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swanslieutenant · 4 years

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an extravagance of candy hearts (1/1)

Happy Valentine’s Day! My turn for posting for the @csrolereversal, with the art by @kmomof4. Hope you all enjoy this short fic for Valentine’s Day, set in the six weeks of peace during S4.

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Summary: As Killian's first Valentine's Day in Storybrooke approaches, Ruby and Henry take it upon themselves to make sure that both he and Emma have an incredible, extravagant time they won't forget.

Emma and Killian walk hand in hand down the main street of Storybrooke, headed towards Granny’s diner. It’s a quiet Saturday in early February; in fact, it’s been peaceful since Elsa and Anna returned to their land and since Gold was banished from Storybrooke. The absence of the Dark One seems to have lifted a cloud over the small town, freeing it from the darkness lurking in every corner and in the now shuttered pawn shop.

While Emma has returned to her day-to-day activities as sheriff, Killian spends most of his time trying to help Belle in figuring out a way to rescue the fairies from the Sorcerer’s Hat. It’s frustrating and fruitless work, and so when Emma had dropped in to take him to Granny’s for lunch, he was only too happy to oblige.

Just outside of Granny’s, Leroy and one of the other former dwarves (whose name escapes Killian’s mind) are in the midst of a shouting match.

Emma sighs as they approach, shaking her head in irritation. “Best go and see what that is about,” she mutters, before stepping on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “See you in a minute. Order me a grilled cheese, yeah?”

He nods, and steps away while Emma moves to confront the arguing duo. Inside, it’s the end of the lunch rush, most of the tables littered with used plates and cups instead of patrons. Instead of cleaning up the tables, however, Ruby is perched precariously on a tilted chair at one of the front windows. A string of scarlet cartoon hearts dangles from one edge of the window as she leans over to pin it up on the other side. From the centre heart hangs a strange looking blonde baby on a string, a bow and heart-tipped arrow clenched in its hammy fists.

“What the devil is that?” Killian blurts out, unable to stop himself at the sight the monstrosity.

“It’s a cupid,” Ruby replies, pressing the string firmly into place with a pin. She hops down to admire her work, and chuckles at Killian’s expression. “It’s for Valentine’s Day.”

She says it as if it’s obvious, but as with many of the parts of Storybrooke – cellphones, cars, the internet – the words are empty to him. “What’s Valentine’s Day?”

He glances around the rest of the diner, and realizes that it’s not only the front window decorated with the strange little cupids. Ruby has been busy – strings of hearts adorn the bar’s overhang, large heart decorations and cupid babies are splattered on the windows leading to the kitchen, the white napkins at each table have been swapped for scarlet, and the tables are covered with plastic tablecloths instead of their bare tops. Even the usual plain pastries have been replaced by ones with pink icing and colourful sprinkles.

“It’s a day for lovers,” Ruby explains, and at that Killian’s interest is piqued. A day for lovers, is it?

“Indeed?” he says slowly, his tone of voice making Ruby laugh and swat at him with a cleaning rag as she steps behind the counter.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. There’s more to it than that; it’s all about love and romance and sweetheart candy and mushy valentines’ cards. You give your partner something cute and romantic like chocolates or a piece of jewellery that they’d like, and then go for dinner or do something fun that you both like. It’s every February 14th.”

“Hmm,” Killian replies, thoughtfully. He glances out the window, where he can see Emma’s cascading blonde curls down her back, still dealing with the arguing dwarves. Is she going to be expecting something from him on this day?

“Is that something… everyone does in this realm?”

“Oh yes,” Ruby says earnestly, her eyes sparkling. “If you’ve got a significant other, it’s a must. It’s like New Year’s or Halloween or July 4th, something that everyone celebrates.”

Killian doesn’t know what those other things are either, but he nods. He’s trying to adapt to this world the best he can … if this is something they always do, then he’ll participate too.

“Right. Okay. What day is it again?”

“It’s the 14th,” Ruby replies, grinning before twirling away to pick up a new order of food. She returns a few minutes later after delivering it to the next customer, chatting more about Valentine’s Day and what it is, while Killian takes a seat at the bar, ordering himself and Emma lunch and coffee in the moments Ruby takes a breath.

As he waits for the food and listens to Ruby about the romantic day, half-watching Emma outside to see if she is almost done, his eyes drift back to the hanging hearts and the ugly baby Ruby had called a cupid. He’s not sure what a demented flying baby has to do with a holiday supposed to be for lovers … unless it’s a warning to be careful with the long-lasting consequences of a romantic night.

“And Ruby? What does that thing have to do with this Valentine’s Day?”

She follows his eyesight, and through a laugh, does her best to explain to him what a cupid is. As far as Killian understands it, the little babies with wings are a bastardization of ancient mythology about a god of love who shot arrows at people to make them fall in love with each other. Emma often mentions how strange and foreign she finds the Enchanted Forest, with its ogres and chimera meat, but he must say – her land is just as strange as she claims his is.

The door to Granny’s swings open then, a tinkling bell ringing out to announce someone’s entrance, but instead of Emma, it’s Henry instead, bounding in with a wide grin.

“Hi Killian,” he says, swinging into the bar seat beside Killian. “My mom said you were in here. She’s still trying to figure out what Leroy is so mad about, but said she’d be here as soon as she can.”

Killian sighs, and shakes his head. Typical dwarves.

Ruby, who had stepped away to fetch the coffee, returns and grins at Henry, winking conspiratorially at Killian.

“I was just telling Killian about Valentine’s Day, Henry.”

“Right! It’s your first Valentine’s Day with my mom, right?” Killian nods, before noting that it’s his first Valentine’s Day ever, and Henry’s grin widens. “I’ll help you get some things for my mom! I bet she hasn’t had a good Valentine’s Day in a while.”

“You’ll help?” questions Killian, abruptly. He doesn’t think Valentine’s Day is very appropriate for a child – a day for lovers, hadn’t Ruby said?

But Henry nods eagerly. “We celebrate Valentine’s Day at school,” he replies, oblivious to Killian’s train of thought. “So I know what I’m doing. And plus, I know my mom – I know exactly what type of candy and treats she likes too.”

At that, Ruby and Henry begin listing off different items that he absolutely needs to get for Emma at rapid fire pace, so quick that Killian can barely keep up. Chocolates, all different types. Candy hearts with words printed on them like sweetie and love and romance. An expensive bottle of wine. Red and pink flowers, with loose rose petals to scatter around. Candles that smell sweet and strong, a delicate gold or silver piece jewellery in the shape of a heart, small teddy bears holding hearts or their arms open for a hug. They’ll have to make sure his ship is appropriately decorated too, with heart and cupid decorations, glittery and bright.

He opens his mouth, ready to cut them off – they are not hanging a cupid up anywhere on his ship if that’s the last thing he does. But before he can speak, the doors open again, and Emma finally steps in.

Her face is flushed with annoyance, and she marches over to them, blowing out a hard breath of air. “If I have to hear Leroy’s voice for one more minute today, I will lose my mind,” she mutters. She pauses, taking in Killian’s expression (which he is sure one of pure bewilderment) and then the grins on Ruby and Henry’s face, and frowns. “What are you all talking about?”

“Nothing,” Ruby and Henry say quickly.

“Just getting your lunch ready,” Ruby adds. “Killian knows your order by heart now.”

Emma smiles at him, the tension between her brow easing and her eyes softening. “Thanks.”

“Of course, love.”

Grinning, Ruby flitters away to get their food. As she brings it back and they start to eat, Killian enjoys his lunch with Emma, as he always does. Henry and Ruby retreat to the other end of the diner, and Killian can’t help but notice their grins and the list they are starting to make between them. He may not know a thing about this Valentine’s Day, but Killian is sure about one thing – he is going to regret getting Ruby and Henry involved in it.

xxxx

The night of February 14th, Emma finishes her shift at the sheriff station and heads over to Granny’s to pick up some takeout. She and Killian have settled into a routine in the last couple of weeks of having dinner together Thursday nights on his ship. She ducks Granny’s, a takeaway bag in her fist, waving in departure to Ruby’s wink and suggestive comment to have fun with Killian tonight.

Before reaching the docks, Emma makes a short stop at the corner store to grab some snacks for after dinner. She’s made it her mission to introduce Killian to the food of this world, and that, of course, includes junk food. His palate is still mostly rooted in salted fish and hard bread, and there are some processed sweets that absolutely do not agree with him. But they have found a few things that both of them can agree on other than Granny’s takeout, which seems to satisfy the taste buds of anyone from any realm.

Emma picks up some chips and a bag of cheddar popcorn – a new favourite for Killian, they’ve discovered – and then heads to the front desk to pay. However, she pauses by the greeting card section, bright red cards for Valentine’s catching her eye.

At breakfast this morning with Henry, he had reminded her, in his blunt and not so subtle way, that it was Valentine’s Day today and had she gotten Killian anything yet? She’d laughed and ruffled his hair, telling him to mind his own business, though it had gotten her thinking.

She hasn’t got him anything, because, well, she’s never had anyone to buy a Valentine’s Day card for before. It just wasn’t on her mind as something she should do. She’s only been in one serious relationship during the month February before, and her and Neal weren’t really the couple to get each other mushy cards with funny animal puns or an elaborate poem that would take up multiple paragraphs.

Besides, she doubts Killian has any idea what Valentine’s Day is or that they even had an equivalent in the Enchanted Forest. She’s noticed him staring at the decorations around town, his brow furrowed, and she keeps forgetting to explain it to him.

(Okay, that’s not quite true; Emma has thought about explaining it, but she doesn’t know how to, not when it’s a day about romance and that could mean mentioning the word love or feelings or something along those lines and Emma does not want to go there.)

Emma turns away from the cards, but then pauses, Henry’s words echoing in her mind.

Have you got anything for Killian yet? It is Valentine’s Day, Mom! He is your boyfriend, right?

Well … she supposes he’s got a point. While Henry’s idea of Valentine’s Day is still mired in innocence, mostly of candy and mandatory valentines’ cards exchanged between classmates, the sentiment behind the holiday finally feels like something she can get behind. Getting something for some you lo-care about, a day to show how much someone means to you? Alright, fine. She can do that.

Especially seeing as he almost died a few weeks ago … nothing like a brush with death to put things into perspective.

So, with her arms full of chips and popcorn and praying no one like Regina or her parents pop in to see her and make some knowing or snide comment, Emma turns back to the greeting card section.

The Valentine’s Day cards are the most prominent given the current date; the cards are mostly glittery and pink and truly revolting if she’s being honest with herself, but she forces herself to look through them, searching for the least offensive card she can find. There are many that make her anxiety soar or cringe with second hand embarrassment – no cards with the word love, she thinks firmly, or ones that profess undying devotion (nothing with the word dying either, not after the incident with Gold and Killian’s heart a few weeks ago).

Finally, one catches her eye. It’s pale pink, devoid of glitter or the dreaded L-word. Emblazoned on the front is a boat floating through a sea of crimson hearts, the inscription inside reading You Float My Boat underneath a picture of the same ship, its sails unfurled to that the main sail is a bright red heart.

She snorts, but it’s perfect. Not too cheesy (compared to the some of the others, at least), maritime related, no mention of anything too serious, and if anything, hopefully something will make Killian laugh.

After paying for her items, and borrowing the clerk’s pen to sign her name on the card and write Killian’s name on the envelope, Emma heads out to the docks. It’s a cool evening, and as she approaches the ship, all is quiet on deck.

“Killian?” she calls as she boards. “Are you here?”

“Down below, Swan!”

She slips the card into her jacket’s large inner pocket before she moves to join him in his cabin. As she climbs down the ladder, unable to see the cabin until her head clears the deck, she says, “I got us some chips, and that cheddar popcorn you like – what the hell happened in here?”

The cabin is utterly unrecognizable. The lighting is dim, as usual, but instead of being lit by lanterns, there are countless candles around the cabin, low and flickering. The neat collection of maps and books on the centre table has been replaced by several bouquets of scarlet and pale pink roses, bowl upon bowl of candy hearts, a stack of chocolate boxes, and several bottles of wine. There are more flowers and rose petals around the entire cabin, with heart streamers wrapped around the chairs and taped to the bookcases. It looks more like a cabin you’d see in one of those cheesy love cruises than the sleeping quarters of a dreaded pirate captain.

“What – what is all this?”

Killian, who is standing at the bottom of the stairs, extends his hook to help her down the last few steps of the ladder. In the dim light it’s hard to see his expression, but when he speaks his voice is tinged with embarrassment.

“I was told this is the norm for Valentine’s Day in your land, but now I see that Henry and Ruby have certainly taken advantage of my naivety surrounding your realm’s holidays …”

At once, it all falls into place. That day at the diner, Henry and Ruby’s strange behaviour then and today, Killian’s bewilderment. She should’ve known that they were up to something, especially with Henry’s pressure this morning. It’s a little over the top, and she can definitely see Ruby and Henry’s influence in this, but the fact that Killian allowed the pair of them to bring all this stuff into his ship and make it up in this way, without knowing anything about the holiday, well … it’s seriously one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for her.

Killian is still talking, something about how Ruby and Henry are responsible for all this and he’s sorry if it’s too much, when Emma steps forward, interrupting his rambles by pressing a firm kiss to his lips. She drops the chips as she wraps her arms around him, hugging him tightly to her as he does the same.

“I love it,” she says against his mouth, and then pulls away to look at it all again. They move towards the table together, admiring the chocolates and the candy, and Killian’s expression shifts into one of mischief, his eyes dancing.

“Even the extravagance of candy hearts?” he asks teasingly, gesturing to the numerous bowls. “I must confess, I had one earlier and nearly broke a tooth.”

Emma laughs and presses a kiss to his cheek, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Even the rock-hard candy hearts.”

He grins, and then picks up one of the loose roses from the table and hands it to her, bowing his head slightly in reverence. “For you, love. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

She takes it from him, smiling at the memory of when he’d last given her a flower, at their first date, and then pulls the envelope from her jacket pocket, thankful that she listened to Henry and got him something too. It’s far less than all this, but she hopes he’ll love it anyways.

“I have something for you too. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Killian’s eyes brighten, and he quickly opens the card, delicately ripping the top of the envelope with his hook. He laughs as he sees it, delighted, and he kisses her again.

“Thank you, love. I take it ‘float my boat’ is a good thing?”

Emma grins and nods. “The best.”

They wrap their arms around each other, and Emma glances back to the cluttered table, grinning, her earlier apprehensions around Valentine’s Day and what it means and feelings and all that put to rest – maybe this holiday isn’t so bad after all.

#captain swan #cs role reversal #captain swan role reversal #cs ff #cs ff one shot #valentine's day fic

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theonceoverthinker · 5 years

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Doppelganger on the Docks (Captain Swan Role Reversal)

Summary: Even in Storybrooke, the town where most anything can happen, Killian doesn’t expect much chaos when he and Emma go sailing together. But hey, for good or ill, that’s their town, right?

AO3 Fanfiction.net

Here it is, my submission for the @csrolereversal!!! Thank you to the wonderful creators of this project!!!

ALL of the credit in the world for this story’s existence belongs to the following two wonderful ladies!

First, @hollyethecurious, thank you so much for the fantabulous artwork! Not gonna lie, when the development of this piece got hard, your artwork kept me going!! It’s so unique and scary and cool that it deserves some words to accompany it!

Second, @fraddit is the most amazing person in the world, pass it on! Seriously, the help with this piece’s story development you gave me as well as your encouragement was so helpful! I really could not have completed this work without you!

