. She hates the jokes people make in reference to the movie. She hates how the movie portrayed the ghosts, all gory and terrifying. But most of all, what Emma hates is that she can see dead people.

-/-

Her gifts first developed when she was child and attended her first funeral. It had been that of her foster mother's father, a portly old man that Emma thought to be charming, the type of man she had thought a potential grandfather should be.

She was five and didn't understand the concept of death completely. Was it like abandonment, she would wonder, like what her parents did to her on the side of the road. Death, she was told, was forever.

So imagine her surprise when she saw the deceased wandering around his own funeral!

Emma had pointed out the old man to her foster mother, insisting that the woman's father couldn't be gone forever because she was right there! What Emma didn't realize at the time was that no one else could see the old man, resulting her in foster mother believing her to be crazy.

-/-

Crazy (adjective cra·zy \ ˈkrā-zē \) not mentally sound : marked by thought or action that lacks reason

Used in a sentence: Emma is crazy because she sees dead people. Not.

-/-

Ghosts look like the living. Well, mostly. Ghosts look like the living, only a little blurred around the edges, almost as if someone had shifted the lens of life while taking a picture.

They aren't bloody. In all honesty, they look how a person would want to on the best day. They're not malevolent. Well, mostly. Emma's encountered an angry one or two, but they're in the minority.

More often than not, they're usually sad.

-/-

Emma is at the bar when she sees a group of them. Normally, ghosts don't flock in packs. It's not how they operate. Usually, ghosts are solitary creatures, hovering around a loved one or place they aren't ready to let go, or vice-versa.

So imagine Emma's surprise when she sees two ghosts following the man who had just walked through the door. She takes a long sip of her drink as she studies them. The two of them, a man and a woman, appear concerned for the man, both looking impossibly sad and reaching out to him.

He won't reach back. The living never do. Why would they? They can't see the dead.

How sad the afterlife must be, Emma thinks.

Surreptitiously, over the course of the hour, her eyes keep flicking back to the man and his ghosts. She wonders who they are to him. Siblings? Friends? He is important to them, if they keep hanging around him like this.

She considers talking to them. The thing about seeing dead people is that she can also interact with them. She's done her fair share of communications with ghosts over the years. As a young girl and teen, she tried to avoid it, fearing that families would be afraid of adopting her if they caught her talking to air. But Emma was never adopted, the young girl as lost as these ghosts that hang around the living.

As a detective, she's learned the usefulness of these ghosts. They can point her in the correct direction of a case, and every now and then, it'll be the victim she meets. They can't testify, of course, and "a ghost told me" isn't the best evidence, but they help her build cases. It assists them in moving on, Emma's come to learn.

At any rate, her spectral assistance gives her quite the reputation as a detective. No one at the precinct except her partner, David Nolan, knows about her abilities. In that regard, it feels a little unearned, but crimes are being solved.

That's all that matters at the end of the day.

-/-

Lily is the first person Emma ever confesses her abilities to. Lily's eyes go wide, and tells Emma that she can see ghosts too. It takes awhile, but Emma eventually figures out that her friend is lying, playing along as if it is a some silly game and not Emma's reality. Emma stops speaking to her after that, embarrassed, hurt, and afraid.

The second person she tells is Neal, her first love. She believes she is going to marry him someday, and since she also believes that husbands and wives shouldn’t keep monumental secrets from one another, she shares everything. He doesn't believe her, this much Emma can tell, but he humors her. In the end, it doesn't matter, he still leaves her anyway.

She is forced to tell David out of necessity. He's a detective, and her behavior is erratic and strange when it comes to ghosts. He asks her questions, mostly about the deceased. "Are they hurting?" "Do you help them?" "Are they able to move on?" No. Yes. Sometimes. David Nolan is a good man, a caring one. Emma is proud to have him as her partner.

David tells his wife. One evening over dinner, Mary Margaret lets it slip. At first Emma is mad. It's not his secret to tell, and he really does look ashamed. Emma is angry, because this feels like just another betrayal. It's the next day that Mary Margaret hunts her down at the precinct, insisting that they talk.

"He's amazed by you," she says. "And he's worried about you. It must be an unbelievable burden to carry alone. And I know I won't ever understand, but we'd like to help you carry it, if you'd let us."

And as afraid as she is to do it, Emma lets them. It's one of the best damn decisions she has ever made.

-/-

Emma's mistake is going to the bathroom. The ghost of the woman moves into her direction, and Emma sidesteps to avoid her, making eye contact.

Fuck.

The living don't make eye contact with ghosts. They can't see them. Thankfully, the ghost woman waits until after she pees -- but before she washes her hands -- to confront Emma.

"You can see me?"

There's no use in denying it, so Emma doesn't. "Um. Yeah. It's a thing I can do. Think of it like my superpower."

She tries to sidestep the ghost woman, but the ghost moves in front of Emma. Emma considers walking right through her. Ghosts are incorporeal, after all. But she's heard enough ghosts complain about how frustrating and rude that is so she refrains.

"I need you to speak to my husband," the woman requests. "It's our anniversary, and he's...not dealing."

"I don't think your husband would react well to someone telling him his dead wife is haunting him," Emma replies. Even though she utilizes the help of ghosts for her cases, she's really not about the whole Ghost Whisperer thing. Jennifer Love Hewitt, Emma is not.

"I don't need him to know I'm here. He just needs someone to talk to. Please." The woman looks at her with pleading eyes, and Emma feels tempted to give in. She hates these types of situations.

"Who's the other guy? Your ghost friend?" Emma asks, nodding toward the bathroom door.

"It's his brother, Liam."

Emma feels a pang of sympathy for the man. She can't imagine how it must feel to lose both a brother and wife. "He's worried then too?"

"As I said, he isn't dealing well," the ghost woman responds bitterly. "Killian's hurting especially bad right now. He's new to the area, and he doesn't have many reliable friends right now."

"You've been haunting him pretty closely, then," Emma replies, finally moving around the woman. She flips on the water, waiting for it to grow warm. Ghosts always make everything feel colder.

"I prefer the term 'watching over'."

"How do you know he even wants company?" Emma asks, and god, she's considering honoring the ghost's request. She remembers how the man looked hunched over the bar, defeated and alone. It's a feeling Emma knows well.

"I was in a relationship with him for five years. I think I know him pretty well."

People change, lady, she thinks bitterly. Instead she replies, "So his name is Killian, right? Anything else I need to know?"

The other woman smiles. "He likes sailing."

-/-

The ghost woman's name in Milah. Not that she tells Emma that. Instead, she reads the name inked on Killian Jones' wrist. Unconsciously, she fingers the buttercup tattoo on her own wrist.

"Hey, sailor," she greets.

His brother's ghost looks at her questioningly, and Milah waves him off. Killian looks equally confused, raising a brow carefully, "How did you know I'm a sailor?"

"I didn't. Lucky guess," Emma replies. It's better than telling him that his dead wife told her. However, knowing she needs more than that answer, she points to the keychain beside him. "The anchor there might have helped me."

He laughs, but it's a hollow sort of thing. "Perceptive, you are."

"I better be. I'm a detective."

"Are you here to interrogate me for a crime?"

"Should I be?"

"No, lass, you shouldn't. Not that I would tell you if you ought to."

He winks at her, and Emma wants to laugh. She would under normal circumstances -- if she were just a woman and him a man meeting by chance in a bar. But this isn't a normal circumstance. She's talking to him request of his dead wife, and he is here impossibly sad and more than a little on his way to being drunk. His words are slightly slurred. Emma can tell he had likely been drinking before he even came to a bar. There's also a bit of an accent, and Milah's words about him being new to the area flicker through her mind.

"You're not from around here are you?"

"It sure sounds like you're interrogating me," he eyes her suspiciously. To Emma's surprise, he waves over the bartender, and asks for two glasses of whiskey. "If we're going to play twenty questions all night, then I'm going to need more to drink, and it's bad form to leave a lady without."

He winks again. He means it to come out as an innuendo, but his melancholy taints it. Not that Emma would give into it considering his wife and brother are watching. He's handsome, though, dark hair and bright blue eyes. He's her type, and for a brief moment, Emma finds herself mentally congratulating Milah for locking him down.

"You never answered my question, you know," she says, trying to snap herself out of her inappropriate line of thought.

"Shouldn't my accent be evidence enough, detective?" he responds, and then after a beat, he tells her, "I spent most of my life in London. Just moved here a few months ago."

"Why?"

"I needed a change of pace, and as luck would have it, a job opportunity popped up that allowed it," he replies, clearly evading her question.

Emma doesn't wonder if his desired change of pace has anything to do with the loss of his wife and brother. She knows it does, and her heart calls out to him. After Neal left, she bounced from place to place trying to outrun the memories.

It didn't work.

"May I ask you a question, love?"

"I'm not your love, but sure."

"Why are you here speaking to me?" he asks. Emma tries to hide her panic as he continues, "Now, I know it's not just my devilishly handsome good looks. So it must be something else. What is it?"

Thankfully, Emma is good at thinking on her feet. "Because you were drinking alone. I was drinking alone. And I thought that if you wanted, we could drink alone together."

Her answer is close enough to the truth that she doesn't feel guilty saying it. Emma always feels weird speaking to living when the reason she is there is because of their dead loved one.

"I'm afraid I'm not pleasant company tonight," he says.

Emma notes how he isn't ushering her away. She can tell part of him wants to, but the bigger, lonelier part wants her here. The desire for a human connection always wins out in the end -- for both the living and the dead.

"Trust me, you won't be the worst drinking buddy I've ever had."

"I have a hard time believing that."

"Oh, well you haven't met Leroy then," she replies before launching into a long tale involving Leroy and bar-fight that she hadn't been involved in that resulted in three stitches.

-/-

They split a cab when they leave the bar. Milah sits between them, and the brother sits in the front. All in all, it still isn't the most awkward taxi ride she's ever taken, but it ranks in the top ten.

"You aren't going to sleep with him are you?" Liam asks, peering over the back of the seat. "It's bad form to fuck a man on his wedding anniversary."

"Liam, that's rude," Milah scolds. Regardless, Emma can tell if the other woman were alive, she would be blushing.

"You mean to tell me if you watched her join Killian at his flat, you would be fine?" Liam asks in response. Emma decides she doesn't like Killian's brother, which is somewhat unfair, because he's dead. "I've seen how you get whenever he brings home other girls."

"I'm dead. He's allowed to bring home whomever he wants."

"Yeah, but she knows you're around, not like the other women."

Emma wants to shout that she's not going to sleep with Killian, and that this is a conversation that she very much does not want to be privy to. It embarrassing for all parties, and she's sure Killian wouldn't want to know about the comments his brother is making.

And that's the thing: Killian has no idea that his brother and wife are having these conversations because he can't see or hear them. He's not the one stuck with shitty "I see dead people" powers. For all the shitty things life seems to have dealt him, he at the very least has that gift.

She must make a noise in annoyance, because Killian suddenly asks, his voice still slurred, "You s'alright, love?"

"Um, yeah, just thinking about things I don't want to," she replies.

"Bad things?"

"Something like that."

"I as well."

Emma can see Milah's heart break at Killian's words. Even Liam looks bothered. The media always makes ghosts about to vengeful, but they're really not. They feel. They love. Their no-longer-beating hearts shatter.

Eventually, the cab gets to Killian’s place -- a brownstone on a nice street. He turns to her before exiting the vehicle, reaching out his hand -- unknowing that his arm moves right through Milah -- to clasp Emma’s.

“Thank you,” he says, squeezing her hand just once. Emma isn’t sure how to answer, so she doesn’t. Instead she gives a shaky nod, and watches as the steps out of the cab and fumbles up the stairs, taking his ghostly loved ones with him.

She doubts she will ever see them again.

-/-

She does.

-/-

Emma is at the station going over case files the second time she sees Killian Jones. He’s standing awkwardly in the lobby, a box of doughnuts in his hand, looking half-lost but hopeful.

“Swan, at last,” he says as he sees her, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes that wasn’t present when she’d first met him two night prior.

She’s surprised to see him. She is less surprised to see that Milah and Liam are still haunting -- no, watching over -- him. Emma makes brief eye contact with Milah, who gives a hopeful shrug. They both ignore Liam, who is prodding at a few files at an empty desk.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asks her guest. Though she said she was a detective, she’d never told him the precinct. To find her, he’d have needed to search her name. The thought makes her uneasy, and not just because she feels a hopeful swoop in her gut. His ghost wife is haunting him, Emma reminds herself.

Killian thrusts out the box of doughnuts toward her. “I wanted to thank you for keeping me company the other night. I wasn’t in the best of places, and you kept me from going someplace worse.”

“Really, it’s no problem,” Emma tells him as she takes the box. She takes a peek at the contents inside. “Though if it gets me bearclaws, I’ll do it more often.”

Her reply is more flirtatious than she intended. Both Killian and Milah’s eyes widen in surprise. “Ah, well, I’m hoping I won’t need to be rescued anytime soon.”

“Yeah, you don’t strike me as a damsel in distress.”

“I do prefer the term ‘dashing rapscallion’ over ‘damsel’,” he replies with a wink, swaying toward her. Catching himself, he takes a step back. “Anyway, I hope you enjoy the doughnuts.”

“I’m sure I will.” She can feel her cheeks flush. “I hope you don’t mind me sharing them with the office. We’re all doughnut fiends.”

“Sharing is caring. Isn’t that how the saying goes?” Emma is momentarily distracted by his wide grin. He ducks his head, and scratches behind his ear. “Well, I have to get back to work. Thank you, Emma Swan.”

“I should be thanking you,” Emma replies, raising the box. “Bye, Killian.”

It’s only after she returns to her desk, doughnuts in tow, that she realizes two things. First, that she had forgotten Milah had been present. Second, that Killian had stuffed his business card into the doughnut box, his cell phone number hastily scrawled onto the box.

-/-

“So David tells me you met a guy.”

Emma nearly spits out her bloody mary. Leave it to Mary Margaret to cut to the chase over brunch. “David is full of shit.”

“So an attractive man didn’t bring you doughnuts the other morning at work?” Mary Margaret raises a well-manicured eyebrow, a look resembling victory settling on her face.

“Was David the one who called him attractive?”

“David has eyes,” Mary Margaret answers with a shrug. “How’d you meet him?”

“David? Well, I was assigned to work with him when I was hired…” Emma trails off, trying to bite back a laugh as her friend glares. “Look, this thing with Killian--”

“Oooh, Killian.”

“--isn’t what you think. I was introduced to him the other night at the bar.”

“Just because you met at the bar doesn’t mean it can’t be something special. On Grey’s Anatomy, Meredith and McDreamy met at a bar, and they had eleven seasons of passionate love and romance.”

“That was promptly ended by a semi. Or contractual disputes. Either way, no thanks.” Emma shakes her head. Leave it to Mary Margaret to relate everything back to fairy tales or epic television romances. “Besides, it’s really, really not what you’re thinking. His late wife asked me to talk to him. Emphasis on late.”

Emma watches Mary Margaret’s eyes grow wide. Though she’s in on the whole “seeing ghosts” thing, the knowledge that it’s something that actually happens still surprises her. Her friend takes a long drink from her mimosa. “That’s heavy.”

“Yep.”

“So why did she ask you to do it?”

“She’s worried, thinks he’s lonely and sad, and didn’t want him to be alone,” Emma replies, remembering the melancholy in Milah’s voice when she’d practically begged Emma to talk to Killian. She must love him a lot, Emma thinks. “He moved here from England not long ago, so he has no friends.”

Mary Margaret is quiet for awhile as she absorbs this information. Emma half expects her to launch into another speech about love, or make some Patrick Swayze reference, but instead she says something worse. “You should invite him to the party next weekend.”

“What?”

“His wife wants him to meet people, right? Make friends? Well, David and I are having a party, so you should invite him,” Mary Margaret explains thoughtfully. “Maybe he’ll make friends, and maybe it will help his wife find some peace. I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel if I were in her place.”

Sometimes Emma takes for granted that Mary Margaret is one of the kindest people on the planet. Of course she would be the one to consider the ways making new friends might not just help Killian, but also Milah.

-/-

Hey. So this is Emma from the bar. Thanks again for the doughnuts. They were a hit. So much so that my partner wanted me to invite you to this party he and his wife are having next weekend. Super casual. I’ll be there. Let me know if you want details.

Text message sent. God, Emma feels like a teenager.

-/-

Emma taps her fingers against her beer bottle in a staccato rhythm. She’s nervous, something Mary Margaret will not stop noting, either verbally or with her smug smiles. Emma takes another pull of her beer, and attempts to distract herself by listening to Ruby her “worst date ever”, a story Emma has heard too many times.

Killian is coming to the party tonight. Or rather, he says he’s coming to the party tonight. There’s a chance he might feel too tired or have other more exciting plans come up. So it very much is within the realm of possibility that he might not even show. Which is fine. Probably for the best, as it means that his ghostly loved ones won’t be here. Ghosts at parties suck. They keep distracting her, making everyone think she’s drunker than she really is because she keeps staring at an empty space.

(It’s not an empty space. It’s a ghost.) It also makes things awkward because she normally has no idea who the ghost is there for. The host? A random guest? Is it a brother? A girlfriend? A college roommate? Considering that it’s a party, she rarely has the time or space to find out. And because there’s no “Missed Connections” for ghosts, they remain forever that: missed.

So, really, it might actually be best if Killian doesn’t show, ghosts in tow.

-/-

He shows.

-/-

She doesn’t get into too in-depth of a conversation with him. She doesn’t have time before David swoops in thanking him for the donuts, and Robin excitedly shouts about meeting another Brit. Before Emma knows it, Killian’s in a deep conversation regarding soccer -- football, he calls it -- and she’s nursing her beer and listening to Aurora discuss her new job at the hospital. It’s all well and good anyway, Emma supposes, because the entire point of her speaking to Killian in the first place was so he wouldn’t be alone. And at this party, he’s certainly not alone, not when David is clapping him on the back and he’s laughing uproariously at some joke Anton made. She is struck by how charismatic he is. She wouldn’t have guessed so based on the first night she met him, but then again, that had been a very bad night. She realizes that she is seeing baseline Killian, something closer to the man Liam knew and the one Milah fell in love with.

It’s not a bad look. -/-

“Are they here?” Mary Margaret asked in a hushed whisper, or rather, what she perceives to be a hushed whisper. The smaller brunette is already three sheets to the wind, and Emma can’t help but laugh when she responds. “Who?”

“Killian’s, you know, friends.” She makes weird wobbly motions with her hands that Emma interprets as being a gesture for ghosts. “Are they here?” Emma looks around, and much to her surprise, they aren’t. She doesn’t know what shocks her more: that they aren’t or that she didn’t notice until now.

-/-

As with the night they met, Emma and Killian split a ride home. Unlike the night they met, they’re both only a little bit buzzed and there’s no ghosts around to bug her about sleeping with him. Emma prefers it this way.

“Your friends are nice,” he tells her. He taps his fingers against his thigh, and Emma wonders if it’s a normal tic or a nervous one.

“They’re honestly assholes, but they’re my assholes,” she replies.

“Ah, so true friends then.”

“Something like that.” She wonders about his friends back home in England, but feels like it’s not her place to ask. “Thanks for coming out tonight, by the way. I know it’s weird to show up places where you don’t know anyone.”

“It was either that or sitting alone in my house, or worse, drinking myself into another stupor at the bar alone,” Killian answers with a shrug. Realizing that his response could be taken the wrong way, “Really, I enjoyed myself and this wasn’t the last resort. I truly appreciate the invite.”

“Yeah, well, thank David. He was super into the doughnut delivery,” Emma says, causing Killian to chuckle. “And I was too. They were pretty excellent.”

“So you’re saying next time I want a night out, I should ply your precinct with fried dough.”

“There are worse ways to try to score a date.” The words come out before Emma can really think them through. They both freeze.

Killian breaks the tension by saying, “Aye. I would know. Pretty sure I tried every trick in the book at one point.”

“Really now?”

“I was quite the cad in my youth,” he supplies. He runs his hand behind his ear and sighs. “Definitely not some of my finest moments, I assure you.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure we all did pretty stupid things when we were young,” Emma assures him. She tries not to think too hard about her misadventures with Neal or Lily.

“Regardless, I like to think I’ve improved as a person now.”

“Oh, so you’re better at scoring dates now?” Emma’s not really sure why she’s goading him right now, other than the fact that she’s having fun and he’s incredibly easy to talk to. She shouldn’t be flirting with him, especially since she knows for certain he’s being haunted, but she can’t stop the words from slipping out.

“A gentleman never scores and tells,” he answers with a wink. “See? I’ve matured.”

“I think saying you’ve matured completely negates any or all maturity.”

“You wound me, Swan.”

“Swan, now?” she asks. She’s used to people calling her by her last name, but that’s always been in a workplace setting. Not in a cab with guy.

“It’s your name, isn’t it?” he asks. His expression turning serious, he says, “If it bothers you, I can--”

“No, no, it doesn’t,” she assures him. “Really, it’s fine.” “Alright.”

“Alright,” she repeats. On the radio, a sappy love song plays. Emma glances out the window, watching the city lights pass by. They don’t speak much more after that. When the taxi pulls up to the townhome, Killian turns to her before exiting the car.

“I truly did enjoy myself tonight, love,” he says, and God, his voice is so earnest. Then he reaches for her hand, and brings her knuckles to his lips. It’s something out of a romance novel, something that Emma is glad his ghost compatriots aren’t here to see, and something that makes her heart pound in her chest. “Goodnight, Emma.”

And then he’s gone, racing up his stoop. As the cab pulls away, Emma can see the flick of an apparition appearing beside him.

-/-

Fun fact about ghosts: They don’t have to linger around the person they’re haunting. They can appear anywhere they desire.

-/-

Emma’s on her morning run when she sees Milah. She jumps at the other woman’s sudden appearance, and she’s grateful there’s no one around her to pass judgement at what appears to be her startling over nothing. Emma stops, chest heaving as she raises an eyebrow at Milah.

“You don’t have to stop on my account. A perk of being dead is that I can keep up and not feel anything,” Milah tells her. Emma eyes her warily, but goes back into a jog. As promised, Milah sticks beside her. “You know, I hated running while I was living, but now it’s not so bad.”

“What I wouldn’t give to be feeling like you right now,” Emma grumbles. She then winces when she realizes that she more or less said she envied the dead. Milah, however, isn’t phased by the statement. “Honestly, if our roles were reversed, I’d be envious too.” She laughs. “When I was living, I used to hate all those women who could run 5ks like it was nothing. Never understood it. Now that I’m dead, I could do a marathon and not even break a sweat. Irony’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“If you say so.” Here’s the thing about the dead: they like making jokes about being dead. Despite having her powers for literal decades, Emma has yet to figure out the proper way to respond. As such, she goes for the tried and true method of ‘smile and nod.’ “So why are you here, anyway?”

“I wanted to see how the party went. It’s not like Killian monologues to himself.”

“You could have gone. It’s not like anyone other than me would have noticed you.” Emma averts her eyes as another runner passes her, not willing to look like a crazy woman talking to herself.

“I don’t watch over him every second. He deserves his privacy,” Milah explains, making Emma think back to Liam’s comment about the women Killian would bring home. Surely she or Liam wouldn’t watch -- no, not thinking about that. “So, how did it go? Did he enjoy himself? He seemed less broody than normal.”

Emma can still feel the brand of his kiss on her skin. It had been such a simple thing, incredibly sweet, but something told her that Milah wouldn’t want to know that. And even if she did, Emma doesn’t feel the need the share. Not wanting to examine why, she reports on the more rowdy aspects. “Well, he certainly got along with many of my guy friends. I’m pretty sure my partner is already developing a bit of a bro-crush.”

Milah smiles widely, seemingly pleased by the revelation. “That’s great.”

“Yeah, it is,” Emma replies, but she’s only speaking to air. Milah has disappeared, leaving Emma alone in her run. Another thing about ghosts: manners, they go completely out the window. -/- Two weeks pass. She doesn’t see Killian, but they text every now and then. They talk about the food they’re eating or the television shows they’re watching. They make jokes. All and all, it’s fun.

What they don’t talk about is him kissing her hand. Emma can’t tell if that annoys her or not.

-/- A child is murdered by her father. Wendy Darling, age 9. When Emma and David arrive at the scene, there’s no ghost, a small mercy. Every murder investigation is hard, but children make it worse, and Emma doesn’t think she can bare to see an apparition of a small child.

(On the best days, her powers aren’t great, but at their worst, they feel like a curse.)

Emma and David do all of their necessary work, and at the end of a too late night, David goes home to Mary Margaret, and Emma goes to the bar alone.

(She’s always alone. This is nothing new.)

-/-

She’s a rookie the first time she sees the ghost of a child. It’s a little boy, Henry. He’d been poisoned by his step-mother. Emma is the one to explain what happened to him. No one else can.

He cries. How many people expect ghosts to cry?

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, though. Ghosts, after all, were once human. Why wouldn’t they cry?

Another question: how often do ghosts make Emma cry?