()()()()()()()()()()()

A bright afternoon Filled Storybrooke’s skies The ocean shimmered and glistened And all around were seagull’s cries

Killian walked across the scene A day of sailing just ahead But in a rare case nowadays He had no one in his stead

His family was working Or otherwise, in another realm But Killian was fine with that Sailing the Jolly, alone at the helm

But just as he was readying To depart for the briny blue He heard someone call his name And the source was one he knew

Emma was just down the gangplank Saying she’d been double booked at work She requested to join in her husband’s travels Though asked in words that made them both smirk

Killian brought her aboard his vassal And pecked her lips tenderly with a kiss A day at sea alone was of course a good time But one with Emma, he never would miss

So they both got to work on the rigging And a few minutes later, they left Though his new home grew more and more out of sight Of love, Killian couldn’t feel less bereft

The Jolly Roger rocked across the ocean And salt water sprayed through the air While laughter and chatter rumbled through them They had fun with less than a care

Emma pulled Killian close to her Her arms looping around his neck And the conversation slowed As they made out on the deck

The hours passed in much the same way Creating an afternoon that was fun While Killian expected the day to go fine even alone With Emma, it was second to none

But the entire time they snuggled and kissed Killian noticed things felt rather odd The way she talked and kissed felt just a bit off So Killian decided to prod

Emma told him that she had a headache And Killian supposed that made enough sense After all, why would he distrust the woman he loved? And trusting her always made him less tense

Together for the next several hours They idled in the sun as the time’s arrows marched on Emma curled into Killian’s side as they looked to the horizon And Killian nuzzled his head in his Swan

Only when Killian got hungry did they go below deck He revealed a small lunch that he took While it wasn’t a lot, both were happy to share And Killian fed Emma bits from his hook

All of the sudden, not long into lunch Killian’s cell phone made itself known It was a call from the station and though it pained Killian to do so He wanted to silence its drone

Emma tried to convince him to dismiss the blare Another odd thing for her to suggest But Killian’s resolve won out in the end Though he promised it would be a quick quest

Killian climbed up the ladder as he answered the call “What’s going on, Dan?” he then pressed However, it wasn’t Dan who was on the other end of the line And who was Killian would never have guessed

It was Emma on the phone How could that have been so? She was talking so nonchalantly As if she wasn’t waiting for him down below

When confronted, Emma told him She’d been hard at work all day But she wanted to call to ask about dinner And just check that he was okay

Her phone had apparently died early that morning And work kept her too busy to call him before So when she at last was able to get a moment to herself She wanted to call and learn when he’d come back to shore

Killian turned between the phone and the ladder The directions of his two possible brides And suddenly his legs felt quite wobbly Though it was not a result of the tides

The Emma on the phone was persistent In proving who she truly was And through evidence Killian found it hard to deny Still, the whole matter gave him pause

If this Emma who had only just appeared Was the real woman that had won his heart Then who was this being who he’d spent the day with? And why did they want to keep he and its real self apart?

It would make sense if this were his Emma She didn’t give him that off feeling That this other possible Emma gave him Unghh, Killian’s head was now reeling

He needed to know Which of the two was his wife So he thought up a means Of ending this bit of strife

Killian asked this Emma a singular question One only his real wife would know Her answer would determine once and for all Which of them was putting on a show

“What was it you said when we first kissed?” He waited on the meaning her answer would bring And his darling Emma answered fast “That was a one time thing.”

Killian then divulged what was going on Emma wondered why she now had a clone And he could hardly begin to contemplate it either But kept quiet to keep their cover unblown

It wasn’t long before they came to their conclusion Magic was what created the trick While the ‘why’ of the matter was still an unknown They could settle that later, but for now, they’d think quick

Killian would create an excuse to return home And Emma would meet them at the docks Once they converged, they’d corner the fake And to put it frankly, clean their dastardly clocks

Thankfully, while he was now quite heroic Killian was still good for the occasional lie So Emma agreed to the plan and bolted out of the station And Killian created a cover that was clever and sly

He climbed back down to where he left his fake date Killian’s absence seemed to not worry them at all So with that taken care of, he put his plan into action To get them back to the shore and then stall

With the gentlest tone he could muster Killian told the demon they needed to leave He sold them a story that their assistance was needed In a way they would have to believe

Killian nearly blew his cover by smiling And he had an overwhelming urge to gloat Seeing the fake mentally run through excuses On why the two of them should stay afloat

Triumphantly, Killian set off for Storybrooke Readying himself for some kind of fight And reminded himself no matter who this demon was He and Emma would make things alright

The ship was well on its way back to town They were now halfway back to port With any luck, if he could just keep his act together This misadventure would remain fairly short

But victory was never so easy And with a shove, Killian remembered that well Within seconds, he was on the ship’s wooden floor Still playing dumb, he asked “What the hell?”

The demon had clearly caught onto his scheme They looked at Killian, rather unimpressed “For such a renowned pirate, I expected better But alas, you’re just one more human I detest.”

And then they changed forms, no longer resembling Killian could hardly believe his own eyes Finally though, he completely understood It was a Siren that caused the day’s lies

He then asked the Siren what it was that she wanted On her face, a sinister smirk then appeared Killian knew whatever answer she gave would be bad But hers was worse than he feared

“Your father-in-law long ago killed my sister For too long I’ve sought retribution And while killing him would bring me great joy Killing you offers a better solution”

“For what could be better to ruin his life Than to dispose of his child’s True Love? Yes, to be forced to witness her mourning face everyday There’s no better vengeance I could ever dream of”

“I’ve waited between curses and realms oh-so long To bring real suffering to his daughter I was close to giving up when I found you It’s a good thing that her husband likes water”

“So I tried for so long to catch you alone And finally, I came upon my lucky day All it took was a vial of Lake Nostos’ water Now, for your father-in-law’s sins, you will pay”

Killian scoffed to himself and got up from the floor “Now, I don’t suppose you could be swayed?” It couldn’t hurt to try, Killian justified Especially if it would end this tirade

The Siren shook her head and her smirk nearly doubled Then she looked out at the port just beyond A curious hum had Killian turn to see what was troubling her And he spotted a quite familiar blonde

Killian looked to the Siren who had a glint in her eye He could tell that her plan had just changed What the hell was she going to do with his dear Emma Swan? If she thought she’d succeed, she was truly deranged

“You’ll never get to her in time,” Killian growled “The Jolly Roger’s far faster than you” But the Siren kept grinning and then she looked up From above, Killian could feel something brew

In an instant, the skies turned a bleak shade of mauve And the waves began to crash, smash, and roar As if these weather changes weren’t bad enough From above, dropped a heavy downpour

Torrential rain stormed down from everywhere Could just one thing go right on this day? And just as if the universe was trying to say ‘no’ The Siren left to go cause more foul play

Killian gripped the steering wheel with all of his might The storm daring him to get past its trials While he’d made a lot of progress before he was discovered The ocean left to cross was quite a few miles

Normally a close friend, the waves were rambunctious And the wind’s howl cheered it all on But Killian fought against rampage, sailing closer to home Ready to tough it all out for his Swan

As he sailed, he saw something leave the water A blonde head and two slow-moving hands Crept above the waves to the surface And pursued Emma, following her new batch of plans

Killian saw The Siren make a move to grab Emma A struggle broke out on the pier Emma fought against The Siren, who again wore her face But for Killian, the rain made the conflict unclear

When he arrived at the docks, he fastened and refastened his hook He needed protection for what would ensue Then he rushed off his ship to go fight in the battle And gazed at the terrifying view

Both Emmas were bruised and beaten and bleeding And once they saw Killian enter their sight They each cried for his help defeating the other It was up to him to resolve the fight

Killian took a close look at each of the ladies That was all he needed to know Which was the real Emma and which one was a fake And that decision was one he would now bestow

Killian walked over to one, while the other cried for his help But Killian was sure his choice was indeed smart The Emma he walked to gave him a gentle smile Then he plunged his hook through her heart

The Siren transformed right before his and Emma’s eyes She tried to fight, but her strength was soon gone Killian glared at the fake, grit his teeth, and said “It’s over. I know my real Swan.”

As the Siren’s body bled and fell to the ground Killian rushed to his dear Emma’s side And as if to confirm Killian’s decision The crass weather began to subside

But Killian didn’t need such confirmation of safety For any doubt left in his heart was long gone Because just as told that Siren before ending her life He undeniably knew his true Swan

#cs #Captain Swan #killian jones #emma swan #csrr #captain swan role reversal

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courtorderedcake · 5 years

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For my heart and my love, @snowbellewells, who is a dream on a foggy night's wing. I love what you write, I love what you wrote, and I love you.

Thanks for not telling anyone about how soft I really am. 😘

For @csrolereversal, 2019, Happy Halloween 🎃!

Keep your hearts safe and your eyes open, for who knows what lurks in the murky streets...

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ouatxxxxx · 3 years

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Fic Masterlist

These are all from 2015 to 2017, but I thought I’d make a post with them all in one place. Enjoy!

Go to Sleep - Emma finds Killian and Hope in the nursery

Finding a Family - A Modern AU with Emma, Killian, and baby Henry

No Bath! - Little Liam doesn’t like baths

Complaining - Killian isn’t the best patient when he’s sick

Winning - Pirate Princess Emma and her Captain have a small competition

(Don’t) Know What I’m Getting Into - Role Reversal, Prince Killian/Pirate Emma

Won’t Let Go - Killian tries to carry Emma upstairs after a long day of work

The Pirate and the Books - Belle and Killian start their own book club

My Hero - Emma runs to her roommate Killian’s bed when she finds a spider in hers

Sharing a Name - Emma tells Killian why she wants to be Emma Jones

Forgotten Modernity - Killian is the one who goes to the Wish Realm in 6x10

Tiny Commands - A fluffy moment of Daddy!Killian with Hope

In My Dreams - Emma keeps seeing a certain blue-eyed man in her dreams

To a New Adventure - A Captain Swan proposal with a twist (CSJJ 2017)

What’s Missing? - A fun frenemies, Coffee Shop AU (CSSV 2017)

A Surprise Visit & Another Crisis - The group gets two surprise visitors from the future after returning from Neverland (Season 3A canon divergence, CSSS 2017)

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capnjay21 · 4 years

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A House is Never Still 6/6

Five years ago, Emma Swan disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Killian Jones’ disappearance, well, not so mysterious – given the denizens of Storybrooke all but blamed him for her murder. Drawn back to town by a series of strange events, he soon realises the story of what really happened the night she vanished is beginning to unravel, and what’s more: it isn’t over.

A/N: and here is the conclusion! I’ll ramble a little more at the end, but for now, please once again accept my repeated and evermore wildly gesticulated thanks for @hollyethecurious for this beautiful aesthetic which made the fic - I literally would not have done it without it! also hollering at the kids from the @csrolereversal way back when for starting the event that I originally signed up for, it was so much fun to be part of and while I’m a lil disappointed with myself for finishing so much later, life happens! thanks all!

and now - story happens!

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of suicide, canonical character death, and some Spooky Business™.

Continuing the teeny tiny taglist - but if you want off this list for the epilogue (pending), just let me know and I promise I will not be offended! <3

@snowbellewells @carpedzem @kmomof4 @optomisticgirl

AO3 | one | two | three | four | five

-/-

6 - when the first man awoke in the night

Present Day

There was a pervading sense of strangeness to seeing them all in the same room again.

It was like listening to your favourite song for the first time in years, but the lyrics were now backwards. Instead of humming along in that easy, thoughtless way, it felt jarring to the ears and forced you to really consider what exactly you were hearing, line by line, word by word.

Killian couldn’t stop thinking about every word he offered up into their shared space now; everything felt permanent, nothing could be taken back. What they said in this moment would mark how every moment after it would come to be. He was sure of it, and he was sure the other three felt the same, which was why very little had been said since Mary Margaret had warily invited he, Regina and David over the threshold and into her loft.

Regina had taken a position nearest the door, arms folded, expression neutral, leaning steadily against the wall. She looked like someone trying desperately to imitate the pose of one unaffected, but the tension in the set of her shoulders gave her away. Killian had perched on the stairs that led up to the upper floor, and David stood in the centre of the room shifting his weight from foot to foot and glaring sadly around him, as if he had no idea where he fit into this room anymore and imagined any of her items of furniture might have been the one to oust him. Mary Margaret sat at the side of her dining table that allowed her to face all three of them at once, hands clasped tightly together over the tabletop.

Mary Margaret had offered them tea and they had all declined.

It was the distance, Killian decided, that was most difficult to take in. It was the closest they had been to each other in five years, but the space between them had never felt wider.

The tape recorder was clutched tightly in Killian’s right hand. It was a little slick with sweat from his palm, but he refused to let it go.

“Is this about Emma?” Mary Margaret asked, and while she asked politely, the edge in her voice was unmistakable. She did not want her house of cards to come down around her. When they didn’t immediately reply she offered with a wry eyebrow raise: “It’s not likely to be about anything else, is it?”

“It is,” Killian said, seeing no point in drawing it out. “It’s about the house.” He and David exchanged a look. “It’s back.”

Something ticked in Mary Margaret’s jaw. “I don’t know how to make this any clearer – I don’t want to know.”

In that moment, Killian couldn’t see anything but Emma in her – except he had always had an instinct for how to scale Emma’s walls, but with Mary Margaret he floundered.

Fortunately, there was someone else in the room who knew how far better than he.

“Hey,” David started, gently, in that tone so earnest and warm that none of them had ever really been able to ignore. “You know who we are, you know what this must be. Just look at us.” No matter what else had happened, there they all were. “This isn’t something from nothing – we wouldn’t do that to you.” He gave her a sad sort of smile. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Mary Margaret stared back up at him, and not for a second did Killian believe their story was as over as they had both claimed it was. “What is it, then?” she asked.

“It’s this.” Killian stood up, opening his palm to reveal the tape recorder inside. It was sturdy and blocky, resembling a clunky child’s toy more than the instrument that had brought them together that night. He laid it on the table, and before she could ask he cut her off. “I recorded this five nights ago, in Brooke House.”

The tape immediately began to crackle and scratch, and Killian fast-forwarded just long enough until it started. It whirred, and it tck-tck-tck-ed, and eventually there was a voice.

‘Emma?’

His voice. Cutting through the static. There were a few thumps. A rustle as he’d stuffed the recorder in his pocket, some creaks as he climbed the stairs within Brooke House. Through the recording, Killian could relive the second night he had gone to the house since coming back to Storybrooke, the same way both Regina and David already had.

‘Emma?’

There was a crash, and the unmistakable tear of book bindings. Except, where Killian had heard Emma’s voice that night, the tape recorder had picked up nothing. Instead it sounded as if Killian had stood in silence, waiting.

‘Why didn’t you show yourself to Regina?’

Another thud, as another book was hurled against the wall. Otherwise, quiet.

‘Come here,’ the Killian on the tape said, ‘let me look at you.’

Mary Margaret was frowning, and lifted her bemused gaze up first to Killian, and then the others. “What is this?”

“Just wait,” Regina answered quietly from her place by the door.

The Killian on the tape let out a long breath. ‘I’m so sorry.’ A pause. ’All of it.’

Killian bristled at the memory, felt the cold touch of her lips like a steel edge. You couldn’t tell from the recording what had happened, and Killian had not been quick to fill the others in on his actions during that particular interval. But even as the seconds passed, his pulse began to race – he had listened to this recording a hundred times already, listened to Emma’s spectral presence like a non-entity, had initially resigned himself to having caught nothing of measurable value to show she was there at all.

Except right then –

‘Killian?’

Emma’s voice was unmistakable.

Mary Margaret’s reaction was instant, and visceral. She almost bolted out of her chair. In fact, she looked so suddenly pale and faintly ill that Killian nearly offered to fetch her something to throw up in. What were you supposed to do when you heard the voice of your long dead friend, five years after the fact of their dying?

But it was just that one word – then it was Killian promising to help her, and then there was nothing at all.

“There’s more,” he said grimly, but he had a feeling Mary Margaret wouldn’t have been able to form words just yet anyway. Killian clicked a finger on the fast forward.

He had completely forgotten about that recorder after Emma had kissed him – it had sat on those bookshelves for five days, running continuously in the study on the landing. He was fortunate it was such an old, robust thing. Even without attention it had continued diligently fulfilling his purpose, and his only regret was that it had run out of tape after a day and a half.

But in that time, it had caught enough.

Having wound the tape to this point so many times, Killian stopped it once more and let the noises trickle out.

A rustle of fabric, something scratching on old floors. A faint, but tangible sigh.

‘Killian?’

Emma, again. Killian shut his eyes. He let the sound wash over him.

‘Killian?’

There was nothing for a minute or so here, but Killian left it running. They all needed time to process it, and together they listened to the soft sounds of Brooke House murmuring quietly. Ancient wood groaned, the stairs told the bannister that someone was coming, the wind pushed doors open and closed them. But eventually, reverently, they heard her speak again.

‘Yesterday, I dreamed…’

She hissed out a breath. Her voice was quiet, and terribly sad. Killian’s heart seized to hear it, because he knew it was his Emma. This voice wasn’t rich with delighted, dark secrets. It was hollow and resigned and a breath of condensation across frosted glass.

‘I don’t know where I am. I thought I heard your voice.’

Something fluttered, possibly the pages of a book. Then there was only silence.

Killian knew this quiet stretched the tape for a few hours, so again he tapped his finger to fast forward, until they could hear her speak again.