-/-

An hour in, she gets a text from Killian, “Jefferson’s is on Hatter Street, aye?”

She doesn’t respond, both a little too drunk and unsure as to why he knows where she is. But no sooner can she wrap her mind around the idea does he come walking through the bar doors.

“David told me you’d be here,” he says to her when he reaches her at the bar, answering her silent question. “Thought I’d return the favor.” “Favor?”

“Last time I had a rough night, you were there for me.” “I don’t need your charity.”

“But perhaps you need a friend.” They’re silent while he flags down the bartender and orders a beer. Emma considers trying to wave him off. She’s a bit too raw right now, but something compels her to stay, or rather, to not convince him to go. So she doesn’t. Instead, she tells him about Wendy Darling, about the kids are hardest part of her job. He listens and comments when necessary, but nothing more. She appreciates him for that. As with most of their meetings, they split a cab ride home. “We have to stop meeting like this,” Killian jokes, but she can tell he doesn’t mean it.

“But what fun would that be?” Emma replies, and she’s surprised she has it in her to flirt and to joke right now. Being around Killian is easy. It’s as terrifying as it is exciting.

He instructs that cabbie to take her home first. She argues that she’s fine, and doesn’t need someone to escort her home.

“Allow me to be a gentleman, love?” And she does, because he sounds so earnest, because he was there, even if he didn’t need to be. She definitely understands why this man is being haunted. -/- She’s being haunted. Sort of. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the spectre of Liam Jones hovering behind doors and around desks. Emma ignores him for awhile. She has work to do. By luck, Wendy Darling’s father had been picked up at a traffic stop, the idiot. She’s already spent much of the morning interrogating him, even as Liam Jones attempts to distract her in the corner. It’s late in the afternoon when she finally feels like acknowledging Liam Jones. She navigates her way around the office and to one of the few single occupancy bathrooms found in the precinct.

“You can come out now.”

“Technically, it’s not coming out if I’ve not hidden myself,” Liam Jones says, appearing suddenly by the locked bathroom door. He surveys the small room, and raises a brow. It reminds her of Killian, which shouldn’t come as a surprise. They are brothers, after all. “A bathroom? Really?”

“It’s not like I can talk to you at my desk,” she tells him. She crosses her arms over her chest. “What do you want?”

“Are you normally this prickly to others?”

“When they interrupt me at work? Yes,” she answers coolly. She does her best to put on the air of authority she uses in the interrogation room. Considering the day, it’s easy. “So what do you want?”

“To the point then? Okay then,” Liam begins. His expression turns serious. “I’m fairly certain my little brother fancies you.” Emma is unable to hold back a slightly hysterical laugh at Liam’s comments. It’s insane and stupid, and honestly something Mary Margaret’s students might pull, not a grown adult man. But then there’s the tiny swoop in her stomach that she does her best to ignore, because Emma is an adult even if Killian’s dead older brother apparently isn’t.

“You’ve been haunting me all day to tell me that?” Emma asks, sobering herself and falling back into interrogation mode. “What are you, fourteen?”

“Perpetually twenty-nine, I’m afraid,” Liam answers in deadpan, causing Emma to wince. “It’s quite frustrating, you know, for your little brother to now be older than you.” “I’m sure it is.”

“At any rate, I’m here to tell you that my no longer younger brother fancies you,” Liam says, turning back to the matter at hand, “and when it comes for him to attempt to court you, I’d request that you turn him down.”

She blinks, not quite believing what she’s hearing. “So let me get this straight: you’re here to tell me that your brother has a crush on me, and that when he asks me out, to turn him down. You’re not really helping the case that you aren’t a child, buddy.”

Liam rolls his eyes, and for a brief second, Emma can see the distinct resemblance to Killian. “Be that as it may, Detective Swan, I’m looking out for my brother.”

“So what? You don’t think I’m good enough for him?” She shouldn’t be feeling a pang of insecurity her inquiry, but she does. She schools her features as not to let Liam realize it.

“I think if you were to date, your entire relationship would be built on a lie. Or were you planning on telling my dear brother about your abilities any time soon?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“But it’s Killian’s. I won’t have him blindsided or lied to,” Liam argues, his voice raising. It’s stupid. It’s completely stupid and insane, and Emma wants to yell back at him. But she can’t. Not without coming out sounding like a freak. “He already has an idea about you that’s nothing like the reality.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you aren’t some savior that reached out to him out the goodness of your own heart, and that you needed to be coerced into by his late wife. That you know more about him than he could ever know about you. You’ve put him at a distinct disadvantage, you know.”

“I think whatever happens between your brother and I is up for us to decide,” Emma furiously whispers. “And, frankly, I’m not going to take the advice of a ghost.”

Liam glares at her, but says nothing more. A moment passes, and then he disappears, leaving Emma alone with the weight of his words.

-/-

Emma and David grab dinner at a nearby diner. During the few lulls they had during the day, he’d been skittish around her, likely worried that she’s mad he’d sent Killian to check in on her the night previous. She doesn’t blame him. Under most circumstances, she would be. But, well, things are different with Killian. She’s drawn to him, and not just because she’s been recruited by his ghostly wife. She likes him. “Like likes him” as Mary Margaret’s students might say, and if Liam is to be believed, he likes her too.

But Liam’s other words weigh heavily on her mind, as well. Poking at her ketchup with a French fry, she debates discussing this with David. She loathes talking about her feelings, but she knows she needs a sounding board for this.

“Can I ask you something?”

David eyes her warily. “Listen, if this is about me sending Killian your way, I recognize it was out of line, but—“

Emma raises her hand to wave him off. “No, it’s not about that. Though I’m also curious why you sent him, now that you bring it up.”

“You needed a friend.”

“I have friends!”

“Okay, so I took a page out his dead wife’s book and thought another friend would be nice,” David answers sheepishly, eyes darting around when he says “dead”. “Besides, he’s been asking about you.”

Emma’s eyes narrow, even as her heart begins to pound in her chest. “Asking about me?”

David shrugs. “I invited him to Tuesday Night Trivia after he seemed to hit it off with everyone at the party.” At her expression, he asks, “Wasn’t the point of inviting him so he could make friends?”

“I’m not bothered. Just surprised.” She doesn’t want to sound like she accusing him of hanging out with Killian behind her back, or talking about her to him. “How is he at trivia?”

“Pretty clutch, actually.” He stops to take a bite out his burger. After chewing thoughtfully, he says, “So if you weren’t asking about why I sent Killian after you, then what did you want to ask me?”

Emma debates chickening out. David somewhat sidetracking her original question had her rethinking things. Suddenly wishing her Diet Coke was something more like whiskey, she takes a sip to buy time and find her courage.

“When you and Mary Margaret first got together, did you guys keep any major secrets from one another?”

David laughs. “You know how Mary Margaret is with secrets. I don’t think it would have been possible for her even if she tried.” He sobers at her pointed glare. He pauses for a moment, and Emma see a flicker of understanding cross his face. “Emma, there’s a difference between hiding things and not revealing everything about yourself upfront.”

“I think you’re stretching things a bit,” she tells him. She swirls another French fry in the ketchup. Maybe this would be a conversation better saved for Mary Margaret, but talking to David means she’s less likely to hear a hope speech. “It’s just…I don’t know…relationships are supposed to be built on a foundation of trust right? How do you cope if everything is a lie?”

“What do you mean?”

“So let’s say Killian and I get together,” Emma says, allowing herself to visualize an idea of their relationship for a brief moment. “What if he asks why I approached him at the bar or why I get weird about certain things? I can’t just say,” she lowers her voice to a whisper, “that I see ghosts and his dead wife asked me to hang out with him.”

“No, you can’t,” David agrees. “At least not at first anyway. It’s perfectly understandable why you wouldn’t want to share your secret, but don’t let that serve as an excuse. You never know, people might surprise you.”

-/-

Here’s the thing: Emma Swan doesn’t date. Dating is difficult enough even if you’re someone without a Big Secret. Because Emma has a Big Secret, dating is practically impossible. Her heart is broken by Neal, and from that moment on, she swears to not reveal her Big Secret unless the guy really is The One. Not that she exactly believes in The One, but that’s what she tells Mary Margaret who is a very big believer in True Love and soulmates. Of course, it takes dating to figure out if a guy is anywhere close to being The One, and here’s another thing: Emma Swan doesn’t really date. She has one night stands and short flings, because Big Secrets don’t really matter, for the most part. Those sort of affairs don’t lead to heartbreak, not really, and she doesn’t have to worry about revealing her secret and then watching it all come tumbling down. She tries, once, with a cute guy that David sets her up with. His name is Graham and he works in a different precinct. He’s charming and sweet, and Emma actually believes she might be able to tell him her Big Secret. And she does, but it’s only when he’s a ghost and she’s walking him through the events that had led to his death. So, yeah, dating and Emma Swan don’t go together, with or without the Big Secret. But here’s one last thing: Emma Swan does sort of want to date Killian Jones. -/-

None of it matters. It’s all very likely that Liam is project in his own weird ghost way, and Killian won’t ask her out.

-/-

He asks her out.

-/-

It’s a week before Emma sees Killian again, but this time she expects him when he arrives at the station, a box of donuts in hand. He had texted her the night before asking about her favorite place for bearclaws. Emma had considered not responding, her longing for baked goods at war with her anxieties over Liam and lying, but in the end she felt compelled to advise him to visit her favorite bakery, a small place named Granny’s. And now he’s here. With his brother. Not that he knows that part

“What’s the occasion?” she ask him as he presents the box to her. Emma tries not to both salivate at the smell of freshly baked doughnuts or focus too much attention on the spectre of Liam, but she’s pretty sure she fails. Killian doesn’t seem to notice, however, appraising her cautiously.

Killian scratches behind his ear. “Do you remember our cab ride home after David and Mary Margaret’s party?”

“Yes,” she says, nodding. Her eyes flick over to Liam, but she able to pass it off as a beat officer also passes by, walking directly through him. “What about it?”

“I believe we agreed that next time I wanted a night out, I should bring doughnuts.”

“Unfortunately, none of my friends have any parties scheduled anytime soon,” Emma tells him. She’s unable to suppress the slight teasing tone, especially once she notices the way the tips of his ears turn red.

“No matter, because I’m interested in a night out with you.”

“You sound like you’re asking me out on a date.”

“I am.”

She takes a deep intake of breath at the statement, blinking once, twice, three times. She’d known this had been coming. She’d been warned by Liam, after all, and he now stands behind his brother glaring at her.

He wants her to say no. It would be easy to. A dozen excuses spring to mind.

“I don’t date guys who ask me out at work.”

“I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

“I’m busy.”

“Your ghost brother asked me to.”

Emma chances one last glance at Liam before once again making eye contact with Killian. He’s staring at her so earnestly, so hopefully. And despite all of the reasons, despite her Big Secret, despite the clear lack of familiar approval, Emma realizes one thing: she doesn’t actually want to tell him no.

So she doesn’t.

“Okay, then. Does Friday night work for you?”

-/-

“So you’re allowing people to surprise you?” David asks when Emma comes back to her desk, box of doughnuts in hand.

“Shut up.”

-/-

Emma refrains from looking up anything about Killian in the days leading up to their date. Because she’s both a cop and woman with access to Google, she has the ability to do a deep background check on him. Just one click. It would be incredibly easy.

Whether out of self-preservation or curiosity, she’s tempted to do so. But she doesn’t. She can’t, not with Liam’s words hanging heavy over her head. He’s right that she knows more about Killian than she does him. There’s no need for her to add to that, even if she is insanely curious about the man and the company he unknowingly keeps.

She’ll just have to find it all out naturally, and not hear it from his dead brother and wife.

-/-

Emma is preparing for her date when she feel the presence of someone appearing behind her. Turning around, she sees Milah reclining on her bed, appraising her. “Nice lingerie. He likes red,” Milah comments, noting Emma’s lacy underthings.Emma blushes under the other woman’s gaze, feeling both vulnerable and embarrassed.

“I’m not planning on sleeping with him tonight,” Emma blurts out, guilt bubbling to the surface as she shrinks away from Milah’s gaze. Grabbing the robe that had earlier been discarded to the floor, she covers before she says, “I like wearing fancy lingerie because it gives me the confidence boost.” “Calm down, you don’t need to explain anything to me. You’re allowed to wear whatever you want. You’re a beautiful woman going on a date with a handsome man. I’d wear sexy lingerie too,” Milah tells her. Emma can’t detect any bitterness in her voice, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. Oblivious to Emma’s discomfort, Milah continues, “You can sleep with him tonight, by the way. There’s nothing wrong with it. He’s handsome and unattached -- and he’s quite good at it, just so you know.”

“You don’t need to be telling me this,” Emma says, even though all she really wants to say is This is really weird and I’m incredibly uncomfortable. But then, Emma thinks, maybe Milah might be just as uncomfortable, as well. It is her husband -- former husband -- that Emma’s about to go out with. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“This can’t be easy for you.”

“It’s not.” Milah’s expression turns sad. If Mary Margaret were here, and Milah were corporeal, Mary Margaret would give her a hug. Emma’s not Mary Margaret, so she stands still and waits for Milah to say something.

“I appreciate the concern. Truly,” Milah says after a moment. “But I’m dead, and have been for years. And as much as it hurts to see him excited to take out another woman -- and yes, Emma, he’s excited -- it hurts more to see him miserable.”

“Oh.”

“Killian is a wonderful man. I wouldn’t have married him if he wasn’t. And you seem like a lovely woman. Certainly caring, if you were willing to provide help when I asked it of you.” Milah fixes her stare on Emma, who tries not to shirk away from the intensity of it all. “If I can help him, I will. Even if it’s this.”

“I feel like you’re telling me to not screw this up.”

Milah laughs, a brittle thing, but a laugh nonetheless. “Maybe I am. What are you going to do about it?”

-/-

He picks her up at 7:00 p.m., and Emma is surprised when he leads her to a black GTO.

“I know you said we had to stop meeting in taxis, but you didn’t have to get a car for me,” she teases as she slides in the passenger seat. She takes note of the spotless nature of his car.

Despite her obvious joking, she watches as his cheeks color, “I’ve had this for awhile. We’ve just tended to meet when drinking was involved.”

“As an officer of the law, I appreciate your dedication to staying off the road while inebriated.” A dark look crosses his face at her comment, but the words don’t match his expression when he says, “So, any music preferences?” He dangles an AUX cord in front of her. “And if the radio isn’t sufficient, feel free to play DJ.”

She takes the cord. “I hope you enjoy some ‘80s rock then.”

He expression cracks into a grin. “Rock on, Swan.”

-/-

He takes her to restaurant by the pier. It’s there he tells her that he’s always happiest by the water, and how he’s thinking of buying a boat.

“I could take you sailing, you know,” he tells her over appetizers.

“That would require a second date.”

He takes a sip of his water. "I know."

She raises a brow in response. "You're quite confident in yourself."

He shrugs. "Are you having a bad time tonight?"

Emma shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Then trust me when I say a second date will be more fun."

-/-

The rest of the date goes like this: He tells her about growing up in England, and how he's still growing accustomed to the culture difference between there and the States.

"Crisps. Chips. Fries. And you drive on the incorrect side of the street!"

"You're making me real confident in getting back in the car with you, buddy."

She tells him about the first time she went to trivia with David, and how because of her wildly offbeat answers, she banned from ever participating with the team. ("I can still drink, though.")

They talk. They laugh. And Emma has an excellent time, so much so that she's disappointed when he pulls in front of her building. Ever the gentleman -- "I've told you before that I'm a gentleman, love" -- he walks her to her door.

"So?" he asks, hands in his pockets as they stand around awkwardly, trying to buy more time together.

"So what?"

"Did I prove myself worthy of a second date?"

Emma answers with a kiss.

-/-

That night when she lays in bed, she realizes that she didn't think of ghosts the entire date.

-/-

They go on more dates.

On the second date, they visit an art gallery and make fun of the babies in Renaissance paintings.

On their third date, he tells her about Milah. Emma schools her expression into something resembling surprise when he tells her, but it morphs into something genuine when he shares with her the details of how she died.

There had been a car accident. A drunk driver. She'd died upon impact.

"I'm so sorry," she says..

She ignores the knot of guilt in her gut, and the ghost sitting in the corner of her room.

-/-

She’s eating a bagel in her apartment when Liam appears.

“You’re still seeing him.”

She doesn’t bother looking at him, choosing to continue to read her paper and enjoy her breakfast in peace. However, Liam is persistent and phases right next to her, his head poking through the feature. “It’s rude to ignore someone speaking to you.”

“Seriously?” Emma asks. She pushes herself out of the barstool and walks across the room. “It’s super fucking rude to do that.”

“I’ll be rude if it gets you to listen to me,” Liam says. He crosses his arms, “Which clearly you haven’t been doing, since you continue to be courting my brother.”

“It may come as a surprise to you, but believe it or not, your opinion doesn’t even factor into who either I or Killian date.” Emma places her hands on her hips, asserting her position. “What I don’t get is why you even have so strong of an opinion on this? Jesus, even Milah seems to be encouraging it.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Yes, because she knows what’s best for Killian.”

“She was his wife.”

Liam laughs, but it’s a bitter thing. “I’m not denying she doesn’t love him, but you can care about someone and not be good for them.”

There’s something in the way he talks about Milah that sets something off, as if a lightbulb had suddenly come to life at his statement. “That’s why you’re still here, isn’t it? You didn’t think she was good enough for him, so you stuck around. I’d been trying to figure it out, because it’s fairly obvious you and Milah didn’t die at the same time. But that’s it. That’s why you didn’t move on when he found someone.”

“Perceptive.”

“I’ve been around the block a few times with people like you,” Emma tells him, more than a little smugly. She can tells she’s knocked him down a peg, and with how frustrating he’s been acting, it feels something like a victory.

“You can say the dead. I’m not that sensitive.”

“How am I supposed to know? All you do is complain about me dating your brother, and he hasn’t even mentioned you yet.” It’s only after the words leave her mouth that Emma realizes she might have gone too far. Liam looks as if he’s been slapped.

“He hasn’t mentioned me?”

“I mean, we’ve only gone on a few dates. There’s not a lot of time to--”

He’s gone before Emma can finish.

-/-

“So I think I fucked up,” Emma tells Mary Margaret on the phone that evening, long after her conversation with Liam and after a particularly grueling day the precinct.

“How so, honey? I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.” It’s at times like this that Emma feels like Mary Margaret is more of a mother than a friend, but she’ll take it now. “I’m fairly certain I convinced Liam that Killian doesn’t think to highly about him.”

“Liam, as in the dead brother who you not to go out with Killian?”

“More like demanded, but the same guy, yeah.” Emma falls back onto her sofa. She feels a bit like a cliche, with her being a patient, and Mary Margaret a faraway therapist. “I told him that Killian hadn’t brought him up, which he hasn’t so far, and he completely disappeared on me. He seemed pretty hurt.”

“Well, no one really wants to know how they’re viewed after they die.”

“I guess, but I hardly think that’s it. I mean, Killian and I have barely had the chance to talk about the heavy stuff. He just now told me about Milah and how she died,” Emma says. “I’m sure he’ll tell me about Liam any day now, but a person can only handle talking about so much heavy shit. I mean, I’ve barely even told him anything about the foster system or Neal.”

She’s been thinking about it though, because if Killian can begin to share his heartbreak with her, then maybe she can with him. She’s not at the point where she can reveal her Big Secret, and wonders when she ever will be -- God, it’s terrifying -- but people rarely share their life story all at once. She hasn’t. Killian hasn’t. Why can’t Liam understand that? Or give her the chance to understand it.

“What really sucks most is that I can’t talk about any of this with Killian.”

“Because it involves his dead brother.”

“Exactly.” Emma sighs and rubs her free hand over her face. “Have I mentioned how much these abilities suck? And please don’t say I’ve done a lot of good with them, because I really don’t want to hear a greater good argument.”

“Okay then,” Mary Margaret says, and Emma knows she had been about to make that argument. “They certainly suck, but use them to help you in this case. You can’t talk to Killian about it, but there’s someone you can talk to: Milah.”

Emma is unable to hold back a laugh. “You mean to tell me that I should talk to the guy I’m dating’s dead wife about his equally dead brother and how he doesn’t like me? Or her either, apparently.”

Emma can practically envision her friend shrugging on the other side. “She’s the only one who knows both men in your scenario.”

“Yeah, but...it’s weird.”

“Emma, everything about your relationship right now is weird. Embrace it.”

-/-

Finding Milah is more difficult than either Emma or Mary Margaret might have imagined. Though Emma can see and interact with ghosts, she can’t summon them, and the more time she spends with Killian, the less she sees Milah. A flicker out of the corner of her eye every now and then, but mostly nothing.

A selfish part of Emma wonders if the other woman is moving on. It would be easier to carry on things with Killian without being haunted. But she knows that’s not it, that even though Milah may be fine in theory with Killian moving on, it’s another thing to see it.

-/-

The morning after their fifth date, he tells her about Liam. He’s making her breakfast -- cinnamon rolls, because he knows her love of all things cinnamon -- when he tells her that his brother would make him the same breakfast often in his youth. He shares with her how Liam practically raised him after their mother died and their father bailed.

“He died when I was twenty, and in a way, this makes me feel closer to him,” he says. Killian reaches out to grab her hand. “I’m glad I can share him with you.”

-/-

The more time she spends with Killian, the more the guilt at keeping her secret gnaws away at her. She’s lying to him.

Once while at dinner, he catches her watching a ghost call to a loved one who just won’t listen. “Is there anything bothering you, love? Do you know him?”

She shakes her head. “Just staring off into space.”

Emma hates herself more with every little white lie.

-/-

She’s not sure why this is bothering her so much, to be honest. She has friends with whom she doesn’t share the knowledge of her abilities.

But, well, she’s starting to want to share more with Killian.

She thinks she’s starting to fall in love with him.

-/-

Three months in, Emma almost tells him. She’s just solved another case with the help of an apparition. They’re curled on his sofa with a celebratory bottle of wine and a cupcake.

“You’re amazing. Did you know that?” Killian asks her, twirling the ends of her hair with his fingers. “You do so much good for people. You’re a regular hero, Swan.”

She wants to tell him more about the victim, a woman named Kathryn who’d been murdered by a jealous ex. She wants to tell him about how Kathryn was more concerned about the fiance she’d left behind than her own death, how she’d cried when her murderer was arrested.

She wants is to tell him about the other cases, about the ghosts who move on after their murdered are convicted, or when they feel their loved one can move on.

What she wants is to tell him about Milah and Liam.

But she can’t.

Not yet.

-/-

April brings Milah’s birthday. Killian is sullen, but less so than when she’d first met him months ago on their anniversary. He tells Emma about his late wife, and she listens because he needs to, listens because she wants to know more about the woman who encouraged her to meet this man many months ago.

“She’d have liked you, I think.”

-/-

Milah comes to Emma that night. She’s surprised, but not.

“Happy Birthday,” Emma tells her. She’s forty now, but she’ll be frozen forever at thirty-seven.

“I’m surprised you’re not with Killian.”

“He needed some time alone to mourn,” Emma says. She keeps her voice soft as she speaks. “I could say the same, you know.”

“When I realized he was alone, I thought it best to speak with you.”

“It’s been awhile.” Weeks since she last saw Milah’s apparition. “I was beginning to think you moved on.”

Milah shakes her head. “It’s harder than I thought. I’ve always wanted to see him happy, but it never really sunk in that I’d have to walk away. I’m beginning to understand Liam a bit more.”

“I wish I could,” Emma says as an aside. She’s seen flickers of him every now and then. She wants to tell him that Killin’s shared more of his life with her, but Liam has never given her the chance.

“Liam is overprotective. I don’t think he’s ever moved past looking over Killian, and I know he never fond of me. After I passed her called me a bad influence, you know.”

“That’s...an incredibly shitty thing to be told.”

“But not completely false, either.”

Emma knows more about the story of Milah and Killian now. She’d been married when she’d met Killian at a bar, and had run away with him leaving her husband and young son behind. Milah had been older than Killian, but she’d enchanted him, and they’d been happy. But even Killian has admitted to her that Milah had encouraged his vices. Drinking, partying, gambling. They had lived for a good time, and she’d died seeking one.

“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t being a jerk. You didn’t deserve that.”

“If it makes you feel better, he apologized eventually. We’ve come a long way in three years.” A wistful expression crosses her face. “But enough about me, I’m here to talk to you.”

“About?”

“Killian. Do you you love him?”

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. Emma’s long since stopped being thrown by Milah’s bluntness. “I’m falling for him. He’s a fantastic man. But I don’t know if I’m there yet.”

Milah straightens her posture. “Well, figure it out. I can’t move on until I know for sure he has someone to love him.”

-/-

She does think on it.

She lays awake that night, pondering her feelings about Killian. She thinks about it the next day when she joins Mary Margaret at the movies, and completely misses the plot. She thinks about with Killian, as they walk hand-in-hand to the pier, and he presents her the boat he’s recently bought.