‘It’s – it’s the car. I don’t want to see it anymore. Is David there?’

David dropped heavily down into a seat at the dining table. The Emma on tape continued, oblivious.

‘I thought I heard your voice. We have to finish it. It’s…’ Something scratched loudly, and the four in the kitchen winced at the sudden volume of the sound. ‘Killian? Is that you? I’m so cold. I –’

The recorder clicked, sputtered and stopped. It had reached the end of the tape.

Then they waited.

It had been enough to convince David; it had been more than enough for Regina to let go of her scepticism about whether Emma needed rescuing. For Killian, it had lit a fire under him. Not only was Emma, their Emma, trapped in Brooke House somehow, but she was cognizant. He had seen it. In those breathless few seconds after their lips had touched, his Emma had bled through like a blot of ink stretching across paper, and she had asked after him.

Now he intended to answer.

But they couldn’t do it without Mary Margaret, not if they needed what he thought they did – three pairs of eyes turned to look at her.

Killian was unsurprised to notice she was crying. Her shoulders shook, and she did not resist David when his hand came over to rest atop hers. In fact, she curled open her palm and allowed him to thread their fingers together as she let out a tremulous breath, her eyes misty and fighting for clarity.

“Please tell me this isn’t real.” She sounded as miserable as she looked.

“It’s real,” Regina answered.

“Our girl is in there,” David urged. “We have to get her out.”

With her free hand, Mary Margaret furiously wiped her face with the back of it. When she spoke, her voice cracked. “How?”

Killian brushed a finger across the edge of the tape recorder, and for a wild moment considered rewinding it and letting it play again just so he could hear her voice.

“The ritual. The same one we started five years ago.”

It had always bothered Killian, had niggled in the back of his mind for years. If the sole purpose of that ritual had been summoning a malevolent spirit in order to control its power, then why had Liam Jones allowed himself to become embroiled in it? Liam was honesty, integrity, and fierce loyalty. It didn’t add up.

“It was never about bringing something evil out – I should have recognised the signs the moment I came back, but I was too busy thinking about Brooke House now to worry about then.” Turning abruptly to the coffee table, Killian plucked a pen and ripped a page from a notebook that had been lying there and brought it back to the dining table. On it, he carefully sketched the five-pointed star he had drawn into the floorboards at Brooke House. “History lesson. One of the earliest known uses of the pentagram is actually as a Christian symbol – its points are supposed to represent the five wounds of Christ.

“Then, as time goes on, you start to see a rise in occult practices, and they pretty much liberally borrow as much symbolism as possible from anywhere they can. Particularly the pentagram – which, if you turn around –” Killian swivelled the image so the tip of the star was pointing down, and the two points jutted out upwards. “—Has been known to represent the two horns of Satan, here. The rejection of heaven and all things spiritual. That’s what I thought I was looking at when I saw it needed to be in the ritual.” He’d spent a few days absorbed in old library books, researching what Liam had written down and left in his toolbox.

He had allowed himself to be influenced by Belle Gold, by all the talk of evil, and as a result had only bothered with one interpretation of the symbol – which was reductive, and a potentially fatal error.

“But way, way before all of that, you have its uses in Taoism, with Pythagoras and the Greeks, in early iterations of paganism. Some perceive it as a representation of the elements, but most agree that it’s about balance. It’s perfection in mathematics, the human body, words; it makes its uses in religious ritual and magic basically inevitable. But by the time the pagan revival begins – well, mostly a re-invention or re-construction of older practices – it’s become so strongly associated with malevolence and Satanism that it’s a little difficult to adopt as a symbol of faith. So, what do you do?”

Killian grinned.

“You turn it the right way up and draw a big fat circle around it.”

He rotated the paper again, so the single point was facing upwards and drew a circle around its points, connecting each one.

“It’s a different symbol. It’s what most modern wicca practices call a pentacle, it’s supposed to represent a physical object used in ceremonial evocation – the act of calling upon a spirit – for protection. It’s a talisman. Liam wanted the circle made from salt, which is a common ingredient in purification spells. There are candles at each point to give energy, but –”

“You should have left one unlit,” Regina cut across him, eyes widening once she’d put the pieces together.

“Exactly.”

David and Mary Margaret, for their part, looked entirely nonplussed by the turn of the conversation. Killian winced internally – perhaps he’d spilt out the word magic a few too many times for them.

David blinked. “What – what are you talking about?”

“One candle should have been unlit to let energy out,” Killian explained. “This isn’t a ritual for summoning or capturing a demon. It’s a ritual for banishing one.”

Mary Margaret dropped her head in her hands.

“Years. Years of therapy. All undone in a single evening.”

“Did you hear her?” Killian pressed, tapping the tape recorder emphatically. “Did you hear her calling out for us? She said it herself. We need to finish this. There’s no moving past it until we do.”

“I can’t. I just – I can’t.”

Killian could feel frustration mounting, but David laid a hand on his arm before he could burst out something furious and likely detrimental to their cause. They could attempt the ritual without Mary Margaret, but without a person sat at every point of the pentacle the spell would be weaker. It had to be her – there was no one else.

“Mary Margaret,” David began. He shifted his chair a little closer. “Mary Margaret.”

Miserably, she raised her head, hands clasped on the back of her neck.

“I think you need a little of something that you used to give all of us,” he smiled. “Hope.”

Her eyes welled with fresh tears, and Mary Margaret shook her head. “Hope – hurts.”

“Only when we give it up.” To Killian’s surprise, it was Regina who had spoken, pushing away from the wall to stand at Mary Margaret’s shoulder. “I thought I could bury this beneath the way the world had opened up. That it was the price for new eyes.” She locked eyes with Killian, offered him a nod of understanding. “I was wrong. And… I’m sorry. We should have supported each other, stayed together.”

“Regina’s right,” Killian continued. “And this is on me, too. I should have been here. I shouldn’t have missed… everything I missed.”

He had missed the service for Emma, he had missed old Henry Mills’ passing, he had missed David and Mary Margaret going their separate ways, he had missed the coda of their friendship with Regina, he had missed Archie leaving town, he had missed the library closing its doors for the last time, he had missed, he had missed, he had missed.

Killian had thought leaving Storybrooke was the best decision he had ever made; that without Emma, all that was left was walking in the dust.

Admitting that he had spent five years missing Storybrooke was like releasing a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding.

“Emma needs us,” David urged, taking one of Mary Margaret’s hands in his own. “One last time. All of us – together.”

They were all pieces of the same, scattered glass. Some edges sharp, some smooth. All Killian knew was the completed image was soft and golden, and he ached for it so harshly and so tenderly that he couldn’t bear it if the night ended any other way.

Mary Margaret took a steadying breath.

Her fingers clasped around David’s.

“Hope,” she said, and it settled it.

They were doing this.

-/-

The sky above Main Street was a deep, midnight blue, the winking light of stars only clearly visible if you fixed your gaze on it for longer than a few seconds. All appeared still, other than the stirring of crisp and deadened leaves in an unhurried brush down the road, and long shadows cast by the bronze streetlights were black in the way the sky should have been.

In the corner of Killian’s eye, everything seemed to shift. Every few metres it felt like something flashed at the edge of his vision, just out of sight, daring him to turn and look, trying to pull them from their singular focus of getting to the edge of town as quickly as possible. He was sure it was Brooke House. The dagger felt cool against his chest from the inside of his jacket. How did Emma put it? Testing the boundaries? Stretching her limits? A spectre at the edge of Main Street, a shadow at the end of David’s bed.

He could feel her all around them watching, waiting, trying to deter them from coming any closer. Perhaps she knew of their intent. Streetlights flickered overhead, and the groan of steel scarring tarmac could be heard distantly.

Killian felt so exposed. The others had huddled in close, walking swiftly as a unit – maybe they could feel it too.

He was so involved in wondering after the otherworldly, that the reality of a car pulling up beside them didn’t even register until the occupant was already climbing out. The door slammed definitively, purposefully, and it drew them to a halt. Once Killian had identified who now stood there in the gloom, features lit by the fading amber light of the street, he let out a string of murmured expletives.

“I knew it was only a matter of time before the whole gang was back together again,” Sheriff Graham Humbert growled, his voice as melodic and dangerous as it had been when Killian was just seventeen, frightened, and exhausted beyond belief on the night that had started it all.

Killian fought to keep his voice level. “It’s been a long time, Humbert.”

“Long enough that you’re ready to finally give me the truth?”

“Graham,” Regina began quietly, and it was the way her tongue curled around Graham, it was the intimacy of it, the sheer fact that they were on a first name basis that sent Killian’s mind into a tailspin, cataloguing a few more ways the town had continued to tick without him.

They were all adults now, weren’t they? So why not? Why not Graham?

Because he didn’t like it.

“Don’t,” Humbert said shortly. “So where is it you’re off too? The ravine, maybe?”

He looked older than when Killian had seen him last. He had only just been elected the month before Emma had disappeared, gruff but bright-faced and enthusiastic about his future turning over small town misdemeanours. Then he had been thrown into a missing-persons-assumed-murder case, and nothing about Storybrooke had felt small anymore. Had Emma’s disappearance given him those lines, pulled taut at the corner of his eyes? Could the unhappy curve to his mouth, the adamant line of his jaw, be because of Emma, too?

He had only wanted to find Emma, it was all any of them had wanted. On any of the countless nights Killian had lain awake, unable to dream of anything but the night that Emma had vanished, could Graham Humbert possibly have been doing the same?

Not to mention his instincts were correct. The four of them did know something more about it than what they had told him. It must have churned him up inside to know that, and not be able to do a single thing about it.

“We’re going for a drink,” Mary Margaret offered, and she surprised Killian with the smoothness of the lie. “Just old friends catching up.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Humbert snapped. His badge glittered in the dim light. “You were up to something then, and you’re up to something now.” He folded his arms. “I’d like to invite all of you to come down to the station and have a chat, seeing as you’ve got the time.”

At the end of the street, a bulb blew in a shower of orange sparks. Glass rained musically down onto the sidewalk. Killian thought he saw the flutter of white fabric dart around the corner.

Watching, waiting, daring.

“We don’t have time for this,” Regina muttered. “Step aside, Graham.”

“Fine, go. I’ve got no problem with it. The way you all look tonight,” Humbert stared at each of them in turn, scathingly, “I have a feeling you’ll lead me straight to her.”

He had only ever wanted to find Emma. That, Killian reminded himself, they had in common.

Movement flickered at the edge of his vision, and for a moment Killian was certain once he turned his head he’d see another spectre of Emma, dirty white and terrible, but it was David, David had surged forward and his fist was swinging and Killian heard the crack of Humbert’s head hitting the sidewalk before his eyes had even processed that he was witnessing his crumpled form falling backwards. Out cold.

David was hissing with pain, shaking out his hand and wincing.

The other three were blinking, astonished.

“Sorry,” he offered to Humbert’s motionless form. Then, turning to the others and noticing their expressions, he suddenly grew defensive. “We’re in a hurry, aren’t we?”

Inside a convenience store, a radio burst to life. The scattered notes of Only You could be heard scratching across the quiet street.

Killian narrowed his eyes. Yes, they were.

The four of them stepped carefully around Humbert, and continued their brisk journey into the night.

Given their intent, Killian had half expected for Brooke House to be gone by the time they got there, like when they had returned on the first night to look for Emma. After the ritual they had scattered into the trees, tearing off in different directions to try and find where she might have gone, voices hoarse with their continued calls out for her. By the time they had returned to the site of the house to regroup, faithfully following the trail of Killian’s orange string, it had gone. Taking Regina’s Ouija board, Mary Margaret’s scarf, David’s Apollo chocolate bar wrapper and Emma with it. A piece of all of them lost to the maw – some bigger than others. It had feasted on what it could and disappeared into the night.

Perhaps, Killian thought, as he stared at its broad foundations, the beckoning creek of its front door, the gasping cavern of its insides, it looked at them all like an unfinished meal.

It waited, it watched, and it dared them closer to finish them for good.

Killian’s hand tightened on the hilt of the dagger.

Emma needed them. And she had waited long enough.

As one, he and Regina stormed up the steps and headed inside. Behind him, he could hear Mary Margaret whimper, the urgent, hushed tones from David pushing her forward, but he paid them no mind. They each had a job to do here – this was his. Regina immediately pulled out a black marker and began tracing the shape of the pentacle on the floor, while Killian rummaged in the rucksack they had brought for the salt. He started sprinkling it in a perfect circle around the edges, and it wasn’t long before David had coerced Mary Margaret through into the sitting room. She had her palms over her eyes, as if by not looking at the aged walls of the house she might not have to acknowledge she was stood there.

Something crashed upstairs. David and Mary Margaret jerked towards the sound, the latter dropping her hands. Killian and Regina exchanged grim looks.

“It knows,” she said.

“Get the candles.”

There were other loud bangs of protest, like the sudden opening and slamming of doors, and at every noise it brought the four of them closer together, until Killian could feel Mary Margaret’s small hand clutching tightly to his upper arm. He spared her the briefest of glances – in the gloom she looked completely pale, but her features were set into something determined. The house could screech and moan, but she would not be so easily spooked anymore.

This was the girl he remembered. The one who could be both; afraid, and brave.

Killian fumbled with the matches, but not a single one would light. Killian stuck his finger into the packet and found, bafflingly, that the tip of every match was damp, even though they had been tucked away in his pocket. With irritation Killian thought of the damp wall and the wallpaper, and he thought he could hear laughter. It might have been the wind whistling past broken glass, but it was something.

“Here,” David said. He’d pulled a lighter from his pocket.

At four of the five points they set a lit candle, and at the fifth they set a final one – unlit, for the release of energy they had intended. Quickly they took their places behind a flickering flame, leaving the gap between Killian and David where Emma had sat all those years ago.

Killian’s pulse raced, his heart felt jagged and stuttered; hope, that treacherous notion, couldn’t help but imagine that at the end of all this, she might once again be sitting there.

“Ah,” came an icy voice from over his shoulder. Killian shut his eyes, knowing who it was at once. “You finally brought my dagger.”

“Ignore her,” Killian said firmly, refusing to turn around, but the others weren’t paying attention to him. Their stares, slack-jawed and stupefied, were fixed on the phantom that had just entered the room.

David’s voice was hoarse. “Emma?”

“David,” Killian barked. “Take Mary Margaret’s hand.”

“David,” Emma’s voice was honeysuckle and thick. “David, it’s me. Come on, come away from there. It’s time to go, don’t you think?”

Mary Margaret snatched his hand from where it had been hovering near her, and in a daze, David turned his head back towards her.

“Look at me,” she said, fiercely. “My eyes. Only.” David looked torn. “That is not our girl.”

“David,” Emma sang. His shoulders tense, but he did not turn to look at her again. Instantly, Emma’s tone turned nasty. “Get out.”

Killian didn’t care for ceremony anymore; he didn’t care for the weight of it all, for the ritual, for the sense of preserving the past – he felt like he had spent his entire adult life consecrating devastation. Regina’s hand was tight in his, their incomplete circle ready and waiting. The candle flames danced backwards and forwards, and Killian used his spare hand to pull the dagger from his coat pocket.

There was a loud hiss from behind him, like the hum of a cooped-up predator, and something ice cold and hard swung in front of him and gripped his throat.

Killian gasped.

Mary Margaret screamed.

He felt the air being squeezed from his windpipe, the dig of Emma’s nails into his skin so harsh he was sure they must’ve drawn blood –

With effort, Killian raised his hand –

And flung the dagger into the centre of the circle.

The effect was instantaneous. Emma released him immediately and wailed, something loud and drastic and terrible, as the air began to crackle. There was no slow build up this time, a steady gathering of wits as the room began to take in its breath, there was just the rumble of distant thunder, the storm they made to summon forming as suddenly as a tornado. The wind howled through the cracked windows; one of them shattered under the force of it and carried shards of glass towards them, hurtling around them with great speed.

Through the gap between Killian and David, Emma had stumbled backwards into the middle of the circle, and her eyes were black and furious. Right in front of them, she began to curl in on herself but it was impossible, her back had bent at a right angle and the contortions were too much, too strange, that his brain tried to tell Killian that it wasn’t happening at all. The wind whipped away her crown of flowers until it disintegrated, and her mouth gaped open in a silent scream, wide, wider, a yawning arc of darkness.

Something sharp dug into Killian’s cheek – glass, he thought, helplessly – and he reached up his free hand to try and shield himself. Mary Margaret and Regina had their eyes tightly shut, expressions scrunched up with pain and Regina’s lips were moving, but Killian couldn’t hear anything over the roar in his ears.