“What do you think?” he asks her, eyes twinkling, and Emma never thinks he’s looked more beautiful.

“I love it.”

-/-

She loves him.

But if she loves him, that means Emma has to tell him...and of that she’s terrified. For years, she’s held her abilities close to her chest. But if she wants this relationship to continue, she can’t keep secrets from him.

Not anymore.

But there’s a difference in knowing you need to do something, and actually doing it.

She just has to find the willpower to do it.

-/-

She almost tells him during the an evening sailing. It’s the perfect date -- sunset, just the two of them out on the water - but that’s what causes her to hesitate. She wants to remember this: remember the glow of his skin at the golden hour, the way the light played on the water, and the motion of is body against hers as they make love.

It’s perfect.

But it’s not, and the guilt weighs her down like an anchor.

-/-

Killian tells her he loves her in a completely innocuous way, over breakfast as she reads the paper and he cleans up the kitchen.

“You know I love you, right?” he asks in the same way he might ask if she could pass the cream or if she had the sports section .“Because I do, Swan, sometimes the most when it is like this, just me and you, just us doing the complete mundane.”

“I…” Emma opens her mouth to speak, but she can’t. She can’t tell him she loves him until she tells him the truth about her abilities. She can’t do that to him. She’s already made him believe he loves the idea of someone he doesn’t fully know. And-- “I see dead people.”

He blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. “You could just say you don’t feel the same way.”

She shakes her head. “No. I do. I love you, but I also see ghosts.”

“Emma.”

“Killian, I swear I’m telling the truth. I see ghosts. It’s like my superpower. I’m not lying to you.”

He scratches behind his ear. “This...is not how I envisioned our conversation going.”

There something in the way he says it that guts her. “You don’t believe me?”

“I’m just trying to wrap my mind around it. That’s all,” Killian tells her, but she can tell he’s lying. He presses his hands against the counter as if he’s trying to ground himself. “So, uh, what type of ghosts do you see?”

“It’s hard to explain. Just spirits, I guess, who kinda look like the living but not.” She sounds crazy. She knows she sounds crazy, and it’s killing her, because she doesn’t know how to make herself believe. “It’s not gruesome, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not,” he answers quickly. He still won’t look her in the eyes. “So how long have you been able to see...ghosts.”

“For as long as I remember.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You can just say you don’t believe me, you know,” Emma says. It hurts watching the way he’s pulling away from her. “I’m not crazy. I won’t hurt you or anything.”

“Emma, listen, it’s an astounding amount of information to take in. It’s not...possible.”

“It is,” she tells him. She pushes herself off, and goes off in search of her bag. She pretends it doesn’t hurt when he doesn’t follow. Her things gathered, she brushes the tears from her eyes. “Listen, I don’t know what I can say to prove this to you. You just have to trust me, but until you do, I can’t be here.”

She leaves.

-/-

She’s alone in her apartment when Liam appears. She throws a pillow, and watches as it phases through him. “I don’t want to hear a lecture right now.”

“I’m honestly a little impressed you told him.” Emma can tell he’s being honest with her. “But I’m curious why you didn’t mention me or Milah.”

She brushes at her tears. “It wouldn’t have been fair to play the dead wife and brother card.”

“Would’ve been easier.”

Anger boils deep inside her. “What the fuck? First you tell me off for not telling Killian, and now that I did, you’re throw digs at me for not telling him differently.”

Liam raises his hands in supplication. “I will admit that my behavior earlier was bad form.”

Running her hands through her hair, Emma sighs in frustration. “You’re just now realizing this?”

He scratches behind his ear, and Emma is reminded of Killian. Her stomach twists.

“Milah might have cuffed me behind the ears a few times.”

“Yeah, well, you deserved it.”

“Aye.” Frustrated and heartbroken, she throws hers arms in the air and shouts, “You’re telling me this now? You shouldn’t even be here. It’s practically over with Killian.”

Liam laughs, actually laughs. Emma would punch him if she could. “I know my brother. It’s not over. Not yet.”

Refusing to give way to hope, she crosses her arms. “What makes you say that?”

Liam smirks. “Because he’s on his way over here.”

-/-

She doesn’t want to believe Liam. Refuses to. He’s an asshole. He’s against her relationship with Killian.

Besides, Killian hadn’t believed her. Not that she had expected him to. He’s just like everyone else. Neal. Lily. She’s been a fool the past few months hoping that--

There’s a knock at the door.

-/-

“I called David.”

She’s not sure what she had expected when she opened the door, but it’s not that. Killian stands before her, his expression mournful.

“He told me...he told me about what you’ve been able to do.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she tells him, because it’s true, because it’s something they both need to hear. Realizing that he’s still standing in the hallway, Emma steps to the side and ushers him in.

“He also told me that you’ve been speaking to Milah and Liam.”

“Oh.” She’s can’t blame David for telling him that part. He had no way of knowing what she’d confessed to Killian or not. But there’s a part of her that’s filled with dread, because there’s now a very real chance that he might have come here specifically just for them. Not her.

(It’s never her.)

“Emma, you have to understand this is a lot to take in. I know my behavior was bad form, but--”

“It’s a lot,” she finishes, grateful that he hadn’t brought the conversation back to his dead loved ones. But maybe that’s what it’ll take to get him to believe fully, to trust her. Maybe it will give him a bit of peace. “I can help you speak to them, if you’d like.”

His eyes widen, and she can tell he wants to say yes. Instead he says, “I meant what I said earlier. I love you.”

“I know.” Emma brushes her hair behind her ears. “And I feel the same way.”

She watches him smile. “Can you tell me more about your abilities?”

-/-

She tells him everything she can. She tells him about the old man, about her experiences with ghosts as an adolescent. She tells him about how those experiences shaped her into pursuing law enforcement as her field. She tells him about about how sometimes ghosts ask for help with their loved ones.

“That’s the real reason why I talked you that first night. Milah was worried, and she asked.”

She’s been afraid of telling him this since the moment they met. He’s quiet for awhile, and finally says, “I told you she was an amazing woman, didn’t I?”

-/-

Eventually, they get to the topic on Liam and Milah. Emma can sense them in the apartment.

“You can come on out,” she calls, and in no time at all, they’re present. Killian looks around, unable to see them. “They’re standing by the kitchen island.”

His gaze falls to where they stand, looking through them. “How do I...how do I know they’re really there.”

“Say ‘Yellow Submarine’,” Milah instructs her. “He’ll know what it means.”

And so Emma does, and when the words leave her mouth, she can she tears spring to Killian’s eyes.

“That’s the song that was playing when we met,” Killian says. “You had no way of knowing that.”

“Like I said, they’re here.”

He wipes at his eyes. “Can you tell them hello?”

“They can hear you,” she says, reaching out for his hand.

“Are they...okay?” He suddenly looks concerned. Liam gives her his answer, which Emma reports back. “Liam says about as well as a dead person can be. They’re not in any pain.”

Tears are flowing freely from Killian’s eyes now.

“You can speak to them, you know.”

-/-

Emma’s not sure what he says to Milah or Liam. She gives Killian that peace of having a moment alone with the people he loves, even if he can’t see him. He deserves that.

After awhile, he comes to her. His eyes are rimmed red, and she pulls him into a tight hug.

“Thank you.”

-/-

She sees Milah and Liam one last time.

“Goodbye,” Milah says.

“You’re going to take care of him, right?” Liam inquires.

Emma can only nod.

-/-

They move on.

It’s a beautiful thing, moving on, watching the ghost disappear into a beautiful burst of light. A small part of her is sad to see them go. A bigger part is happier they’ve finally found peace.

“I’m glad to know they’re somewhere happier,” Killian says that night, holding her tight in his arms. They don’t make love that night. The intimacy of being together is enough. “And that they think I’m happy enough to not watch over.”

“Are you?” Emma asks, surprised by the brittleness in her voice. “Happy, that is?”

He tilts her chin up to look him in the eyes. “Never ever doubt my happiness with you.”

“Okay.”

-/-

A year later, Killian takes her to England. They make a point of visiting Milah and Liam’s graves. Emma leaves carnations, for remembrance.

“Thank you,” she whispers to the stone markers. She owes them so much, too much really. And despite them having both moved on, as the wind blows she can almost hear them say, “You’re welcome.”

If her abilities have taught her anything, it’s this: the dead never truly leave us. Not really, in the end.

#cslb #captain swan #cs ff #cs au #captain swan ff #ouat ff #s writes fic

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eala-captian · 7 years

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A Christmas At Home

Whew! I apologise for this being late. My family always goes to our cabin on Christmas which is way out in the middle of nowhere so here’s to being the worst CSSS ever. That being said I’m back!

@ladyciaramiggles hope you had a wonderful Christmas! It was so cool getting to talk to you over the last month! I hope you enjoy this AU angsty, fluffy, crazy fic. I’m working on a companion fic to this which will be a few chapters long!

“Killian?”

“Down here love.” His studio at their home was always where she could find him when something was on his mind. Having a creative outlet for his emotions was the only thing that kept him sane some days. Especially before her.

“What are you doing down here?” She asked with a sad smile. She knew it had been a rough year for him. Too much time on the road, too many things he needed to be home for. He missed a lot this year, and yeah he was brooding alone sitting in front of a microphone holding a guitar.

“Just thinking love. It’s been three years since I was home on a Christmas Eve. I’m kinda out of my element here.” He strummed a few notes, not making eye contact with her.

She walked further into the room, slowly reaching out and taking the guitar from his hands and sat it on the stand in the corner of the dark room. He was sitting with his back to her on the stool, his hands now a tangled mess in front of him. Kneeling down before him she tucked her hand under his chin to raise his gaze to hers.

Emma Jones looked him straight in the eyes. The understanding he saw there was almost too much to handle. He almost looked away again, but he couldn’t. Something about her emerald green eyes drew him in. He was forever lost to their depths.

“I know what you’re thinking Killian. No one blames you for the past few years. Being on tour, playing for your fans, that’s what you love. That’s what makes you happy…”

“You make me happy my love. You have to know that. You..”

“I do. Killian, I do. I love you so much for who you are. I love that you love changing people’s lives through music. This next year is going to be amazing. So let’s end this year on a happy note.” She smiled at him and his whole being felt as if it was on fire.

“Come back up to the party. David and M’s have been asking about you. They will be so happy to see you again. I also know a little boy who has been missing his father half the night.” She raised her eyebrow and grinned in a way he knew was from spending to much time in present company.

He stood up with a smile on his face once again.

“Aye love. Wouldn’t want to leave the spawn waiting.” She smacked him on the ass as he ran back up the stairs.

He quickly turned around with an affronted look on his face only to find her pointing her finger right back at him. “I better never hear you call him that to his face.” She smiled as she said it.

“Aye, Aye.” He walked back down a stair or two and came level with her again. “ I love you, Swan.” He slowly leaned in to place a slow kiss to her lips. Pulling back slightly to keep their foreheads touching.

“I’m a Jones now, Jones. Swan was before. Swan was broken. Swan didn’t want love.”

“You may be a Jones now, but broken, high walled, no love Swan was who I fell in love with.”

……..

The party was still in full swing when they entered the living room hand in hand. A red and green mass slammed into his legs almost immediately.

“Papa!” His little lad yelled “Where did you go? I want to sit out the cookies for Santa with you before I go to sleep!”

“I needed a minute little man.” He lifted him to his hip as his oldest friend walked up and clapped him on the back.

“Glad to see you back in town. When did you get in?” David asked with a smile on his face.

David was the friend Killian needed when it seemed no one else could stand to be near him. Years of touring, drugs, and depression made him a weight a lot of his old friends couldn’t carry any longer. Not David. He was the one who pulled him through the craziness of his life and wasn’t afraid to put him in his place. He owed his life to David.

“Got in earlier today mate. It’s a relief to be home for sure. I get to see this guys face in the morning when he sees what Santa brought him.” He tickled his sons feet, only to have him squirm to try to get out of his arms.

“Papa! That’s tickles. Stop, STOP!” He yelled as he laughed out loud.

“We are glad you are home Killian. It will be nice to have the whole family together for lunch tomorrow.” That was Mary Margaret, always accepting of him. Always involving him when he felt he didn’t deserve it. Feeding him when he had nothing, and making him a part of the family when his family was taken from him.

“I’ll be there M’s, and thank you for having us.”

“You know you are welcome anytime Killian.”

“Aye, I know. You’ve been feeding me since I was 15 years old. Why stop now?” Seeing Mary Margaret smile was almost as good as seeing his wife smile. Something about the two of them brought a light back into his life.

Speaking of his wife she suddenly appeared at his side, glancing at their son.

“Alright, Liam time to wash up for bed.” She reached out for him only for him to bury himself further into his father’s arms.

“Papa and I have to set cookies out for Santa first.”

“Well what are we waiting for let’s go!” He followed his son into the kitchen to get the cookies they baked a few hours before.

……..

“He seems happy Emma.” Mary Margaret commented watching him walk away.

“He’s trying to write a new album at the moment, you know how he gets. Happy on the outside and brooding on the inside. I am glad he his home for Christmas this year though.” She said crossing her arms and watching him interact with their son from the other room.

“I know he is always in his head during the writing process, but before he wasn’t happy. He is now.”

Emma smiled to herself. She remembered the man he was all those years ago only to well. Meeting him as a patient,half lost to himself, compared to the man standing before her now, was a complete 180. She was proud of him. Her husband. Her light.

“Yeah, He is pretty amazing isn’t he?”

……..

Later that night after Liam was asleep and everyone had left the house, Killian and Emma laid together on their bed. He had light a fire in the fireplace hours before. lt had burnt almost to embers leaving a warm glow through the room.

He laid there staring at his amazing wife, his saviour. He slowly reached out to stroke her cheek.

“Killian?” She asked half asleep.

“Go back to sleep love. I didn’t mean to wake you.” He whispered back.

“I’m good. I’m awake. Are you ok?”

“I’m more than ok love. I’m home on Christmas with my family. I have an amazing wife, and adorable son who loves me. I may get lost in my music sometimes, but damn, I am blessed to have a family like this.”

He rolled onto his back and pulled her into his arms. Her head resting in the crook of his neck while her hands landed on his chest over his beating heart. “ I am so, so, happy my love.”

“Me too. Merry Christmas Killian.”

“Merry Christmas Swan”

#csss #csss2017 #captainswan #cs fic #cs fanfic #my writing #ladyciaramiggles #this was fun #long live captain swan

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lizzybeth1986 · 7 years

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Writer Asks!

Thank you for tagging me on this @toglidethroughlife and @violetflipflops!! 😀 This sounds fun.

1. How many works in progress do you have?

I have one last chapter of a Liam Hana friendship fic I was working on titled With A Little Help From My Friends, and two essays on Liam’s and Hana’s diamond scenes this week. Once I’m done with Friends, I need to work on a few other Liam centric fic ideas, plus some fics for two other (pretty non-existant) fandoms I’ve just found myself being a part of 😂😂😂

2. Do you/would you write fanfiction?

I’ve just begun! It’s fun and you already have a framework ready, you just basically work around that to create a story. It’s amazing.

3. Do you prefer paper books or ebooks?

Both!!

4. When did you start writing?

From age 7 onwards. There’s a funny story behind that one. I’m the baby of my family and was always jealous of my older brother. If my parents gave him something, I had to have it too! One of those things was this beautiful blue hardbound notebook with gold lettering over it, which I insisted on owning. Mum struck a deal with me: if I was really serious about having a book like that one, I’d have to start writing original stuff on it. Creative stuff. My own stuff. The book’s gone now but I’ve never looked back since.

I usually wrote a lot of poetry though. I’ve been into spoken word for a few years now.

5. Do you have someone you trust that you share your work with?

I tend to wonder whether my ideas are feasible or whether they work, so I tend to run them by a few of my tumblr friends to see whether there are things that might not fit or sound OOC for that character. Mainly @feisty-mary, @toglidethroughlife, @violetflipflops and @ladynevrakis - all of whom are well-versed in their craft and have helped me figure out whether those ideas work.

I also tend to do roughly the same with my essays in the off chance that I missed something.

6. Where is your favorite place to write?

Anywhere. I write on my tablet and occasionally my phone.

7. Favorite childhood book?

An abridged version of The Count of Monte Cristo xD I also really liked Jules Verne.

8. Writing for fun or publication?

Mostly fun.

9. Have you ever taken any writing classes?

Mostly spoken word poetry workshops.

10. What inspires you to write?

You know with fanfic, it’s usually great characters and missing stories behind them? At some point if I am really invested in a character, I tend to have questions about what happened to them behind-the-scenes of a particular moment. Like Friends began as a way of wondering whether Hana spent a special moment with Liam the way she did with Drake, Maxwell and Esther. Another fic I’m planning was to explore the Leo-Liam relationship before Leo abdicated, because we only get to know about it from Leo. Liam is mainly behind-the-scenes there.

Liam is really easy to write fics for because we know just a bit about him but not nearly enough. There are so many ways you can write his character.

I’m planning fics on the secondary OTP (Hee jin x Henry) of an old KDrama called My Name is Kim Sam Soon, because their story seemed really interesting to me (doesn’t hurt that one of the actors is Daniel Henney lolololol), and since they weren’t there very often in the serial I kept thinking about their interactions outside of their conversations about the lead pair. Stuff like that, characters like that, really suck me in and give me ideas.

I’d tag ppl but everyone I know who writes has been tagged already!!

#writer asks #writing #fanfic

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seriouslyhooked · 8 years

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Just a Taste (A CS AU) Part 1/10

AU where Emma and Killian are contestants on the Great American Baking Show and all twelve contestants hail from Storybrooke Maine. In this AU Emma is a book editor by day, while Killian is an architect who just moved to town a few months prior. Expect baked goods, flirtatious interactions, a little drama and a whole lot of fluff with a guaranteed HEA for Captain Swan. Rated M.

A/N: After some careful consideration I decided to make ‘Just a Taste’ my next story to republish. My main reason for this is that I need another baking fic in my life right now. So whether this is your first time reading, or you’re a long time fan of CS fluff meeting the ‘Great British Baking Show’ I hope you enjoy and thanks so much for reading!

If you had told Emma Swan a month ago, that her favorite TV show arguably ever was going to make an American version, that might not have surprised her. The Great British Baking Show was a hit, both back across the pond and now in America. What did surprise her was that the American version was making a twist, and that twist was to only use competitors from one hometown each season. The first season was to take place in Storybrooke, Maine, the small hamlet where Emma lived, and that… well that was crazy.

Up to this point, nothing of note had ever happened in Storybrooke, and local news never got more exciting than a passing family of moose, or the addition of a new baby to the town’s ranks. Easily the most exciting thing that had happened in the years Emma had lived here was when the factory that made hot cocoa mix a town over had a spill and all of Storybrooke smelled of chocolate for two whole weeks. No one had been hurt, the damage was minimal, and yet it was all anyone could speak of for months.

Yet no longer could anyone claim that nothing ever happened here, because over the past few weeks, Storybrooke had become consumed with the rabid buzzing of TV crews and potential competition. The rules were clear, one had to live in Storybrooke Maine for at least six months prior to the shows taping. Other than that, anyone over the age of eighteen could compete for the title of… best baker in town? In retrospect, the title seemed kind of pointless, but Emma knew that people were taking this seriously. With twelve bakers in the race, the town was divided between who would win, and who deserved the crown, or in this case the dish. As one of those finalists, Emma was already feeling the pressure, and she’d only just set foot in the big white tent where she’d be baking.

“I really hope this doesn’t ruin the franchise for me,” she said out loud, not realizing that anyone was around until a deep, accented voice responded.

“My thoughts exactly, love.”

Emma turned to find Killian Jones, Storybrooke’s newest resident, who she’d only really seen in passing standing behind her. Despite barely knowing her new neighbor, her heart skipped a beat when her green eyes locked with his blue ones, and she wondered how someone could have this magnetic pull over her. Maybe it was the dark hair that she wanted to run her fingers through, or the way that his smile seemed to tick up to one side. Perhaps it was the accent, or the thoughtful sort of look he had any time they crossed paths. Emma watched as he extended his hand in greeting, and she met it gladly.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. Killian Jones, at your service.”

“Emma Swan,” She replied and he grinned at that.

“I know.”

Emma raised a brow and couldn’t help but smile, but just as she was about to ask him what he meant with his flirtatious tone, the ten others who were competing came barreling into the room, led by one of the shows production assistants.

“Were we not supposed to be here yet?” Emma whispered and Killian shook his head.

“Apparently not.”

As the others filed in, Emma saw two of her best friends, Mary Margaret Blanchard and Belle French who had also made it to the final twelve people. While both women looked inclined to come near her, the PA’s wrangled them to their designated stations and then addressed the group. Filming would be commencing shortly, and the first step was introduction to the judges.

“Prepare yourself for a big difference between camera and off-camera personas. We ask that you respect the personal space of our panel, and our hosts.”

The small woman named Tink who spoke pushed the glasses she wore farther up her face as she carefully selected her words. She was the picture of efficiency, and Emma had seen her running around handling chaos at every turn in the auditions and now. It was very impressive, but Emma didn’t envy her. Tink had so much energy, that when she moved about, it was like watching a hummingbird fly, fascinating, but seemingly crazed with how much effort was required.

“So they’re bloody horrible, then?” Killian asked aloud and Emma bit her lip to keep from smiling outright. That was clearly what the young blonde PA was grappling with. Tink looked flustered and blushed as a tall man stepped into the room with his hands across his chest smirking at Killian. He dwarfed Tink in size, appearing well over six feet next to her modest frame.

“Enough of that, Killian. But as a matter of fact, some of them are. Heed Tink’s warning and save yourself the unpleasantness. Now –“

“And you would be?” Catherine Parker asked flirtatiously. Emma made eye contact with Mary Margaret across the room and mimicked a gagging motion that had her pixie-haired friend giggling and Catherine glaring at her, but Emma didn’t care. The woman was vile, and yet somehow was dating one of the town’s nicest men, David Nolan.

“Liam Jones, EP.”

This was surprising indeed, yet when Emma considered, she could see the similarities between Killian and this man calling the shots. Aside from the accents, both men were good looking, with dark hair and nice eyes. Though in all truth, Emma had to admit she liked Killian more. Just thinking as such had her tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She felt like a girl again, all nervous and crushing on some guy she barely knew.

“You’re related to the Brit? How is that fair?!” This came from Leroy, the unofficial town crier and world’s most dedicated gossip. He loved to play the victim, build up the drama, and then cower and run in the face of actual confrontation. Emma thought it highly possible that he had been selected for the show based on those tendencies, because his trial bakes seemed questionable at best and grotesque at worst.

“Seeing as I have no control over the judge’s decisions, it’s completely fair, Leroy. Now, there isn’t a minute to waste. The sun in high enough and the set team has prepped, so let’s get going.” With that, Liam was off, with Tink just behind him and Emma looked over to Killian and smirked.

“So you’re the reason they chose us for this.”

Emma watched as a cute little blush spread across his cheeks, and it made no dent in how handsome he was. She allowed herself another moment to admire him, trying to convince herself that she could look now and steel herself against him once the cameras were there. His dark hair had gotten longer since he’d first moved to town, and now a lock of it had fallen to his forehead. Emma wanted to push it back into place, and ended up balling her hands into little fists to keep that inclination in check. Again she wondered how someone could endear her to them so quickly.

Before he could reply, the cameras were in motion and Emma felt the strangeness of the situation. Four different crews worked simultaneously, catching a whole host of angles in what seemed like barely organized chaos. Liam gave out his orders into a headset, and though they were whispered low enough that Emma couldn’t hear them, she thought they’d still have a bit of bark to them. The man practically exuded authority; there would be no silent entreaties from him, but his methods seemed to work. In the span of a few minutes they’d gotten some stock footage of each contestant, which was no easy feat.

Aside from Emma herself, Killian (who Emma knew from word around town was an architect), Leroy, Catherine, Mary Margaret, and Belle, the final twelve included a range of characters. There was Catherine’s boyfriend David, a real saint by all accounts for her dealt with her terrible temper and meaner qualities in stride. He was the town lawyer, and Emma’s guess was that in such a post, one ran into a whole host of personality types. Beside him was Tiana, a waitress at Granny’s who was both hard working and sincere and just before them was Lance, one of the deputies to the sheriff. Then there was Archie, who was a grief counselor, Robin who was a single Dad and the town’s only contractor, and Ella who was a stay at home Mom and very nice if still painfully shy.

All in all, it was a pretty good representation of the town, though there was one clear demographic missing, for not a one of the gaggle of gossips (a band of elderly women who frequented Granny’s) was there. That was because they were all running the betting ring that was consuming the town as they waited for intel on the show. Yup, this was Storybrooke, a place where the illegal betting rings were run by the AARP crowd. America was in for a real treat.

Into the tent at that moment strutted a tall brunette dressed to kill and donning four inch heels as if they were nothing more than slippers, and a man who stood another five or six inches above her with light brown hair and a handsome face. Emma recognized the former as her friend Ruby Lucas, and she nearly called out to see what the heck Ruby was doing here, but a worried Tink stomped down that inclination with a stern shake of her head to Emma. The man was still a stranger, but his face was familiar even if Emma couldn’t quite place him.