That was when the lightning struck.

In unison, arcs of obsidian light latched onto both the centre of Emma’s chest and the dagger, tying the two together like an ugly, pulsing artery. Again it flashed, this time onto her back, and again, her left hand, again, her right, until Emma was entirely obscured from view by the opaque jet of the zephyr.

This was where they had lost Emma before – she had thrown herself into the centre of the storm.

Killian tensed, maybe – maybe –

Regina’s hand tightened on his, as if sensing the direction of his thoughts.

Not a chance, it said, and gripped even harder.

Instead he yelled out into the darkness.

“Emma!”

The only response was rage – the door to the sitting room swung off its hinges, dropping heavily onto the floor. The wallpaper was ripped to shreds. A hole the size of a fist splintered into the floorboards behind him. Even so, on hearing him, the others took up the call – screaming for Emma to come through, to break free, to take her place in their circle and complete them.

“I know you’re in there!” Killian hollered, and his throat felt hoarse but he needed to make himself heard. “Emma, you can do it!”

And then – and then – he saw her.

Not the twisted, luminous Emma that the house had been showing him, but Emma, their Emma, staring out from the centre of the tornado. Through jets of black lighting he could see her, eyes wide, palms facing upward as if waiting for the rain to come, her mouth open in a cry that he couldn’t hear.

He couldn’t hear it, but he could see it. When she locked eyes with him her mouth formed the same words that had haunted him from the minute they’d first been ripped from her.

Killian – Killian, don’t –!

Not this time.

Killian wrenched his hand free.

“No!” Regina cried.

If you have to have someone, he thought, furiously, then have me.

Killian hurtled in after her.

For a moment, everything was blindingly white, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Then he felt the touch of her hand.

It all fell quiet.

There was – nothing.

-/-

His heart was still beating. That was something, he supposed.

Behind his eyelids the light had dimmed, but it was still bright. That was how he knew it was no longer night. The air felt damp, and cold, and smelled faintly of wet moss and pine. The ground beneath his feet felt soft and earthy, and experimentally he wiggled his toes inside his boots. Obligingly, something squelched. Somewhere, a sparrow trilled.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. About a metre in front of him the ground gave way, dropping hundreds of feet below him in stacked and uneven layers of rock, grass and sediment. A distant roar sounded from beneath him, and pitching himself forward a little he could see the crash of the river against the edges of the rockface.

He was standing at the edge of the ravine, he realised. The ravine that Liam had driven into.

“This is what it does,” Emma said from beside him. “It makes you relive all your worst moments.”

His hand was tucked into hers, not unpleasantly. Their shoulders brushed.

“Where am I?”

In the distance something screeched, and he and Emma turned their heads towards the sound. Belatedly, he realised it was the exhausted brakes of a car accompanied by the rumble of an engine, and a wave of nausea began to rise within him. The harshness of the sounds felt dissonant with the relative peace above the ravine, but as Killian turned his eyes to the right he could remember how it had looked in the days that followed. It had rained heavily that afternoon, the police report had indicated that had wiped away most of the evidence, and everywhere mud had been churned over and over, plants ripped from their roots. But at this moment everything was still, undisturbed.

The sound of the motor grew louder.

Killian couldn’t remember how to breathe. He began to feel the light patter of rain on the back of his neck.

Not this, he begged, not this. I don’t want to see this.

“It’s alright,” Emma said, squeezing his hand tightly. “I’ll be here.”

Then the trees exploded.

Liam’s old Mustang burst through the shrub, and although Killian was anxious not to see it, he couldn’t tear his eyes away, tried to fix his gaze on every single detail in the impossibly short space of time between the car careening from the forest and tipping over the edge of the ravine. It was like watching it in slow motion. The windshield had already cracked in two places, and the Mustang swerved dangerously to the left – attempting to wrench itself to rightness before it was too late, but it was too late – and when Killian finally felt brave enough to look into the cabin, he realised something else with a chilling rush of dread.

Liam was not alone in the car.

Someone else – something else – had two hands on the wheel, and Liam was wrestling for control. Acting purely on instinct Killian surged forward, but Emma’s grip on his hand held him back. He knew, with the certainty that you knew things in dreams, that nothing he could do would be able to stop it.

Then he blinked, and Liam was alone in the car, and the Mustang had hurtled over the edge of the cliff. For a few seconds, the forest had earnt back its stillness.

Then, with an almighty crash that made the ground beneath him shake, the Mustang hit the surface of the water.

Killian couldn’t bring himself to look over the edge. On the cliff, just metres from where Killian now stood, someone else watched the car disappear beneath the walls. It was a man – or no, was it a man, his skin looked more like slick bronze, glittering like the scales of a fish – and then he was gone.

Killian reminded himself to breathe in, and breathe out. Emma reached across and brushed tears away from his cheek with a gentle finger, which was how he realised he had been crying. He clutched her other hand tightly in his own.

He couldn’t speak, and mercifully Emma didn’t seem to expect him to. It could have been minutes that they stood there together, breathing in, breathing out, or it could have been hours. It might not have been more than a few seconds. Somewhere, a sparrow trilled again. Killian began to feel a splatter of rain against the back of his neck, which was how he realised it had stopped raining the first time around.

“Careful,” Emma said. “Here it comes again.”

In the distance, he heard another screech of tired brakes.

Alarmed, Killian turned – and realised the treeline looked exactly as it had when he arrived, before Liam had burst through it.

Overwhelmed by the urge to throw up, Killian bent double and retched, but nothing came out. Emma rubbed a soothing hand on his back.

Again, he watched as the Mustang crashed through the thicket, as Liam fought for control of the wheel with the strange man – the same man who stood on the cliff afterwards before vanishing into thin air, he now realised – and skidded over the edge of the ravine. The world fell apart once more as the car pounded into its final destination.

“Where am I?” Killian repeated, in between taking large gulps of air.

The scaled man on the cliff watched the car, satisfied, before disappearing completely.

“It’s hard at first,” Emma sighed. “I watched my parents abandon me on the side of the freeway, like, a thousand times.” Her hand squeezed his own. “The car pulls over, my Mom gets out, she picks me up in my blanket and puts me down. Then she gets back in and it drives away. It was like picking at a scab I thought had already healed.”

It hadn’t, though. He could have told her that. Some scars were meant to stay with you forever.

We’ve all got ghosts here.

Somewhere, a sparrow trilled. He began to feel the weak patter of rain against the back of his neck.

“I saw the kid who found me, too,” Emma added, bitterly, “his name’s August. Not that it matters now.”

In the distance, the brakes of the Mustang screeched.

Killian was finding it difficult to process what he was seeing with what he was being told.

“They say that’s the definition of insanity, right? Doing the same things over and over and expecting a different result? I waited for them to get back out, just once, to not just leave me there. But that’s what it feeds on. That hoping. The more you fight it, the more you want something else to happen when it never could, the stronger it gets.”

With a shudder, Liam’s Mustang broke the treeline again. It swerved, splattering mud across the clifftop. Liam wrestled for the wheel and the tail of the car swung out; hope shuddered to life within Killian, this time this time he would pull it back, he’d regain control, he’d turn before it –

The Mustang sped over the edge of the ravine.

“He wasn’t alone in the car,” Killian managed to get out, as his heart seized in his chest. “He didn’t – it wasn’t suicide.”

The scaled man on the cliff stared at the disappearing Mustang, and then vanished.

“That’s what the spirit of Brooke House looked like,” Emma said, nodding at where the scaled man had stood. “When it came to Liam.”

When it came to me, he wanted to cry, it looked like you.

Somewhere, a sparrow trilled. He began to feel the weak patter of rain against the back of his neck.

In the distance, the brakes of the Mustang screeched.

“It threatened you,” she continued softly. “It said it would kill you if he didn’t help the spirit escape the house.”

“But he didn’t,” Killian added, needlessly. Of course he didn’t.

He thought of the ritual, the one Liam had outlined to banish the demon, and he felt weak. Helpless to stop the chain reaction of Liam’s death – both in the weeks that had led up to it, and as witness to his final few moments as the car crashed into the ravine. He would have died on impact, the coroner had said. The body swept up by the rush of the water below, taken out to sea. Just like everyone had always said. That final, private wish that he had only whispered aloud once, that the lack of a body meant that maybe, maybe something else had happened, was finally snuffed out.

Liam had been in that car. It was small comfort to know he hadn’t done it to himself.

The Mustang thundered out of the undergrowth, swerved, screeched, and fell.

“He tried to banish it, but he was missing one key ingredient.”

Killian knew, with the certainty that you knew things in dreams, what that missing ingredient had been.

“The dagger.”

Emma nodded. “Right. After that didn’t work… he was always a dead man.”

But how had he known? How had he even thought to banish the demon? It seemed with every answer he got, a thousand more questions rose in its place.

“But the dagger… his name was on the dagger. Why didn’t he –?” Look like you?

If Liam had died in the ravine, just like they had always said he had, why was his name on the dagger?

Emma looked out across the ravine, darkly. “That’s just how it keeps score. Its victims. Liam isn’t trapped here, but I’d say he’s still a victim.”

Somewhere, a sparrow trilled. Killian began to feel the splatter of rain against his neck.

“Wouldn’t you?”

In just seconds, gone forever. Not trapped, but gone.

Trapped.

For the third time, he asked: “Where am I?”

Emma shook her head. That wasn’t the right question.

In the distance, the brakes of the Mustang squealed.

So instead, he asked: “How do we stop the demon?”

“I’ve already told you,” Emma sighed, airily enough that it felt as if he were just disturbing her at work in the library again. Her voice sounded faint. “God, don’t you ever listen?”

Listen.

With the suddenness of breathing, his hand closed on empty air where it had once been holding Emma’s. She had gone.

So had the clifftop.

It was like waking up, when you weren’t sure how long you had been asleep.

He was standing in the single room of the old apartment he shared with Liam, and he had always been standing there. It was smaller than he remembered; just the open plan kitchen-stroke-sitting room-stroke-Liam’s bedroom, attached to an even littler bedroom that had been Killian’s. The kitchenette was in the corner, dark and musty smelling, and Liam’s bed was propped against the opposite wall, impeccably made as always. There had only been room for the bare minimum of additional furniture – a chest of drawers for some of Liam’s clothes, the rest hung on a metal rack like the kind found in a shop, a moth-eaten sofa and a small, boxy handheld television plucked right from the jaws of 1994 perched atop an overturned wastepaper basket serving as a table. It was dark, lit miserably by a single window next to the sofa, and warm in the uncomfortable way that a gym was warm; lived in.

It looked so insignificant. Almost barren, certainly cheap. Nothing to be proud of.

Killian longed for it with something so profound that it was an almost physical ache. This was life before Liam had died.

A key clicked in the lock, and the front door to the flat was flung open with more force than necessary. Killian’s heart sank once he realised what he was looking at.

It makes you relive all your worst moments.

In tumbled Liam, exactly as he remembered him, and a younger Killian – twelve years old, freckled, dark hair askew, and furious.

“—So unfair!” The younger Killian was scowling. “I don’t want to move again! I just started making friends!”

Killian had forgotten what it was they had fought about – it had faded completely from his mind beyond the core sentiment, which had been bloody and foul, in the wake of everything else that had happened that day. Now it all came back to him with startling clarity.

This was the last time he had seen Liam alive.

“Well, tough,” Liam said wearily, setting a plastic bag on the counter next to the refrigerator. “We are.”

The younger Killian rounded on him angrily. “Why?”

“For work.”

“Has all the wood been chopped in Storybrooke, then?”

Liam fixed him with a withering look. “Don’t be facetious. It’s important, Killian. You just have to trust me on this.”

He had wanted them to leave town, he remembered now.

After that didn’t work… he was always a dead man.

He would have known, even then, that Brooke House was coming for them.

It struck the older Killian, then, just how tired Liam had looked – dark circles clung to the bottom of his eyes, and his skin looked stretched and pale. It also occurred to him how young he was. Liam had always been taller, older, wiser; even after he had died Killian had never thought of him any differently. Yet, here, Liam Jones was just nineteen years old – and he already been looking after the brothers Jones for years already. Killian had already outlived his brother’s unfairly short life by almost three years.

The younger Killian threw himself dramatically down onto the moth-eaten sofa. “I bet Dad wouldn’t make us move.”

Liam scowled, busying himself taking a few meagre groceries out of the bag and putting them away. “You don’t know what Dad is capable of.”

“I would if you just told me!” The younger Killian twisted on the sofa so he could look at his brother, bristling with indignation. “What is it that’s so bad? Why won’t you talk about him or Mum?” Liam kept his mouth set in a thin line. How that had infuriated him at the time. “How about you just tell me, and then I’ll go without a fuss. I’ll even pack tonight! How’s that?”

“I don’t like being held to ransom,” Liam replied tersely. The younger Killian let out a cry of frustration, delivering a swift kick to the sofa, then stormed over to his bedroom door. “And a tantrum won’t help. So long as you continue to behave like a child, I will continue to treat you like –”

The younger Killian whirled around, hand on the doorknob and eyes ablaze.

“I hate you!”

It makes you relive all your worst moments.

“I’m not finished,” Liam snapped, “don’t you walk away from me.”

The younger Killian did not listen. He stomped into his room and slammed the door shut behind him.

Don’t, Killian begged, come out. This is it. This is the last time.

Liam had followed him to the door, let his hand hover above the handle.

Open it, he longed, pleaded. Don’t leave it like this.

He watched Liam change his mind. He watched him pick up his car keys. He watched him curtly inform the younger Killian that he was going out for a little while, but he would be back soon. He watched him wait for the younger Killian to respond.

He did not.

Liam left the flat.

A key clicked in the lock and in again came Liam, with the younger Killian in tow.

“—So unfair!”

Like the clifftop, he was apparently doomed to watch the same moment over and over – but Killian refused. Seething, he tried to think himself into being somewhere else. He didn’t know the rules here, but somehow he had moved from the ravine to here, and if that was possible then he could move from here to somewhere that was not here.

Not this time, Killian thought furiously, no more than once.

In part instinct and in part miserable fury, Killian put his fist through the thin plaster wall.

Behind his eyes, pain exploded – but it was not from his fist. No, his wrists were smarting, burning with an agony he could not see, and someone was screaming and he thought it might be him, he was back in the sitting room at Brooke House, the storm raged, a tornado of wanting and longing and hoping and nothing ever changing, and he could feel his left hand clasped around the dagger but his right – his right –

Emma was there, and she was holding tightly onto his right hand.

She looked him squarely in the eyes. “Listen!”

He was in Granny’s Diner.

He knew this because he could hear the quiet lull of patrons around him, and the faint smell of melted cheese had begun to permeate. He could feel the hard, well-worn cushion from one of the booths beneath him, and he could still taste vanilla cake on the tip of his tongue. He knew because Emma’s arms were around his neck and she was holding him tightly, and he could feel her breath on his lips. He knew because he had lived in this moment so many times, and begged a thousand times to have ended it differently. He didn’t need a demon to do that for him

“Thank you,” Emma had said, her cheeks flushed with glorious delight (he had done that, he thought fiercely). “For always knowing exactly what I want before I do.”

“You’re…” he trailed off, because he had become distracted by the bright and welcome jade of her eyes. “You’re welcome.”

All it would take was moving himself closer just an inch. He was suddenly conscious of his hand on the side of her hip, of his desire to move it further around until it brushed her spine, to use it to tug her to him, bridging the final distance between them. Her lips looked soft and pliant, a rosy pink that had spent their lives shaping around his favourite words in the entire world, because everything she said was a gift, and he loved her, God, he loved her, he loved her so much.

The jagged beat of Only You was rattling from the jukebox in the corner, and Killian Jones wanted to kiss Emma Swan more than he had ever wanted anything.

He could feel her unsteady breathing, rising and falling against his chest, and he was sure her pulse would be racing to match his – but fear gripped him. What if she didn’t want this? What if it scared her as much as it bloody terrified him? If he leaned forward and she didn’t meet him halfway he didn’t think he could bear it. He hesitated

He hesitated –

He always hesitated when it was important –

It makes you relive all your worst moments.

Killian had sailed past this moment more times than he could count, he didn’t need a ghost to remind him of all the roads not taken. For the last five years, Only You had been the song he had almost kissed Emma Swan too, days before he had lost her forever. In that moment, he couldn’t think of anything worse than watching himself, feeling himself not doing it over and over for eternity when that had been his only chance.

That’s what it feeds on. That hoping. The more you fight it, the more you want something else to happen when it never could, the stronger it gets.

Is this what Emma had done, for five years? Replay over and over the worst possible pockets of time it could think to show her, wishing ardently for something to be different, praying desperately for some hope of rescue. He thought back to the tape recorder – she had sounded lost, confused. Defeated. Trapped in an unending limbo of nothing ever changing.

It had to stop today.

How do we stop the demon?

Listen.

Emma’s eyes flickered to his lips, he felt her swaying dangerously forward. The air smelt of burnt toast, vanilla sponge and anticipation, and Killian felt untouchable.

Only You trickled out from the jukebox in the corner.

“‘Looking from a window above, it’s like a story of love… Can you hear me?’”

Killian froze.

That song had been following him around for days.

Piss off, ghost.

A taunt, he had thought. A wretched reminder of everything he had almost had. But what if it wasn’t?

I’ve already told you. God, don’t you ever listen?

The tape recorder was proof, Emma had the ability to bleed through the machinations of the demon, to touch her surroundings cautiously, gently, from inside her void of almosts and never-have-beens, and she had been hurling this moment into his path ever since he returned to town.

Maybe something in it had to change.

But if you fight it, Killian thought furiously, that only makes the demon stronger. So what was he supposed to do?

Emma’s arms tightened almost imperceptibly around his neck.

In the space of a steadying breath, he allowed himself another long look at her. Pretty, dainty eyelashes, but fierce and warm eyes of jade, capable of spitting fire and turning his insides into something weak and wanting. Her lips were parted and daring him closer, and as he entertained the thought of leaning in his heart hammered against his ribcage. God, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her more than anything.

The future was only sky. They had all the time in the world.

So maybe he didn’t fight it.

He didn’t want to, not anymore. He was so, so tired of fighting his way through life, Mary Margaret had lauded him over his stamina but that’s not what it was, not really, he just couldn’t remember what life had been like before he’d needed to throw up his fists. So he decided he was done with all that. If giving up meant he could live in the sensation of her breath on his lips, of their almost and their never-have-been, in that half a second before they decided no, then he would happily give up on life outside of this oblivion.

“‘All I needed was the love you gave…’”

Because almost kissing Emma, he decided, was so much better than living in a world where he hadn’t done it.

If you have to have someone, he thought, have me.

It was like waking up, when you didn’t know how long you had been asleep for. Suddenly mobility was possible, and he could feel his own chest rising and falling unevenly, aware of his own breath in a way that made it feel like he hadn’t been breathing before. Once he realised with awe that he could move it, he lifted a trembling hand up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, cupping her face with the other. As his pulse raced, he just wanted to be sure that she was real.

“Emma,” Killian said, and his voice sounded far away. His thumbs brushed across the shells of her cheeks. “I’d very much like to kiss you now.”

Emma grinned, and he realised she was crying.

“You fucking better.”

Instantly, Killian surged forward.

It was everything he had hoped it would be. Emma was warm, soft, eager, and mimicking the same little sighs he could hear escaping through his own lips – kissing Emma was like kissing air. It was tightness in the top of his stomach; it was saturated mornings under the oaks; it was winter at the door, brushing its feet on the mat; it was the final ten seconds before the whistle blew in a championship game when all that was left was that startling, adrenaline-pumping hope. Kissing Emma was a race that he had been training his entire life for.

Everything was noise.

Wind surged, static hummed, someone screamed but still Killian resisted; he was determined to inhabit this moment, this second, if this was the rest of his life then he didn’t intend to stray too far. If it was just the space of a single exhale then he would breathe out, and he would breathe out, and he would learn to go without oxygen because as far as he was concerned, there was no other possible choice he could make. He heard someone calling his name. A hand scrambled at the hem of his jacket. Something fizzled like a power line coming loose and he could hear the sound of glass shattering –

Emma pulled away.

He could still feel her hands in his hair, though. That had to be something. He kept his eyes tightly shut.

He was cold, and he could smell the forest. Dry leaves crunched underneath a boot. He tasted only velvet, mist, and Emma.

“Killian,” she said softly.

Killian shook his head. He didn’t want the dream to end.

“Killian, you can open your eyes.”

Reluctantly, he did as he was bid. He was standing in the middle of a familiar patch of forest, his hands tracing the edge of Emma’s face – because she was here, and she was solid, and there wasn’t a lot else he cared about other than that – it had to be the middle of the night, as the sky overhead was a black curtain pulled taut, specks of light barely visible scattered across it. The earth looked black beneath his boots but he knew from the crackle underfoot that in daylight it would be a watercolour pad of New England autumn, but that didn’t make his being there any less disorienting.

“Where did – how did we get out here?”

Was that – Regina?

“Oh, oh – Emma!”

Killian felt the wind knocked out of him as someone came crashing into the side of he and Emma, throwing their arms around them – David? – and again they swayed dangerously, but this time someone was crushing him from behind and someone was crying and eventually his knees buckled and they were all tumbling down onto the forest floor. It was haphazard and dizzying, but he recognised their hearts just as clearly as his own; all relief, all love, all fierce, fierce joy.

Emma was clinging to David while he sobbed into her shoulder, and Mary Margaret was holding on tightly from behind and speaking in such a floundering, nonsensical babble that nobody had any idea what she was saying. Killian was dazed, and more than a little confused, but blisteringly happy. He had no idea what had just happened, but since this was the outcome he had been praying for, he chose not to dwell on it.

Regina clapped a hand onto his shoulder, and he spotted her wiping something from the corner of her eye that looked suspiciously like emotion.

“It’s over.”

-/-

Brooke House was gone.

That was what they had managed to surmise after they had finally been able to disentangle from each other. It wasn’t that they had been transported to some other location, it was that the house itself had vanished around them, leaving them sprawled in the dirt feeling more than a little shaken and more than a little relieved. The ritual had worked, they had banished the demon, and the only evidence it had ever been there at all was in their story shared, their hard-won memories, and a curving, silver dagger stabbed blade first into the earth. A close inspection revealed its edge to be flat and smooth. No names. Just a dagger. They left it there, buried in the soil. They were finished with it now.

Killian had tried more than once to explain what had happened after he’d hurtled into the storm after Emma, not just to the others but to himself – but Emma had laced their fingers together and she looked so paralyzingly pained and sweet and sad that he had stopped trying. Some things were easier not to explain.

She hadn’t spoken much on the way back, just tucked herself tiredly into Killian’s side and dropped her head against his shoulder. She was wearing the same outfit she had disappeared in, which made her look oddly like something stitched together from different times – she was a woman now, wearing the old, worn, coat and boots of a girl. David had attached himself to her other side, putting a strong arm around her shoulders and occasionally patting her hair, murmuring tender reassurances and kissing her forehead.

Killian knew how he felt. He thought he might have a panic attack if he had to let go of her hand.

Somehow, they had done it. The demon was gone and so was Brooke House, and Emma had been given back to them.

She had been amazed to discover she had been gone for five years.

“I’ll go to the sheriff station first thing,” Emma said, nodding her head like it would settle everything. “Clear your names.”

Regina looked unconvinced. “I’m not sure that’ll do it.” The fact that David had punched Humbert in the jaw was just now coming back to them, and Killian couldn’t help but agree.

“Why not?” Emma argued hotly. Then she pointed at herself. “Missing girl. No longer missing. Case closed, right?”

Killian squeezed her hand. “We don’t have to settle anything now.”

For now she was here, and it was enough.

As they turned onto Main Street he felt Emma begin to tremble, her shoulders shaking underneath David’s arm. Whether it was fear or relief or anticipation or a combination of all three, Killian couldn’t tell, but after he had asked her she reluctantly revealed that where she really wanted to go was to the Nolan house; to Ruth.

David turned away to hide a fresh wave of overwhelmed, happy tears, but Emma’s attention was fixed on Killian.

She rounded so she was in front of him, her free hand fisted into the lapel of his jacket.

“I want to see Ruth,” she said, looking agitated, “but I –”

She cut herself off, stared fixedly into his eyes. Willed him to understand.

I don’t want to be away from you.

Something warm bloomed in his chest.

“I’m staying at Granny’s,” he offered with a smile. “You could – after. If you want.”

I love you I love you I love you I love

“No, he’s not,” Regina cut in. “He’s staying with me.” When they all turned to look at her she bristled, adding lamely: “I’ll… make lasagne.”

Emma laughed and it was such a beautiful sound. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I want.”

By the time dawn had kissed the sky with streaks of pink and orange, that offer had become too tempting for any of them to resist. Regina and Killian had immediately decided sleep was impossible and had started depleting her stores of homemade cider to try and relax their nerves and carry them until morning. They talked about nothing at all, and although Killian could tell Regina was desperate to ask about what they had done, what he might have seen, itching for a chance to make a comparison to her book of spells, Killian did not give her the opportunity to do so. There would be time for all of that.

An hour or so in, Mary Margaret had arrived at the door. Wordlessly, she had proffered a bottle of Jose Cuervo, and they had invited her inside.

The sky was just beginning to brighten when David and Emma returned, which was how they now found themselves laid out on the floor of Regina’s sitting room, gorged on the perfect lasagne and mellowed by fatigue and Jose, watching the sun come up through the tall, French windows.

Emma was curled in Killian’s lap, her legs slung across his and her head resting against his chest, listening to the steady gallop of his heart. He very much wanted to kiss her again – hell, he wasn’t even sure he had kissed her the first time. But there would be time for all of that, too.

Everything was bathed in golden light. Regina was dozing on a sofa, David and Mary Margaret were talking earnestly in hushed, gentle voices, their foreheads touching. Killian was struck by something so right, so definite, that he wasn’t sure anything he had experienced since Emma had disappeared had been real. This was so clearly how everything was supposed to be that it was inconceivable to imagine it had been any other way.

“Thank you,” Emma murmured against his chest. She lifted her head up so their eyes met. They were a soft storm of emerald, rimmed with a tired scarlet edge along her eyelashes. “For not giving up.”

I love you, her fingers curled into the worn leather of his jacket, danced a pattern across his chest. Tapped a beat to match his aching heart. He could hear her. I love you.

“How could I?” he replied. “You know where Archie hides the good snacks.”

She kissed him in the dusty light of morning, and it chased the last of his ghosts away, out into the dawn.

-/-

A/N: if you made it this far - THANK YOU! I am honestly so grateful for all of the support I received for this fic, it was my first try at writing something kinda horror/spooky and I’m really proud of how it came out. I’ve honestly been blown away by some of the comments I’ve got, I am SO happy, you guys are so awesome and I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed it so far - it’s been a pleasure to make your hearts race and keep you up at night!

I’ll be posting a short epilogue on Wednesday, so keep an eye out for that! for now, turrah, and thank you so much! <3

#jay writes #a house is never still #cs role reversal #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs au #cs halloweek #killian jones #emma swan #enjoy all!

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clockadile · 4 years

Photo

I am a bit over the wire getting this done but it’s here! Thank you so much to @theonceoverthinker for being patient with me as my days got busy and my paint refused to dry fast enough.

She put together a wonderfully fluffy story with a few details I wish I’d had time to elaborate on in art! Read her accompanying story A Winter’s Snowball, our contribution to the valentines week @csrolereversal READ HERE

#captain swan #csrr #cs crew #ouat fanart #cs fanart #a winters snowball #my arts #ouat art #watercolour #cs role reversal

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gingerchangeling · 4 years

Text

That Most Common Of Afflictions

This is my story to match the wonderful board done by @imagnifika for the @csrolereversal Valentine's Day event.

Enjoy!

On Ao3 and FF and Tumblr

Emma know she has a letter for a standard parent teacher conference. Emma knows that the dreaded Valentine's Day is quickly approaching. What Emma doesn't know is exactly how intertwined those two facts of life are going to become.

Emma winced as she looked over the envelope. She’d been avoiding it since she’d seen it among the bills and pointless ads a couple days after Christmas. The school logo conveniently printed across it, warning her away from opening it.

But with Henry going back to school after the weekend, she couldn’t put it off any longer. It had been looming in the corner of her vision from the innocuous corner of the bar where she’d tossed it after deciding not to open it. But the time had now come.

After a few glasses of wine and a couple pieces of chocolate to fortify herself for what the letter might contain, she finally opened it. She expected to find an politely worded passive aggressive note reminding her that her parent volunteer hours had not been filled yet or that the administration was now requiring that the tissues they used had to be a certain brand, like they required for his uniform and socks and shoes and binders and paper. It was getting ridiculous.

But when she finally got the page unfolded she was very much surprised.

To All Parents,

I do hope that you had a lovely holiday season. Alas, vacation cannot last forever and soon a new semester must commence.

Emma blinked as she took in the words typed across the page. It was like she was reading some weird Pride and Prejudice knock off. She took a large sip of wine before she continued.

And thus, my point for writing. The administration has decided to institute a new practice. Because your student has completed half of their academic year, their strengths and points of focused study-

Emma snorted into her glass. How diplomatic.

-have become apparent. So the administration has suggested that as this new term begins, we the teachers meet individually with the parent(s) or guardian(s) of our students to discuss their progress in their studies and what areas that they might assist their studies going forward. Therefore I’ve taken the liberty of setting a schedule to meet with each of you individually. If the date and time I’ve penciled you in is not convenient for you, please contact me and I’ll reschedule with you.

Therefore, I eagerly await meeting with you to discuss your amazing student. I look forward to meeting with you on Friday, January 31, at 7:00 pm.

Sincerely and with great anticipation,

Killian Jones

Emma leaned back. Emma only knew of Mr. Jones from Henry's barely coherent ramblings when he gave his daily report of all the great happenings that could rock the world of a ten year old. But from what he told her, Mr. Jones was something of a mix between Jack Sparrow and Mr. Darcy.

With great anticipation, indeed.

Emma cursed under her breath as she hurried down the hallway, doing her best to ignore the mild PTSD that the smell of carpet cleaner and exhausted wall was triggering. No matter how old she was, she could not forget that scent. To stave off the memories, she put the odor out of her mind as she reviewed her appearance.

Her hair was half up, she was sure her eyeliner was smeared, and she was still wearing half of Leroy’s beer, an accessory she’d acquired when she’d had to remove him bodily from the Rabbit Hole. Again.

And she was late to her quasi-parent teacher conference.

She rapidly rounded a corner and nearly collided headlong with Mary Margaret.

Henry’s old teacher was a woman who seemed to have made it her life’s mission to ensure that the prickly loner with a vibrant son was well entrenched into Storybrooke society. Mary Margaret was actually the reason that she was Sheriff. She's introduced Emma to her husband David, who’d been sheriff himself at that time, and he’d given her a job as a deputy. And when David had decided to step down to help care for Mary Margaret and their newborn son, he promoted her to sheriff and not a single person in town objected except Leroy. But Emma figured it was because she was a bit more liberal in her use of handcuffs than David had been.

“Emma!” she exclaimed, “What are you doing here? Did Henry forget something? You could have just asked me to pick it up for you!”

“Mary Margeret, I’d love to chat, but I’m supposed to be in the weird not parent-teacher conference and I’m already late, so…”

“Oh! You’re Killian’s last meeting? That’s perfect, I actually needed to grab some materials from his classroom. I’ll walk with you.”

And just like that, Mary Margaret looped her arm through Emma’s and leisurely guided her down the hall to the classroom at the very end. Emma hesitated a moment, but Mary Margaret continued forward without missing a step and knocked on the wood frame of the doorway.

A muffled “Aye?” reached them.

“Killian?” Mary Margaret stepped through the doorway, dragging Emma along behind her with a well constructed glare when she noticed Emma hanging back. Emma stepped into the classroom and had to admit that she was impressed by the order of the classroom. Not bad for teaching ten year olds.

“Just a mo’, love!” Emma’s eyes flicked over to the source of the voice and had to momentarily remind herself that drooling would be unprofessional, despite the almost absurd cut of his slacks over his ass as he rummaged for something in the storage closet.

That was certainly not something she was anticipating.

She’d psyched herself up to have to deal with a leering old man trying to get in good with the single mom because he’s watched one too many pornos. The broad back and muscled shoulders that straightened up from the closet as those delightful slacks slid over his backside was not the profile that she was prepared to deal with. Especially when he reached out to the side to close the closet, taking a step back to allow the door to swing shut, and Emma caught sight of his rolled up white dress shirt sleeves.