“Graham Huntsman is a judge on this show?!” Catherine’s grating voice sounded from the back of the tent, and though her instinct was to roll her eyes, Emma was glad that she hadn’t, because watching Tink’s reaction was so much better.

The small blonde looked near bursting, and was clearly unimpressed with Catherine. If Emma didn’t know her to be loyal to Liam, she’d have expected Tink to shame Catherine from here to Sunday, but as it was, she bit her tongue and moved her attention back to the iPad in front of her. His name had sparked her memory though, and Emma returned her gaze to Graham, a man who had been on another show to try and find love, only then deciding none of the girl’s were his perfect match.

“Yeah he is, Parker, so do us all a favor and shut that trap of yours before you embarrass the town further.” Ruby’s words were too much, and now Emma, Belle, and Mary Margaret were laughing so hard that they were shaking with it. They all three tried to keep quiet, but it was hard to do so, especially when looking back to Ruby and Graham, the latter of whom was blown over by the comment and looking at Ruby with newfound respect.

“If we’re quite done, let’s get the ball rolling shall we? Ruby, Graham you’re up.” He motioned to the camera beside him and Graham and Ruby both lit up with a happy smile.

“Hello and welcome to the Great Storybrooke Baking Show!” Ruby looked so excited as she said the words, while Graham feigned distress beside her.

“Um, no, Ruby, not quite. It’s actually the Great American Baking Show. We’ve just picked your town for the first season.” Ruby rolled her eyes.

“Ignore him, he’s new to this. As I was saying, we have got twelve competitors rearing to go, fighting to see who will be the next King or Queen of this small town in Maine.”

“Again, not what we’re doing here. Back me up on this guys,” there was general murmuring from the crew and a victorious smile from Graham. “And while you are right that we have twelve eager contestants ready to show us their skills in the kitchen, none of them will become royalty.”

“So what’s the take? Is it money? A new kitchen? A lifetime supply of cake?” Ruby asked and Graham shook his head, looking back at the camera.

“To be quite honest, it’s a dish and bragging rights. Oh, and if this show does well enough, hopefully the love of the American people.”

Emma placed a hand over her mouth as she watched the scene unfolding before her. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought that all of this was off the cuff, completely free styled, but it wasn’t. Whoever was writing this was doing a good job, it was funny and light and actually kind of true to the humor of the two women who hosted the show overseas.

Ruby and Graham went on and eventually made their way through the tent to a designated spot so that the camera crews could do a sweeping shot of all the contestants. Emma didn’t know whether to smile or stay neutral, and she nervously tucked another lock of hair behind her ear. Yet soon enough that take was over and they were moving on to the judges’ introduction. It was kind of exhausting to be honest, all of the setup. Maybe it was naïve of her, but Emma had kind of hoped to just come, bake, do some sort of ten minute testimonial style interview after for the editing room and get home, but this was an unaccounted for time suck.

When the judges were finally brought in, Emma was surprised again to see that one of the judges (there were three in this version of the show instead of the usual two) was another familiar face. Ruby’s Grandmother who everyone just called Granny, the owner of the local diner, was dressed fancier than Emma had ever seen her and was clearly just as excited as her granddaughter about her new position. That she was sandwiched between two people who Emma did recognize was too much to handle.

“Contestants, it’s time to meet the judges you’ll be working to impress over the next few weeks.” Graham said happily. “The first needs no introduction. Known to the culinary world simply as Mr. Gold, he owns nearly a dozen high scale restaurants, including Dark Side Snacks in New York, this year’s hottest spot. He’s written three books, worked with the world’s top bakers, and has ranked as CakeBake magazine’s Master of Cake’s three years running.”

Every contestant clapped for the man in question, who though clearly qualified to be here, could barely smile for the cameras. His long hair spoke of not caring, his suit was expensive but a bit too flashy, and he carried a cane for no noticeable limp. He looked so severe and so unimpressed, it left a bit of a sinking feeling in Emma’s stomach.

Something she’d liked so much about the original show was that the Brits kept it light and airy. Though they didn’t reward bad bakes, they also didn’t look like being there was torture. This all of a sudden felt more like an Americans singing competition. Yet, Ruby’s introduction helped lighten things a bit.

“And of course, ‘her majesty’ the lovely and talented Regina Mills. She is a co founder of the now nationally branded chain Wicked Bites, is a New York Times best selling author of the Royal Recipes series, and is the face of The Food Station with not one, not two, but three shows on the network. She’s agreed to join us through some sort of magic it seems, for really, who has the time to be so accomplished?”

Regina laughed at that, and though Emma could tell it was fake and for the cameras, it worked and would play better on the show than whatever Gold had done. Regina understood her image and her brand, and this poised almost calculating good humor, coupled with her ‘no-hair out of place’ appearance was a part of that.

“We also have this season’s ‘Regional Consultant.’ Known by the people of Storybrooke just as Granny, and determined to keep the moniker, she’s the owner of the town’s diner, and in many ways the glue that binds Storybrooke together. Show of hands, how many of you are regulars at Granny’s?” The cameras panned over the contestants, all of who were raising their hands and Granny smiled happily. “Full disclosure, she is also my grandmother, and the reason I couldn’t try out for this competition.” Ruby joked.

“No, my dear, the reason you couldn’t try out is you are a disaster in the kitchen,” Granny quipped.

“Also true. Now, without further ado, let’s get to today’s challenges.” Only despite Ruby’s words, they didn’t get straight to work. The camera’s needed readjusting, and as they worked, Granny said something to Regina who was receptive if a little cool in her answer.

“No I’ve never been to Maine. So far it seems… quaint, but pretty.” That was good enough for Granny, who always tried to sketch out a person’s character on their first meeting. So when she looked over to Gold and asked his thoughts, she was in for a far less favorable reading.

“Look lady, I’m going to be honest with you when I say that this job is entirely about a check and bit of PR polishing. Call one too many people a fuck-up on video, and you start to lose your public sparkle. So for the next ten weeks, I may bite back my nuggets of truth, but know that I find this entire show a fiasco of the highest caliber and a thorough waste of my valuable time. Now hopefully you can take a hint and will refrain from speaking to me for the rest of this.”

“Do you think he meant to use all those gold puns, or was that an accident?” Belle huffed under her breath, but Gold seemed to hear her. He sent a glare her way, but she merely smiled back, daring him to throw his salt and bitterness her way. It was an amazing sight to see, and Emma couldn’t have been prouder or more impressed with her friend.

“Well in order to get that check, we need an actual show, so if we’re quite ready, let’s move on.” Liam motioned the cameras once more, and they focused on Ruby and Graham who stood before the bakers with their instructions.

“Bakers, the task before you is simple: create a cake in ninety minutes with at least three layers and two filling variants. Your time begins… now.”

As a small bell chimed, the kitchen went from stagnant expectation to fully mobile, with everyone working towards the task at hand. For this signature challenge and the one to come tomorrow, they were allowed to prep in advance, so this should be easy. The hard part would be a few hours from now, when Emma had half a recipe to go off of to make something that she’d probably never heard of.

“It would be a bloody embarrassment to mess this one up, eh Swan?” Emma looked over to Killian and nodded without saying anything. She was surprised that he’d once again said exactly what she was thinking.

“Killian, it appears you’re making friends already.” Ruby remarked, as she came up with Graham beside her and one of the camera crews to ask him about his intended cake.

“Are we to assume you’re the town loner?” Graham asked skeptically and Killian shook his head before responding.

“Not intentionally, though being new to the area does have its drawbacks. Still, a competitive bakeoff seems as good a way as any to meet people.”

Killian looked back at Emma and their eyes caught. She smiled before turning back to her own work, though she listened as Killian outlined his wild berry circle cake that would incorporate blueberries, blackberries and raspberries in one confection with a basic white base. Emma liked the idea a lot, and hoped she’d get a chance to try it later. He’d been smart to choose fruit that were in season. The freshness would make for an excellent treat.

When they were done with Killian, Ruby and Graham made their way around the room, and Emma felt herself relax into her own course of action. She worked diligently to combine the flavors just so, and make sure she had everything timed out as she needed. She was making a mocha latte cake, based off a recipe she’d been working with through most of the winter. It was her favorite drink, aside from cocoa, and in cake form it was out of this world. Her design was split into three distinct segments – the white cake infused with a minimal amount of espresso, a layer of chocolate frosting, and a layer of coffee frosting, then covered in both frostings mixed together. It was always a hit wherever she brought it, but still, Emma was worried, she didn’t want to lose points for a stupid oversight, so needed to take her time.

“What you got there?” Ruby asked causing Emma to startle and nearly drop the cakes before they went in the oven, but she recovered and then threw a look up to Ruby. “Sorry, Ems. My bad.”

Emma just smiled and waved her friend off and explained the cake’s intention to the hosts as she set to making the frosting – She had three huge containers, one with each flavor variety, and while the cakes were on the cooling rack, she would set them to cool in the fridge, but for now, she mostly answered questions about her life and hobbies.

“So when did you start baking?” Emma didn’t even need to think, she knew instantly.

“In college. I didn’t ever have a place to try before that, but I always liked the idea. You know, every kid wants the smell of chocolate chip cookies when they walk through the door. I decided to make that for myself.”

“What, your Mom wasn’t the baking type?”

“I wouldn’t know. Never met her. But it doesn’t matter, because I am the baking type,” Emma said, “and if I’m still here the week we make cookies, everyone else is in serious trouble.”

Ruby had looked like she might pass out at Graham’s question, since she knew about Emma’s past as a foster kid, but the look of pride in her friend’s eyes now was true and sincere. Emma had handled the question with grace, not making herself a victim or coldly refusing to reply. She’d done a marvelous job, and to celebrate that, she allowed herself a taste of some of the mocha frosting.

“If your reaction is anything to go off of, love, we should all be very afraid for this challenge too.” Killian’s words pulled Emma from her internal reverie over the chocolate and she grinned playfully.

“Hey, you said it, not me.” Ruby and Graham lingered just a moment longer before returning to the others as Emma moved her frostings to the group fridge neatly labeled with her name. They’d sit for fifteen minutes, to give her enough time to have the cakes cool and the frosting to get to the desired consistency. She passed the time, checking in on Mary Margaret and Belle and seeing they were on their way to some good-looking cakes too.

The problem came when she returned to the fridge. Emma arrived at the same time as Catherine, and watched as the blonde saw her approach and then ‘accidentally’ knocked over one of Emma’s containers of frosting. The contents fell to the ground, spilling out and ruined in the blink of an eye. The room went silent, and Emma felt all of their eyes and the camera’s turned to her and Catherine who had a shit-eating grin on her face.

“Oops, sorry about that, Emma. But good thing you made extra right?”

Breathe, Emma. Ripping this woman’s hair out on national television will get you nowhere. Emma stepped forward and took her two remaining frostings and whispered low to Catherine.

“Bring it. Whatever insecure, asinine moves you’ve got, I can handle.”

Then Emma turned on her heel and proceeded to silently freak out. She most certainly did not have enough frosting for everything, and she didn’t have enough time to chill another batch, which was necessary. She paced back and forth, trying to come up with something. She felt her friend’s and Killian’s eyes tracking her but she continued to move about, needing an idea and fast. When she had it, she set to work immediately.

The clock was running down and time was precious, but in the end Emma created a satisfactory replacement for the frosting – a sweet cream glaze that covered the cake with a sprinkle of cocoa on top. While the appearance wasn’t as pristine as she’d hoped, the taste would still be stellar, of that Emma was sure. Just as she stepped away from her cake, the buzzer sounded and time was called.

“Bakers that does it for this round. Step away from your creations and take a breath, you’ve made it through the first challenge.” Everyone applauded politely, but Emma just wanted this judging cycle over. She had just gone from a top contender, to a wild card, and that was a stressful thing, even if they were essentially playing for nothing.

The judges were called, making their rounds through the tent to see what worked and what didn’t. The reviews were mixed. For some, like Tiana, who Emma was somewhat friendly with, they were glowing, while for others, like Leroy, they were bordering on insulting, yet most people stayed in the middle with both compliments and complaints. When they finally reached Emma, it was Regina who spoke first.

“Miss Swan, seems you’ve provided a less… traditional circle cake.” Emma nodded and tried to smile through her frustration.

“A mix up with some frosting, unfortunately, but when does a bake ever truly go perfectly?”