“Sorry love, I was just getting some material set up for tomorrow. Bloody inconsiderate, not calling ahead to let-”

She couldn’t help it. She cleared her throat, suddenly having a very hard time swallowing as she listened to the rough timbre of his brogue. Maybe she was the one who had watched one too many pornos. At her sound though, he whipped around.

Oh dear god.

Waaaaaay too many pornos.

His tie was pulled loose, black hair in disarray, ice blue eyes widened in surprise, stubble-cover jaw slack as he registered that he was not alone with his co-worker. A moment later a violent blush overtook his face as his back snapped straight, practically jumping to attention as he hastily shoved the knot of his tie up toward his throat.

“Oh! Uh-” he snapped his mouth shut, clearing his own throat, “Ah-” His face grew even redder and his hand slid from the knot of his tie up to rub behind his ear.

Emma was trying to cope with the sudden flare of indignation at his comment and the sudden flare of…. not indignation. She was trying very hard not to put a name to the long lost but not forgotten sensation and so was in no state to break the increasingly awkward silence.

Mary Margaret, in a rare moment, seemed to read the room quickly and jumped in to fill the thickening silence.

“Killian, let me introduce to you one of my closest friends, Emma Swan. Emma,” Mary Margaret turned to look at her, and Emma caught a concerning glimmer in her eye, “this is Mr. Jones, Henry’s teacher.”

The formal introduction seemed to give him the direction he needed, and he seemed to compose himself enough to get control of his face and an easy smile slid across his lips.

“Ms. Swan, the pleasure is all mine.” He strode towards them from the back of the classroom, offering her his hand.

His movement forward was enough to jar Emma from her stupor. She reached out her own hand, forcing her face into a not-quite-scowl, raising an eyebrow at him, “Mr. Jones. It’s… nice to meet you as well.”

His face reddened slightly again, but he kept his composure as he turned to Mary Margaret, “I’ve your materials set out in the back.”

Mary Margaret brightened, “Oh! Wonderful! Thank you Killian.”

He waved away her thanks, “Think nothing of it, love.” As Mary Margaret stepped around him towards the back, he gestured, “Ms. Swan, if you’d like to sit down?”

Emma turned to follow his gesture and saw a chair set in front of the teacher’s desk. Apparently school furniture design had not changed all that much in the years that had passed since she’d been in school. She refused to look back at him as she made her way towards it, a mumbled “thank you” all she offered as she stepped past him. She ignored the dark musky scent of something that was uniquely manish and the smell of his deodorant that assaulted her as she did.

She felt him follow a step behind her, but ignored him in favor of settling herself in the stiff, very uncomfortable chair as Mr. Jones seated himself behind the desk.

Henry’s teacher. Henry’s teacher. Henry’s teacher.

She repeated the mantra in her head as she met made eye contact, forcing herself into apathy, despite the veritable Adonis that was settling himself in front of her. Soon he stilled and abruptly the eye contact they had suddenly acquired a tense charge. She didn’t think she’d ever physically experience the phenomenon of sexual tension, but here she was looking at the god sitting across the desk from her, and she felt the weight of the air around them pressing down on her skin.

But then a muffled thud sounded from the back of the classroom and she was jarred into action.

“So, Henry?”

The name of her son worked an abrupt change over his behavior. His posture relaxed and a soft smile settled over his features as he leaned back slightly.

“Aye. Your son is a remarkable young man Ms. Swan, I must say. He’s been a pleasure to have in my class since day one.”

She felt herself swell with pride at his praise, “He really is something isn’t he?”

Mr. Jones gave her a soft smile, “Aye he is. He’s smart, quick to pick up the nuances of the lessons, and always a bright influence on his peers.”

Emma nodded, not at all surprised by the praise that Henry was receiving. He was always a favorite with his teachers, his earnest love of learning as blatant as his sincere smile. So she was surprised when Mr. Jones’ face turned stern.

“However, he’s run into some issues as of late.”

Emma was immediately on alert. “What do you mean?” she asked sharply.

He seemed to anticipate the concern that his comment would cause, because he continued mildly, “It’s nothing nefarious. But his grades have been slipping.”

Emma’s brow’s furrowed, “How’s that possible? I look over his homework every night to make sure he’s done it all. And I know he has an almost perfect attendance record. Is there something wrong? Is he being bull-”

“Nothing is the matter!” He hurried, his face turning red once again, “I’m sorry I should have led with that. No, everything is fine.”

“Then what, exactly, is the problem?”

A small smile slid across Mr. Jones’s face, “Your boy is simply suffering that most common of afflictions.” Emma raised a brow, and his smile widened, his own brow raising in response. “I don’t know if you are aware Ms. Swan, but we’ve had a new student join our class this semester, a charming young lass by the name of Violet. And your son seems to have taken quite a shine to her.”

It took a moment for her to process before, “Wait……. are you saying Henry is failing because he has a crush?”

Mr. Jones winced, “He’s not failing in any sense, he just gets a bit… distracted. But it is causing a bit of a drop in his grades, and I, and you as well, know that he can do better than the work he’s currently been turning in.”

Emma sat back, biting at her lip, nearly missing the quick flick of Mr. Jones’s eyes down to her lips before glancing down at the paperwork she was only just now noticing was littered across his desk. Although, littered probably wasn’t the right word. It was evident that the small stacks of paper were each in their correct place, not even a stray pen marring the order of his desk.

He grabbed the piece of paper from the top of the stack to his left, “I’m aware that they’ve had very few assignments turned in at this point in the semester, so the report card that the school wanted me to hand out seemed irrelevant, so rather than waste any more trees, I’ve set up a sort of comparative report.”

He offered the page to her, and as she shifted forward to grab it, she was abruptly brought back onto the range of whatever ...manly musk that surrounded him. It was mouthwatering. Just like the rest of him.

Henry’s teacher. Henry’s teacher. Henry’s teacher.

She leaned back and stared hard at the page, trying to reign herself in. But as her eyes focused on the page, she took in the short and neat spreadsheet, with brief notes, summarizing Henry's performance last semester in each of his classes at that same point in the year that they were in now. Her gaze traced the little graph he’d provided at the bottom, and against her will, she found herself very impressed with the amount of effort he’d clearly put in to making these meetings as helpful as possible.

“As you can see, Henry’s level is not nearly the same as it was last semester. And while he is still at a much higher level than most of his peers, I know that this is not the best that he can do.”

Emma wanted to snap at him, but as she looked over the last month of Henry's progress, she knew that he was right. So instead she sighed, “Well, what should I do about it?”

Mr. Jones’s smile slid off his face and he looked at her steadily, “I’m not quite sure. This situation is addressed differently, depending on the person. As his mother, I thought it best to bring it to your attention, as you would know best how to speak to him about it.”

Emma dropped her head, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to accept the reality that was her son’s grade school teacher telling her that she needed to speak to her son about romances and crushes. She was probably the least qualified person Henry knew to be discussing the appropriate ways to handle infatuations. His existence was proof of that.

She raised her head, meeting his eye again, “Alright, thank you for bringing it to my attention.” She tried to keep the exhaustion out of her voice, but by the way his brows furrowed and the concerned look that settled over his face, she was obviously less than successful.

“You know,” Mary Margaret’s voice made Emma jump slightly. She’d forgotten that the other woman was there. “There is another way of addressing the situation.

Emma twisted in her seat to glare at her friend over her shoulder. Mary Margaret was apparently too far gone though, because she kept going despite the murderous look Emma was leveling at her.

“Is there?” Mr. Jones’s voice was completely flat, and she got the impression he was just about as glad for the unsolicited input.

Mary Margaret nodded, moving towards the front of the room, hands full of what looked like crafting materials. “Yeah! See the best way to address a problem, at least for me, is to face the problem head on. And maybe Henry should do the same. Address his crush head on, and that might be just the thing!”

Emma managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes, but just barely. Sometimes she still wondered how she and Mary Margaret were still friends.

She opened her mouth to tell her friend that while her advice was appreciated, could she not interrupt private parent teacher conferences? But before she could get the words out of her mouth, Mr. Jones spoke from behind her.

“You know-” he paused as she whipped her head around, taking in his posture, leaning back in his chair, fingers playing ever so enticingly with his stubble. “You may have a point there, love.”

“You cannot be serious.”

Mr. Jones raised an eyebrow at her as he sat forward, setting his elbows on the desk and resting his chin on his crossed hands. “Aye, I am. I think that addressing the issue in a forthright manner may be the best way to face the situation for the lad.”

“I’m sorry,” she snapped, suddenly wildly frustrated with the situation. “Were you not literally just telling me that as his mother I would know best?”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement, “Aye, and I stand by that. However, as I was once a wee lad with a crush meself, I do think that I might have a bit of... shall we say, authority on the issue. And I recall that the issue was often alleviated after talking to the lass for a bit.”

Emma scoffed and crossed her arms, “Alright, what do you suggest oh wise one?”

His frown deepened and for a long moment, his eyes just flickered over her face, like he was looking for something. Then Mary Margaret again jumped in, “Oh I know! Valentine's Day is just around the corner! Wouldn’t it be romantic if he did some big gesture to sweep her off her feet?”

While she had to suppress a shiver of absolute disgust, Emma didn’t bother turning around or biting her tongue this time. “Mary Maragert, they are literally ten years old. The only thing that they should be sweeping is the dirt that they track into the house while playing in the mud looking for worms.”

Mr. Jones’ lips ticked up, but he continued on, “I do have several activities planned for that week in class. It might not be a bad time to arrange it so they have some time together.��

“Activities?” Her voice was almost a growl, but he seemed unfazed.

“Aye, that week happens to correspond with the week that we are discussing the Golden Age of the Caribbean Pirates in the late 17th century. Perhaps we could set up some games and other little projects that incorporated the Valentine's Day theme into the curriculum. It would be a prime opportunity for -”

But Emma had had enough. She shot out of her chair, abruptly silencing Mr. Jones, and barely managed to reign in her frustration. “Thank you for your input on Henry’s education. I will speak to him in regards to his distraction in class. It will be taken care of.” She turned to march out, but as always, her mouth just had one more thing to say. She jerked back around to him, still sitting shell-shocked in his seat. “And seriously, forcing a holiday down kids’ throats that only promotes capitalism and sex? Really?”

And without giving him an opportunity to respond, she marched out the classroom door, fuming.

Emma waited until Sunday afternoon to talk to Henry about it. She hadn’t wanted to say anything when she’d gotten back from the meeting, still too infuriated to talk to Henry about something that delicate, continually exacerbated by Mary Maragret trying to call her every half hour. Then Saturday had dawned and he’d wanted to go to the new museum exhibit and she just couldn’t bring herself to mar his Saturday with a serious conversation. She also didn’t want to make herself think about his teacher any more than was strictly necessary.

So here she found herself, sitting across from Henry at one of the benches in the park, ice cream in hand as a pre-bribe, not that he knew that yet.

She sucked in a breath, bracing herself for what she was sure was going to be one of many awkward conversations about feelings as Henry grew up and faced the trials and tribulations of hormones.

“Henry?”

He hummed in response, not breaking eye contact with a rather delicious looking chocolate chunk he was currently trying to mine from his ice cream.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” And just like that, apparently the chocolate chunk did not seem nearly as appealing to him as it had been the moment before, because Henry raised his head and regarded her with what she could only describe as a suspicious look.

“Okaaaaaay.”

She licked her lips, “So you know that on Friday, I had the parent teacher conference.. thing, right?”

He nodded, an almost victorious expression on his face as he turned his attention back to his ice cream.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind if you were going to start dating Mr. Jones. I always thought you two would be perfect together. He’s so cool and -”

“What?” her voice went up so many octaves it was a wonder anything but dogs could hear it. She felt a violent flush burning up her face, and when Henry looked up and saw that she was not at all going to say anything like that, he turned bright red too.

For a moment, they stared at each other, waiting for the other person to explain what had just happened. But the seconds lengthened, Emma realized that she was the adult there and as such, had to act like one.

She cleared her throat and tried again, this time with Henry’s complete attention.

“As I was saying, I went to the conference thing, and while I was there Mr. Jones mentioned that your grades haven’t been as good as they usually are.” She paused, waiting to see if he would jump to his own defense, but the blush in his cheeks got darker, and he reached up to scratch behind his ear. That was not a move she had ever seen him do before.

So she plowed on. In for a penny, in for pound and all.

“And he's- .. well it came across like-...... Henry, do you have a crush on the new girl?” She’d always been so tactful.

Henry looked down to mush the chocolate chunk around in the now melting ice cream, and mumbled something she didn’t catch. But he didn’t say anything else and she sighed.

“Henry, look, I know it's not really something that you can control, but you know that you can’t let crushes get in the way of what's important. “

His head snapped up. “Well I think it’s important.” There was something in his tone that she didn’t like.

“This crush is only going to last a little while, and then it’ll pass, but your school work and your grades? Those stay with you for the rest of your life.”

“So you think love is something that only lasts a little while?”

She blinked. Where had that come from?

“Henry, what you are feeling isn’t love. You’re too young-”

“Of course you’d say that.”

She jerked back, “What does that mean?”

“You wouldn’t know love if someone shoved it in your face! Maybe that’s why my dad was with you. Because he didn’t have to worry about you loving him!”

“Henry!” she gasped. But was up and out of his seat, running through the park. Emma knew she should go after him, but she felt numb. She had no idea how the conversation had gone so far off the rails, but now all she could process were her son’s scathing words. And how true she knew them to be.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, shell-shocked by Henry's outburst. But she was jarred back to functioning reality when her phone rang.

“Swan.”

“We need you, Sheriff.”

She cast one more look across the park. She had lost sight of him, but the entire town knew who he was. And maybe they both needed a bit of space.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Emma looked at the clock in the kitchen again. Another minute. Her grip on the marble countertop tightened further.

Henry still hadn’t come home and it was well past sunset, the night falling quickly, and in February in Maine, so would the temperature. She forced herself to wait another minute more before she spun around, grabbing her keys and phone as she marched towards the door.

She was reaching for the knob when her phone started vibrating in her hand. She glanced down and saw a number that she didn’t recognize, and she almost didn’t answer it, but if it was one of the townsfolk calling her about Henry and she quickly brought it to her ear.

“Swan.”

“Ms. Swan, this is Killian Jones.”

She was so shocked by the absolute last voice she ever expected to hear at the other end of her phone line that she didn’t come up with an adequate response before he continued.

“Henry’s with me.” The tension abruptly left her body.

“Thank god.”

“Aye,” his voice sounded softer now. “I ran into the lad down at the docks earlier. He was very distressed so I did my best to calm him down. He’s resting now.”

She sucked in a shaky breath, “Thank you. I- Just thank you.”

“Not a problem in the slightest love.” It almost sounded like he was smiling. Then something occurred to her.

“Not that I’m not super grateful but how-”

“I contacted Mary Margaret, who provided me your number. I thought it best to contact you myself, rather than risk playing a game of telephone with your lad’s whereabouts.”

It made sense. “Then thank you again. I’ll come get him right now. Where are you?”

“I brought him to my boat. I keep it docked in the marina during the winter, and I thought that something novel might help to …. settle his mind.”

“Right, ok. I’ll be right there.”

“Aye love, I’ll be expecting you. Be careful, the roads are a bit dodgy at the moment. The ship’s in the farthest slip on the left at the end of pier eight.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

“You are more than welcome.”

She quickly disconnected the line, refusing to even think about the sincerity in his tone. She needed to get to Henry.

She pulled into the marina parking lot and drove to the far end, where she knew the gate access to the dock was. As she pulled up, she noticed a figure leaning against the railing, and a moment later, she realized it was Mr. Jones.

She hopped out of the bug and hurried over to him, her worry for Henry making her nearly frantic. But she slipped and would have fallen, except he somehow managed to grab her upper arms, keeping her upright and helping her steady herself. Which she was having a hard time doing because she was close enough to count his freckles and examine the varying hues of blue in his eyes. Not that she was actually doing that. Just that she was close enough that she could.

For a moment, there was a moment of stillness, as the heat from his hands seeped through her jacket. His expression was unreadable.

The next moment though, he blinked and released her, “Alright there?” She nodded, refocusing on the situation, her worry for Henry slamming back into her. “Then I’ll take you to the lad.” He took a moment to look over her face, before he quietly added on, “Don’t worry. The lad’s perfectly fine.”

Something about the mellow confidence in his voice eased her worry somewhat, and she was able to suck in a deep breath, before met his eye again and nodded.

He watched her for a moment longer before he turned and led her to the gate to the marina, opening it for her and stepping back to let her through, allowing it to swing gently shut behind her, then once again taking the lead down the pier. Emma looked out at the blackness of the open sea, unable to tell where sky met sea, leaving an unending canvas of darkness that ended at the pylons at the end of the pier, where the soft light of the parking lot managed to brush the lapping waves.

He led her to the end of the pier to the last slip at the dock, slip fifteen, and stopped in front of a smallish sized sailboat. He quickly stepped across the small gap and onto the boat, before turning and offering her his hand, “Watch your step love, it’s a little unsettling, stepping into a boat, if you aren’t used to it.”

She reached out and grabbed his hand, feeling the strength in his rough calloused palms. His skin was warm and his grip sure as she quickly stepped off the pier and into the boat, catching sight of small black letters on the hull in the gap between the wood boards and the gunwale.

The Jolly Roger

Once she had stepped down onto the deck, she pulled her hand back quickly. She tried to cover the movement though, asking with a small laugh, “The Jolly Roger, huh?”

He let out a huff of laughter, reaching up to scratch behind his ear, “Aye, I was an avid fan of Peter Pan in my youth, so it seemed only appropriate.” He gave her a lopsided smile, and her breath caught. His eyes were almost clear in the faint light and the cold had brought out a blush high on his cheeks, but left the rest of his skin pale, accentuating the darkness of his hair and beard.

She couldn’t help the small smile she returned, “Yeah I guess that makes sense.”

His eyes softened for a moment, before he took in a breath, “Now lets fetch the stowaway, aye?”

She nodded, stepping back to allow him to move towards the fore of the ship, following him around the cabin to the small flight of steps that led into the interior. He began to make his way down, when he paused, “The lad’s probably sleeping. I can bring him up if you like. So that you don’t need to wake him.”

She considered for a moment, weighing the result of Henry waking up at home without knowing how he got there and waking him now and having him cause even more of a scene.

“Yeah, if you could that'd be great.”

He gave her a quick nod before he disappeared below deck. Emma looked around, trying to distract herself from the cold, taking in the pristine deck and neatly coiled and tied off ropes. The wind gusted hard, and she sucked in a deep breath of the salty air, shivering slightly as the cold seeped into her.

But before the chill could settle into her bones, she heard heavy footfalls coming back up the steps and a moment later, Mr. Jones appeared, cradling Henry in his arms, his head lolling on the man’s shoulder and his body completely relaxed in sleep.

Once he was back on deck, she stepped forward to brush the hair from Henry's face, looking down at him. Her heart squeezed at the sight of his small form. She hoped that she could make it up to him, whatever she’d said that had upset him.

She looked up at Mr. Jones, surprised to see him looking not at her, but down at Henry as well. A soft look had settled over his features, the kind of calmness that Emma often felt when Henry fell asleep on her. The peace that came with being trusted completely.

She swallowed tightly, stepping back, “Thanks. Let’s get him back to the car.”

She then quickly turned and led the the way back around the cabin to the dock, quickly stepping up onto the wood, before turning to watch as Mr. Jones also stepped up. His brow was furrowed as he carefully stepped up onto the dock as well.

The concern that he was showing for Henry's welfare was doing something to her insides, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.

They made way down the pier in silence, Emma not really sure how to break it, and Mr. Jones appearing content to just allow it to be. It was broken briefly when she hurried ahead to pull open the gate to the parking lot and he gave a quiet, “Thanks love.”

When they finally made it to the bug, Emma’s nerves were on edge, his steady presence and the smell of his skin, which she could detect even over the salty air of the sea, both making her keenly aware of him. And then there was the devotion with which he carried her son.

After she’d opened the bug and dropped the seat down, she turned back to take them in. She knew that Henry was well liked by the townsfolk, but care and gentleness in Mr. Jones’s hold was beyond just being liked.

It was like how a father would carry his son.

The thought was abrupt and was like dousing her with cold water, breaking the odd sort of bubble that had enveloped them since she’d arrived. And her mouth acted before she could think it through.

“Well you can put him in the car now.” She snapped. His head jerked back in surprise at her abrupt change in mood, but she could not rein herself in. She actually felt her hands beginning to shake as the thought sank its roots deeper and deeper into her psyche, dredging up memories that she was not prepared to deal with. Henry’s accusations from earlier rang in her ears, along with his comment about how he thought that she and his teacher would be good together.

“Aye, wouldn’t want him catching cold.” He stepped forward and began to awkwardly maneuver Henry into the back seat of the bug while Emma watched, shaking with all the reasons she needed to run and make sure she never interacted with this man again.

In the midst of positioning her son comfortably on the back seat, Mr. Jones accidentally bumped Henry's head into the siding of the car, and she sank her teeth into the opportunity, regardless of how unreasonable she knew she was being.

“Be careful! You’ve already done enough damage.”

His back went stiff as he finally finished settling Henry down. Then he slowly turned and straightened, an incredulous expression on his face.

“Excuse me?”

She scoffed, moving around him to pop the seat back up, bending over as she said, “You’ve already done enough damage. If it weren’t for you, I would never have had that conversation with Henry. You couldn’t have left well enough alone.”

She didn’t even bother looking at him before she slid into the driver’s seat.

“Thank you, Mr. Jones,” she spat, then slammed the door, not giving him any opportunity to react. Then she jammed the key into the ignition, and it took everything in her to not peel out of the parking lot. But she managed a more reasonable pace, quickly driving away from the docks and the unsettling man that still stood there.

But just before the distance swallowed him, she couldn’t help but glance in her rear-view mirror and unwillingly noticed that there was no other car in the lot. It wasn’t until he was completely out of sight though that she realized that he’d been wearing clothes better suited for bed than the docks.

It took Emma a long time to fall asleep after she’d gotten home, carrying Henry to bed and doing her best to not to think about anything except how to apologize to her son the next morning. And ignoring the little niggling voice that sounded a lot like Henry telling her that her son was not the only one she should be apologizing to.

When she did manage to fall asleep in the early hours of the morning, it was full of unsettling dreams that she couldn’t remember. She wasn’t surprised though, to find that when she’d woken, it was still dark in the room, without the faintest bit of light creeping in through the windows.

But she was surprised to find a warm body curled up next to her, practically buried in her duvet and mass of excessive pillows. Henry’s hair was sticking up in all directions, a sure sign that he’d been having bad dreams. She sighed as she looked down at him, still completely off kilter from the last couple of days. But one thing she was sure of is that she wanted Henry to not be mad at her anymore. So she’d do what she had to.

She must have bumped him, or maybe he was sleeping as lightly as she was tonight, because after a few moments of looking down at him, she went to lay back down and he began to move. She sat back up to watch as he slowly fought his way free of the bed coverings before he was sitting up as well, rubbing his eyes.

“Mom?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah kid?” Her voice was just as soft.

He shifted around and a moment later, she felt his hand slid into her own. “I’m sorry.”

His voice sounded so broken, and she couldn’t help but pull him to her, using their linked hands to settle him against her, like she used to do when he was little.

“Oh Henry, you don’t have anything to apologize for. I should be apologizing,” she mumbled into his hair as she took deep breaths, savoring the smell that had been a comfort to her since he’d been born.She felt him shake his head.

“No you don’t. You’re right. I’ll work on focusing in class. It’s not that big a deal, it’s just….” his voice petered out.

“Just what?”

He shifted against her, pressing himself more fully into her chest so she was essentially cradling him. “It was something one of the other kids had said to me last week. And I guess it was still bothering me today when you asked.”

She pulled him tighter, “What did they say?”

He shook his head again, and she let it go. He’d tell her if she wanted to. She was content to just hold her baby boy, knowing that it was something that both of them needed. After a while, he shifted again, then asked quietly, “Why didn’t my father stay?”

Her breath caught. This was not a conversation she expected to have with Henry at this age, let alone in the dark in bed after a fight. But if that’s what it took to mend their relationship, then so be it.

“I’m still not sure,” she whispered, voice almost as soft as the breeze she could detect outside. “You know a little bit about how I grew up, but I think that for me to answer, you need the whole picture. You know I grew up in the foster system.”

He nodded.

“What I never really told you is what it was like. Being an orphan is bad enough as it is, growing up thinking that you were so unloveable that even your parents couldn’t manage it. But on top of that, the foster care system itself is awful. Kids turn bitter and mean, and they’d do cruel things to other kids just because they could. And the people who were fostering kids were usually only doing it for a meal ticket. There were a few good ones, but for the most part, they were apathetic at best.”

“What’s apthetic mean?”

She smiled into the darkness, “It’s ap-A-thetic. And it means that they didn’t care.”

“A-puh-thet-ic,” he tried again, and she gave him a squeeze.

“Very good.” She paused a moment, trying to get herself back on track.

“Why wouldn’t they care, mom?

She sighed. It felt too early to expose her son to the darknesses of the world, but he’d asked. “I don’t think that you can understand Henry. Not because you are too young,” she added when he started to shift, like he was going to object. “No it isn’t your age. It's how you’ve grown up. Everyone around you cares. Whether it concerns them or not, everyone in this town is watching out for everyone else. And that’s how you know the world, and how the world knows you. You care so much Henry.”

She gave him a squeeze, fighting back the slight tightness in her throat.

“But there are some people in this world who just don’t. They see something wrong, and as long as it doesn’t bother them, they walk by it.” She struggled to find an example he’d understand. “Like if they see a lost dog, rather than trying to find its owner, they just keep going about their day, never even sparing that dog another thought. It wasn’t their dog, so why should they care? So it’s those kinds of people that are often taking care of kids that aren’t theirs. And if they didn’t care about a dog that didn’t belong to them, why would they care about a kid?”

“That doesn’t sound right. Why are they allowed to be that way?”

“Because that’s just who they are, how they grew up. You can’t force a person to care.”

He was quiet for a moment, then mumble, “That’s dumb.”

She laughed, pressing another kiss to his head. But the smile faded as she softly continued.

“So by the time I was almost old enough to take care of myself, I was sure that I was unlovable. I-”

“I love you, Mom.”

She sucked in a breath to keep herself from crying, “And I love you. Never forget that, no matter how mad I get at you or how upset you get with me, I will always love you, ok?”

He nodded again, dropping her hand to wrap his arms around her, hugging her tightly. She gathered herself to continue.

“I thought that I would always be alone. But then I met your dad. He was older, into his twenties, and he was charming and smart, at least, I thought so at the time. And he paid attention to me.” She figured that it wasn’t too big a deal she omitted that the car she drove around in daily was stolen and that’s how she’d met Neal. Some things could wait until he was a little older.

“He always asked my advice and told jokes to make me smile, and after a while, we were… boyfriend and girlfriend. I did a lot of things with your dad that I’m not proud of, but at the time it felt like having a partner in crime.” He didn’t need to know it had been literally. “So after a little while, I thought that we must be in love, because love had to feel like that. But then he left without a word, and I never heard from him again.” She again left out the portion where she’d been arrested and sent to prison.

“So after that, I had you, and I knew that I loved you. But your dad made it so I couldn’t trust my feelings. And-... that’s it really,” she rounded out pathetically.

She was both glad and disappointed that she couldn’t see his face in the now lightening darkness, but when he just squeezed her more tightly and snuggle that last bit closer, she figured that was answer enough.

She was content to just hold him until he fell asleep again, feeling the anxiety that had been haunting her since yesterday slowly began to fade away.

But then Henry broke the silence, “Some of the other kids were teasing me about not having a dad. They found out that I had a crush on Violet and made fun of me, and said that if my daddy couldn’t love me, why would I think that Violet might.” Anger licked at her belly, but she forced it aside to keep the peace of the moment.

“So when you said those things yesterday, I was already thinking about it, and it was like hearing from my own mom that they were right. That I couldn’t love because how could I know what it is. And that things are more important than love, and that's why my dad left, because there were things more important than me.”

“Oh Henry, there is nothing more important than you. And it will always be that way ok?”

“Ok.”

Silence fell again, and a few minutes later she felt his body go slack as he went back into sleep. And as the new day dawned, she settled back in to join him. Just a few more hours.

It took most of Monday for Emma to psyche herself up to speak to Mr. Jones. She’d been way out of line the night before, and she needed to apologize. She really did feel awful, in the light of day, without the weight of her fight with Henry looming over her.

So here she was, waiting for Henry to get out of class, so she could go talk to Mr. Jones. She heard the final bell ring and a few minutes later, kids started streaming outside, Henry among them.

He ran up to her and threw his arms around her in a hug.

“Hi!” he shouted, obviously still hyped up on whatever it was he was doing just before school got out. Then he started bouncing on his toes, “So we got assigned group projects today and Nick invited our group over to his house and can I please go? Pleasepleasepleaseplease?”

She smiled as she shook her head ruefully, “Yeah, I suppose I’ll allow it.”

“YES!” he shouted as he dove in for another hug. And then he pulled back and raced off, a shouted “bye” as he went over to meet his group.

Well that was just perfect. No Henry to act as a buffer to the situation. This was going to be so awkward.

But she sucked in a breath, put on her big girl pants, and marched inside.

She was glad that she found him still in his classroom, because she had no idea where else she’d look for him. He was seated at his desk, pen in hand and sleeves rolled up as he read, and she figured he was grading papers. She wanted to step into the classroom and approach him, but for some reason, she felt like doing that would be intruding on his space without his permission.

She took one more breath, then lightly tapped her knuckles on the wood door jamb.

“Yes?” He didn’t even look up from the paper, “If you forgot something, you may go get it, just remember that you need to be-” he had finally raised his eyes towards the doorway and realized that it wasn’t a student. His eyes opened wide in surprise for just a moment, before his face turned cold.

“Is there something I can help you with, Ms. Swan?”

She winced. She knew that he was not going to be pleased to see her, but experiencing it first-hand was something else.

“May I come in? I uh.. Wanted to talk to you.”

He sat back and crossed his arms, his face still cold. “Well given how well I know your last talk went, I think it better you didn’t.”

Ouch.

She dipped her head in acknowledgement, watching her shoes as she toed at the carpet “Ok, I guess I can say it from here as well as there. Uh,” she forced herself to meet his eye. One eyebrow raised while he waited for her to speak.

“Uh, I uh, I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night, and the things I said.” He blinked, but his face remained impassive.

“I was way out of line. There’s no excuse for what I said to you.”

“What, no ‘being emotional over Henry defense’?” he scoffed.

She grit her teeth. He was not making this easy.

“I was upset about Henry,” she affirmed, and a scornfully satisfied look settled on his face. She forced herself to continue, rather than march over and punch him in his smug mouth. “But being emotional is not an excuse to behave rude or mean. Which I was both.”

She felt her own sliver of satisfaction when the look slid off his face. “And I also wanted to thank you properly for what you did for him last night. You went above the call of duty, and I sincerely appreciate your taking care of my child. So… yeah.” She nodded her head weakly.

He continued to regard her a moment longer before something in his expression cracked and he softened.

He spoke in a very different tone when he answered her. “I will not lie and claim that your words did not cut. But,” he continued when she opened her mouth, effectively cutting her off, which was probably a good thing, because she had no idea what she’d planned on saying. “But... I understand that most norms of society go out the window when it comes to worry for your child. I know that you must have also been upset from your fight with him, if what he told me was any indication. And while I can’t quite understand the mental state of a parent worried for their child, I can at least appreciate it.”

Emma let out a sigh, “I’m glad to hear it. Henry thinks the world of you” his lips tilted up into a smile “and I’d hate for this to affect him so I-”

“Leave.” The change was so instantaneous, she thought he was acting. But apparently he wasn't because he continued, sneering, “I can assure you that I do not let my personal life affect how I interact with people who aren’t involved in it, especially my student. Unlike some. Now please leave.”

She staggered back, completely shocked by the abrupt change in his attitude. And what little courage she’d mustered to being the conversation vanished, and she just tucked tail and ran.

Another tumbler dropped down on the bar in front of her, accompanied with another unsolicited comment, “Jeez Sherrie, ya pounden those down like a fish. Dontcha have tah early shift tamarra?”

“First, it’s Sherif, second, I do not give a flying fuck. I’m paying for my booze, that should be the only thing you are concerned with, Scarlett.”

The bartender held up his hands in surrender, “Alright alright, no need t’ snap at a man just doin’ ‘is job.”

Emma glared at him, “Your job is serving drinks, not playing therapist.”

He just gave her an easy smile back, “Well, it ain’t in the job title, sure. But most folks ‘round here, I fink, would disagree wif’ ya.”