The other woman smiled at Emma’s joke, while Mr. Gold looked less than impressed with the façade of the cake and Granny looked down right murderous at Catherine. She no doubt had heard what happened. It wasn’t until they were cutting into the cake and each trying a bite that Emma felt any real anxiety though. After a moment of contemplation, Gold spoke first.

“Presentable or not, this is actually quite good.”

“You sound surprised.” Emma almost slapped a hand over her face in embarrassment but stood her ground as she heard both Granny and Belle smothering laughs for it. He meanwhile narrowed his eyes slightly as if she’d truly angered him.

“I actually like the design. It’s very DIY friendly, and I think you could find this on any magazine cover. People love deconstructed anything made into cake.” Such praise from Regina had Emma smiling again before turning to Granny.

“I don’t know what you were planning to do with the rest of this, but plans have changed.”

Emma watched as the older woman actually removed the cake from her table and began to walk away with it and shook her head stunned. There was a small break for people to do their testimonial responses, which Emma couldn’t even remember completing before they were on to the technical bake – Regina’s apple streusel cake.

While tensions were high, Emma stayed collected and moved through the ninety minutes with a sense of collectedness she hadn’t expected. In fact, the only thing she noticed beside herself and the recipe before her was Killian, who took great care to speak with her throughout the time.

“I’ve been meaning to ask if you know what the ribbons around town are for.” Killian’s words as they both waited for their cakes to bake pulled a smile to Emma’s lips.

“They’re everyone’s allegiances, for the competition. We’ve all been assigned a color, and the rest of our nosy neighbors can have up to three colors for the pool that the GG is organizing.” Killian looked confused.

“The GG?”

“Sorry, the Gossip Gaggle. You know, the white haired coalition of ladies with the permanent table at Granny’s?” Recognition set in for Killian and he laughed heartily.

“I rather like that. So what color are you?” Killian inquired.

“They gave me white, if you can believe it.” He chuckled again, and the sounds sent a hum of pleasure coursing through Emma.

“I can. And do you happen to know the rest of us?”

“Yes…” Emma purposely held back to see if he’d keep asking, and she was rewarded with a pleading look from him.

“What can I trade you for such information, love?” She pretended to consider.

“You can tell me what you’re making for the competition tomorrow.”

“Vanilla mouse with a lavender infusion and raspberry frosting.” Emma’s mouth watered a little at the idea and she was slightly envious of that flavor compilation. It would surely taste wonderful.

“Your band is black, because you’re the competition’s dark horse.” Killian grinned at that.

“So you’re the light to my darkness then, Swan?” She raised her hands in defeat.

“Hey, I didn’t make the color scheme.”

“Tell him about the other bet!” Mary Margaret called from her side of the room and Emma flushed slightly.

“Yes, Swan, do tell,” Killian implored.

“There’s a pool about you too.”

“About me?” he asked skeptically.

“Oh come on Jones. You’re a single guy who just moved to small-town Maine. Women take one look and wonder who you’ll end up with.” The comment from David was both unexpected and entirely spot-on, though now that Emma thought about it, she had noticed David and Killian speaking a few times before. Perhaps they were friends. Still, Killian’s jaw dropped and Emma stifled a laugh.

“Who’s the favorite?” he asked, his breath a bit gruffer than before.

“David.” Belle replied as she pulled her cake out of the oven. She was the first to do so, but still seemed pleased with herself.

“So everyone thinks Dave and I are gay?” He didn’t say it like it was a repulsive statement, just like it was a clearly incorrect assumption.

“No. The old ladies just like a little fantasy. Plus you haven’t asked anyone out and it’s been a few months, so…”

“My brother is a bit shy, Emma, you’ll have to forgive him.”

Emma raised a brow at Liam’s sudden comment where he’d broken the wall between producers and contestants and was about to ask why he would apologize to her in particular when her own buzzer went off and everyone began focusing on their cakes once more. Soon the time was up, and they were all being judged on a blind taste test. Things went very well for Emma, who actually came in second for the apple cake.

All in all, as the day was ending, Emma had to admit she’d done rather well, and that she was really looking forward to tomorrow, but she did have one tiny regret. She would have liked to talk to Killian once more, to see what Liam had meant, but her friends had other ideas. Ruby, Belle and Mary Margaret all decided that their first day deserved a wine night ending, and Emma couldn’t turn down the chance to relax and unwind. Her queries, it seemed, would have to wait until tomorrow.

…………

“Why didn’t I think to incorporate a book into my theme?” Belle asked the next day, as Emma was working to decorate her Peter Pan Petites in the allotted time they’d been given for their thirty-six cupcakes challenge. Emma shrugged in reply and Belle simply shook her head. “Let me guess, you’ll have a book theme every week?” Emma nodded.

“I need an inspiration. I can’t just come up with ideas on the fly, like you can.” This seemed to appease her friend, but it sparked Killian’s interest.

“Have a thing for reading, love?”

“It would be a problem if I didn’t, seeing as I am an editor by trade.” She didn’t have to look over to him to see his surprise.

“How did I miss that?” Emma looked up to see him genuinely wondering and she looked at him quizzically.

“Researching the competition, Jones?” she asked playfully.

“Only you, love.”

This caused a blush to creep across Emma’s cheeks and she bent her head back to the cupcakes before her. They were decorated meticulously, with a miniature Jolly Roger placed over a swirl of green. She’d also included a little Pan’s shadow and a fondant mermaid on each. Everyone brought their own stands on which to put their finished product, but Emma also had props to incorporate on the spread for her display. At one point, she noticed as the costume hook she’d brought was swiped away. Killian had taken it, in an attempt to get her to speak to him once more.

“Don’t you have some cupcakes to make yourself?” Emma asked with a hand on her hip, playing at being frustrated, when all she actually felt was excited. She loved the attention from him, and she wanted more of it, which surprised her as she was kind of a guarded person. Her past experience had taught her that putting yourself out there romantically never paid off, yet the gleam in Killian’s blue eyes made her wonder if she’d written love off too soon.

Pull it together, Emma, no one said anything about love, she thought to herself critically as he finally replied.

“Aye I do, Swan. But I’m afraid I won’t be able to do much until I can get one of those beautiful smiles out of you.” As if he’d willed it into happening, a full-blown grin broke out across her face.

“Has anyone ever told you that all the charm is a little suspect?” He looked affronted and waved the hook around as if it was a part of his being.

“Never, love. Usually women comment on my being devilishly handsome or my roughish appeal.”

“You sound like a pirate.”

“Captain Jones has a nice ring to it, actually,” Mary Margaret offered from the back of the tent.

“How does she hear me from all the way over there?” Killian asked aloud and Mary Margaret herself responded.

“It’s a teacher thing. My superpower is almost as cool as Emma’s.” Killian returned the hook to Emma’s display and then finally retuned to his station, but he wasn’t done with his questions.

“A superpower, Emma? You hold so much back about yourself.” She laughed at that. He had no idea.

“She can tell when anyone is lying, always. She’s never wrong.” Belle sounded so proud of Emma as she said it that Emma had to turn to smile at her friend.

“That’s a load of bull.”

And just like that, the silence from Catherine was broken and Emma was once again set on edge by the rude woman. Still, Emma ignored her and went on with her cupcakes like no one had spoken. Emma did hear David asking Catherine to pull back some, but that only made Catherine more hostile.

“I just don’t know why everyone thinks they’re so great. Between her, the bookworm, and Sister Mary Margaret it’s ridiculous. I mean look at her,” Catherine aimed her gesture at Mary Margaret in particular, “she goes about her life like birds dress her in the morning, but it’s all a front.”

David looked like he was truly angry at this point, and kept glancing to Mary Margaret to see if she had heard (which she had) and to see if she was okay (which she was). Still, it was interesting. Perhaps David wasn’t so fully under Catherine’s spell as they all thought.

“Just a friendly reminder that there are cameras around and the bitter words usually make the cut for television.” Tink’s intervention was controlled, but barely. Her dislike for Catherine was just as apparent today as it had been the day before and Emma was growing to like her more and more. In another life they likely would have been friends. As it was, she smiled at her thankfully and the petite blonde smiled back in kind.

Time went by quickly after that, and though they’d all had a bit of distraction, most of the contestants had nice looking end results. Only one was truly lacking and it was Leroy’s. His frosting looked like it had been scratched on with a fork of all things, and the judges really couldn’t seem to find anything kind to say at all. When it was revealed soon after that he would be the one going home this week, no one was surprised, including Leroy. What was surprising though was that Emma was the person chosen for star baker of the week.

“There was no way around it. Miss Swan provided three wonderful bakes for consideration, despite a bit of sabotage in the first round. She has a good understanding of flavor and presentation.” Emma heard Regina’s words and felt a lot of pride at all she’d accomplished this weekend. Gold’s words were less uplifting.

“While no bake was perfect, she seemed to have a bit more control over her vision than the others.”

“So verbose,” Belle said as she rolled her eyes. Emma was starting to wonder what it was about this man that bothered her friend so much, still she couldn’t deny the outbursts were funny and made her feel better.

“Emma’s a good girl,” Granny said. “And clearly I wasn’t the only one who thought so. That Killian certainly paid her a lot of attention, even when it put his own treats at risk.”

Emma looked to Killian who smiled at her and shrugged as if to say ‘she has a point.’ Emma couldn’t help but laugh. When the cameras were finally finished getting what they needed from the judges, the producers came towards the contestants once more.

“As all of you know, we’re working on a sped up model for the show, but it turns out it’ll be far faster than we’d realized. Thanks to a few early cancelations from this season’s scripted dramas, the network needs content fast. All of this footage will be cut down edited, and sent into the networks by midweek. We expect a Thursday or Friday time slot.” Liam said all of this calmly but it caused a flurry of questions and comments.

“Wait, like Thursday or Friday of this week?” Ella asked looking pale at the thought.

“Yes, this week.”

“I thought this wasn’t going to air until the holidays.” Belle continued.

“That was the plan originally, but this is television, and they follow the money.”

“How realistic is it that this is where the money is?” Archie asked.

“No idea. But for the sake of the dozens of people who are counting on this as a job, hopefully long term, lets hope the chances are high.” Emma hadn’t thought about that, though she’d met some lovely people over the past few days who did everything from hair and make up to lighting to security.

“Do we still need to keep who got kicked off a secret?” Tink and Liam nodded vigorously.

“Of course, that was in the agreement you all signed.”

“Do you have any idea what else the network is canceling? I don’t want to risk getting to attached to anything.” Killian’s comment had most of the contestants laughing (save for Catherine and Leroy) but it seemed to ease any lingering tension. With that they were dismissed, most to reconvene the next weekend.

Something occurred to Emma as she left the tent for her life outside once more. She had never actually expected this to be fun. Sure, it would be an experience, a great story and a cool thing to have on her life resume, but it wasn’t what she’d thought of as entertaining. She was nervous about the cameras, shy of too much competition between her neighbors, and a bit scared she might not measure up skill wise, but this had been surprising. She’d had a great time, better than any weekend in a long while, and the person largely responsible for that had gorgeous dark hair, a sexy as sin accent and kind blue eyes.

“Emma!” Killian’s voice from behind had Emma turning to him, waving to her friends that she’d meet up with them in one minute. “I know we’ll be meeting again next weekend, but I was wondering if perhaps… you might be – well what I was hoping was that-,”

His stammering was adorable as he ran a hand through his hair clearly flustered, and Emma had an undeniable urge to kiss the shy smile that toyed at his lips. Somehow she knew that he wasn’t used to acting this way. Like his brother he probably teetered closer to the edge of control and collectedness than this scene before her indicated.

“Here’s my number.” Emma said, pulling out a pen from her purse and writing it down on his hand. She could have found some paper, or just put it in his phone, but inexplicably, she wanted an excuse to touch him.

When she’d written it clearly, she smiled at him and turned around to head back home. She could have sworn she heard him mumble ‘Bloody hell’ under his breath and it filled her with a rush of excitement. A moment later though, she spun around to see him once more. He was still standing there, staring at her as she walked away like he was in some sort of daze.

“I’ll be waiting for your call, Captain.” The fire in his eyes at her endearment was exactly the effect she wanted. Now all she had to do was wait.

Post-Note: So there we have it! Hopefully you guys liked it. Subsequent chapters will likely have one of the three challenges and the results featured and either a little bit of their normal lives, or recaps of it. There will be nine regular chapters in total (one per episode) and then an epilogue, HEA guaranteed. So thank you guys for reading, and hope you all have a great rest of your week!

#captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fic #cs modern au #cs ff #cs fic #cs fluff #emma swan #killian jones #the whole storybrooke gang #just a taste #just a taste au #just a taste fic #ouat au #captain swan ff #great storybrooke baking show #seriouslyhooked repost

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