She continued to glare at him a moment longer before she grabbed the glass before her and tossed it back in a single gulp, eyes squeezed tight against the burn of the cheapest rum that Will kept in stock. Once she’d gotten it down he opened her eyes and held out her glass, one eyebrow raised expectantly, “Better get earning that job title.”

Will stepped forward and snatched the glass from her hand, mumbling about being completely unreasonable and there was no call to be curt.

“Ha,” Emma snorted, “I’m unreasonable? That’s hilarious.” The liquor had loosened her tongue as she mumbled, unable to contain her frustration for a moment.

“Oh, why ya say dat, Sherrie?” Will casually inquired with a brief glance over his shoulder.

“It’s sheriff. And I say dat,” she tried and failed miserably to match his accent, “because if you think I’m being ridiculous, you should have seen the guy I had to put up with earlier. I go all the way down to the school, make it a point of finding him, try to apologize, he pretends to make nice and then just turns into a total douche. Here I was, trying to make nice and make sure Henry’s schooling isn’t affected because he’d blame himself and be even more distracted and he has to act like a fucking jackass!”

As she got to the last part of her rant, Scarlett froze. When she’d finished, he swore so creatively she thought he might have started speaking a different language. But then he whirled around and marched up to where she was sitting. And his face was deadly serious. Emma almost didn’t think the man could be serious.

But there was no smile on his face now.

“Were you speaking with Jones?” His voice was low and raw, each word perfectly enunciated. She just stared at him, her rum addled brain having hard time grasping what was going on. Will reached across the bar and grabbed her shoulder, giving it a small shake in his earnestness.

“Were you talking to Killian?”

Emma just nodded and Will swore even more explosively than last time, running his hands through his hair, a look of panic settling across his face. “Fuck I gotta call Rob.” He pulled his phone, quickly opened it and dialed, holding it to his ear like a lifeline. Emma could hear the ringing over the sound of the bar music, and she heard when it went to voicemail.

“Fuck.” Will hung up, looking around like he’d find something else to help him. But Emma’s mind had had enough time to catch up, and she managed to lean across the bar to grab Will’s sleeve, stopping him from walking away.

“Will, what’s going on?” He turned to her, and she was taken aback by the intense worry and anger on his face. “What’s wrong?”

He ran his hand through his hair again, looking around like he was searching for answers, but not finding any, he dropped his hand, a resigned sigh leaving his shoulders slumped.

He leaned forward, “I am telling you this in confidence, both ‘cause you’re the sheriff and because I think you may be the only one able to clean up the mess you made.” Emma’s brows furrowed at his words but before she had a chance to express her confusion, Will continued.

“I’ll not give you all the details. Jones is likely to kill me anyway, but it goes like this. A boy and his brother orphaned. Big brother takes care of them until the boy is old enough to join the navy, and they go in together side by side. Big brother takes the sea route and quickly attains captain. The boy chooses to take the more academic route and ends up graduating early as one of the youngest PhDs that Cambridge has ever seen. He joins his big brother out at sea, as his lieutenant and foreign interaction adviser. They’re happy.”

He paused and Emma swallowed, knowing what was coming next was not a happily ever after.

“Then his world gets blown apart in the most literal sense of the word.” Emma gasped. “Big brother dies and use of his hand is severely limited from the damage. Navy gives him a fine pension and a lump of money with a photocopied apology and sent him neatly on his way without so much as a by your leave. He heads stateside, and gets a teaching position at Harvard. All going well until,” he paused again and looked at her significantly, “he was accused of unprofessional conduct and fired.”

And suddenly, his reaction to her statement at the classroom door made complete sense.

“Fuck.”

Will nodded, “Fuck indeed. Now you need to go out and bloody well explain yourself before he spirals too badly. It… wasn’t pretty the last time.”

Emma jumped up from her bar stool, took two steps towards the exit, then realized she hadn’t paid yet. She turned back around but Will was already waving her away.

“Worry ‘bout it later. I know you're good for it.”

Without further ado, she turned and headed out into the night.

She had gotten to the far side of the parking lot when she heard the sound of glass shattering and muted yelling. Panic gripped her and she hurried the last few steps to the dock gates and went to open it, only to find it locked. She cursed. She should have thought of that.

But time was of the essence and after a quick look around to confirm that the area was empty, she dropped to her knees, pulled two bobby pins from her hair, and quickly set to work on the lock. In a matter of moments, the latch popped open and she got to her feet.

She made her way down to his slip, trying to walk quietly, unsure of what she was going to say or the manner of man she was going to be encountering. She could hear more muffled yelling and cursing, and could tell now that it was definitely Jones’s voice. Then there was a loud thud and the cabin went quiet.

Heart in her chest, she hurriedly climbed aboard and made her way around to the entrance of the cabin, shivering violently in the ice cold wind. She stepped down the stairs, and after a moment’s hesitation, she knocked.

There was no acknowledgement from within and she knocked a little harder. When she received no response again, she tried something else.

“Jones, I know you’re in there.” This time she heard some shifting, but he still didn’t answer. “Jones?”

“What the bloody fuck do you want?”

His voice came from right on the other side of the door and she jumped back in surprise. The door didn’t move though, and she had a feeling it probably wouldn’t ever for her.

“Come to ruin my life too?” he yelled. He sounded drunk and on the brink of tears. “Come to take the only goddamn thing I have left of my life away?” There was another loud thud and the doorknob rattled, then his voice came much more softly, “Haven’t I lost enough already?”

She was on the verge of tears herself, but this wasn’t about her. This was about the man who was probably reliving every hell he’d ever endured because of some of her careless words.

“I uh, I’m not here to take anything from you,” she started quietly. “When we spoke earlier today, I think that you may have misunderstood something I said. I uh, didn’t realize how close to home my comment would hit, I guess.”

“Bloody fucking Scarlet needs to learn to keep his fucking mouth shut,” he mumbled against the door. Emma’s lips ticked up, but she continued.

“He did tell me a bit, but only after I yelled for a bit. He uh, gave me the context for your reaction earlier and,” she sucked in a breath as a particularly cold gust of wind sent a violent shiver down her spine, “and uh, I think you really misunderstood what I said.”

There was quiet for a moment before he asked in a quiet, almost childlike voice, “So you aren’t trying to take Liam from me?”

She wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but the answer to that quest was obviously of the utmost importance to him.

She stepped back closer to the door, “No, I’m not. I just want to explain.”

There was a deep sigh, then she heard movement and the door swung open. Light spilled out onto the stairwell, and in the light, she could take in his appearance. He looked wrecked.

His eyes were red and his hair was sticking up in every direction, his tie was pulled loose and dangling from his throat, half of his dress shirt untucked. There was a brown stain down the front of it that looked like he’d tried drinking from the bottle and missed.

She took all this in as he swayed slightly and squinted, like he was trying to get her in focus. When it appeared that he had, she didn’t move, but asked quietly, “May I come in?”

He looked at her a moment longer, but when the wind gusted and she shivered again, he mumbled, “Bloody hell you must be freezing.” Then he stood aside to let her into the cabin.

Once she’d stepped past the door, he closed it shut behind her, blocking the biting wind and muting the sounds of the sea. She looked around, talking in the inner space of the cabin, the bed up against one wall, built into the cabinetry, the small kitchenette, and a door, behind which she assumed was the bathroom.

She had a feeling that under normal circumstances, the cabin would be spotless, everything in its proper place. But now, there was liquid dripping down one was, papers scattered everywhere and bits of broken glass littering the floor. Once she completed her look around, she turned back to him, where he was still standing by the closed door, watching her.

She sucked in a breath, glad that her run to the harbor had effectively sobered her up, because she did not want to fuck this up again. “First, I wanted to thank you again for your help with Henry last night.”

She stopped, and waited for him to acknowledged he’d heard her. He nodded slightly before his brow furrowed, “Where is the lad?”

He sounded confused, like he was looking at a riddle he couldn’t solve, but Emma’s heart melted a little bit more at his concern for her son, even when he was going through hell himself.

“He’s over at a friend’s house, working on that group project. They’re probably playing video games and eating pizza at this point but what can you do?”

It took a couple seconds to process, but hen the furrow in his brow eased somewhat and he nodded, apparently satisfied. At the motion, she continued.

“Second, I wanted to apologize, again, for how I spoke to you. As I said before, it was completely uncalled for.”

This time he didn’t even nod, he just blinked owlishly at her, and she had a feeling that the adrenaline crash was hitting him hard now that he wasn’t yelling anymore, and she probably only had a bit longer before he was passed out.

“Third, I wanted to explain my comment. I did not mean, in any way, that you would allow any tensions between us to affect your behavior towards Henry.”

He stiffened, and seemed to managed to bring himself back to the surface at least for a moment, “What did you mean by it then?”

She paused, licking her lips as she gathered her thoughts. She was momentarily distracted when she saw his eyes flick down to the movement, and then lick his own lips in repose.

Nope nope nope, Henry’s teacher and definitely not right now.

“Henry has always had a big heart.” He nodded in agreement. “Since he was little, other peoples problems were always his problems. And that’s what I meant. If there was any animosity or bad feelings between us, he’d think that it was his fault, and blame himself.”

At her words, he sucked in a shaky breath.

“He’d think it was his fault and punish himself, or stop speaking up in class, or stop talking to the other kids. And that’s the last thing I want to happen. He’s the happiest he’s ever been in your class. Some days he won’t shut about you. It's actually a little annoying sometimes,” she added with a small smile.

He tentatively returned it, a wobbly little thin, but he managed it all the same.

“So I just wanted to explain that to you. And if you’d like me to write something down for you and sign it so you have that assurance, I’m more than happy to do that. I’m not here to take anything from you.”

He took another shaky breath, and in a broken voice, “So you aren’t going to try and take all I have left of Liam away?”

And suddenly it clicked. Liam was his brother he’d lost. And the boat must be a special memory for him.

“No, I am not trying to take anything.”

It was like she could see the words travel through the air, enter his ears, and settle into his brain. The next moment he let out a harsh sob and dropped his head. He started to fall forward, and not knowing what else to do, Emma jumped forward to catch him before he could fall. But in doing so, she’d ended up wrapped around him in a hug.He didn’t seem to mind though, because his own arms cam up and he held her tightly, crying uncontrollably into her shoulder.

She wondered how long he’d kept everything in. If he ever actually properly grieved for his brother. Because as she held him, one hand running through his hair and the other rubbing up and down his back, she could feel the weight of years of grief in his form.

Minute by minute, his crying slowed, his breathing evening out a bit. She continued to run her hands where she could, trying to offer what comfort she could. Which in and of itself was an oddity, because Emma hated physical contact almost as much as she hated having to help people deal with their emotions.

But here, wrapped around him, supporting him, she found that she didn’t mind it so much.

Finally, it seemed that he’d cried himself out and he shifted a bit, and she carefully let her hands drop slightly, not quite off of him, but loose enough that he could pull away if he wanted to. But he just shifted back enough that he could look at her face. The alcohol and exhaustion were both clearly evident in his eyes, and it was for that reason that she allowed him to bring his hands to cup her face. At least that what she told herself.

He held her for a moment, eyes flicking over her face, before he closed his owner and leaned forward. For one shocked moment, Emma thought he was going to try and kiss her. But instead he leaned his forehead against her as he took another shaky breath. Emma also told herself she wasn’t disappointed about that either.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She shook her head slightly, “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Will you accept my thanks then, if you’ll not take my apology?”

She smiled slightly, “Yes, I’ll accept your thanks.”

“Thank you,” he breathed.

A few moments later he straightened. Something crossed his face, like he was deciding something, before he carefully reached for her hand. She let him take it and guide her over to the bunk, glass crunching under their feet. He helped her sit, and she had to admire that even in deep emotional distress and well into the bottom of his glass, he was still a gentleman.

Once she’d sat down, he joined her, still holding her hand and she absolutely did not shiver at the sensation of his fingers gentle tracing patterns into the back of her hand. They sat like that for another long moment, before he started speaking, his voice quiet, even in the silence of the cabin.

“I’m sure that Will gave you the sparknotes version of my formative years.” He paused and his eyes glanced up at her from under his lashes in a devastating stare. She tried to ease the atmosphere a little, to help him.

“Well, I think it was more the wikipedia version”

His lips tipped up and he huffed out a small laugh, so she took that as a victory. Then he refocused on her hand.

“Liam meant everything to me, and when he died, I…. was broken. I thought that my life was over. I continued on, existing for the sake of Liam’s memory, but it didn’t feel like life. When we were younger, Liam and I had always said that we were going to buy a boat when we retired. So when I got his life insurance money, I couldn’t fathom spending that ...blood money… on anything, until I thought to buy this. A boat would be a perfect way to honor his memory, and use the money for something, rather than having it waste away in some account I’d never look at again. So I had the boat commissioned, and an old friend of mine who was still in the navy, managed to pull some strings, and was able to get me a large piece of metal from the ship we both served on. I had it built into the helm, so that I’d always have that piece of Liam with me.

“Once the boat was finished, I took to the seas and started to feel more like myself. I decided to make a new start here in the states, and with my credentials, I was able to get a job as an adjunct professor at Harvard. For a few years, it was good. Then I met Milah.

“She was a graduate student that I was advising as she finished her PhD. She was smart, witty, kind. Neither of us meant for it to happen, but we ended up spending more and more time together, just enjoying each other’s company. It was like I blinked and we were in a relationship. And it was good.

“Then I found out she was married.”

Emma winced, knowing what was coming next wasn’t good.

“And despite my own cautioning, I continued to see her. We made each other happy, why should we not? She’d been forced into a loveless marriage to solidify a merger of her father’s company to Gold Enterprises, married off to the CEO like chattel. He had never made her happy, and she also knew that he’d been having an affair with his secretary for ages, so she figured one turn deserves another.”

Emma couldn’t fault the logic of that argument.

“But somehow, Gold found out about the affair. And while it was just fine for him to fall into the arms of another, once it was his wife, it was the height of marital impropriety. Hypocrite. Using his considerable influence and position as a board member, he was able to maneuver the university into sacking me and dismissing Milah from the program under the accusation of unprofessional conduct. I was blacklisted, my career ruined. And then, just to make sure he had completely destroyed his rival, he then managed to get the university to sue me,and I spent every penny I had defending my name.

“All for naught it turned out. He was caught in an massive money laundering scheme about a year after, and suddenly, the university had no associations with Gold Enterprises. Even renamed one of the buildings they’d built with his money. Without him at the helm, the university just allowed the case to fade away. But by then it was too late. No academic institution in their right mind would hire me, and I had nothing left to my name but the boat I had spent all my brother’s money on.”

He fell quiet for a moment, and Emma couldn’t help herself.

“How did you end up here then?”

He gave a grim smile, “Luck mostly. I’ve no idea how he heard about it, but an old navy friend of mine reached out to me. Said he was married to the school superintendent for the city. And that he’d managed to talk her into letting me take up a position in the grade school. Purely probationary of course.”

“Wait you knew Robin from before?”

At that he gave a small laugh, “Of course, Swan. All expats know each other. Didn't you know that?”

Emma bit her lip at the name. She ...liked it.

Jones sighed, “And so my woeful tale ends, in the same position I was hired for, five years later. So… now you can understand why I reacted the way I did.”

She nodded, and suddenly, she wanted him to know. She didn’t look at him as she spoke.

“The only man to ever tell me he loved me set me up for his crime and left without a word. By the time I got out, I was 18 with a criminal record and a four month old baby.” She laughed quietly herself, “So now you can understand why I reacted the way I did.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, and she looked up at him. His eyes were the clearest they’d been all night, and even with how exhausted he looked, he was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

“Thank you for telling me, love.” She felt something spark within her, the feeling of being not just heard, but listened to.

And in a moment, inspiration struck her, a way to make up for her mistakes to both Henry and Jo- and Killian.

“So I was thinking, as a way to make it up to Henry, that maybe I could help you out with those crafty activities you’d planned for Valentines day, week, whatever. To let him know I'm in his corner.”

His smile was a magnificent thing. “Aye love, that sounds grand.”

She nodded, rather pleased with herself when Killian gave a sudden yawn. She chuckled, “I think I should let you get some rest, then.” She stood and he rose with her.

His hand came up to scratch behind his ear, “Thank you for coming. I’m not… I don’t want to think about what could have happened otherwise.”

Emma smoothed her hands down his arms, “You are more than welcome,” she hesitated, then for once in her life, went with her gut in regards to a man, “Killian.”

His face turned bright pink, even as his eyes brightened. He led her to the door and grabbed the handle, but before he opened it, he turned to her once more, “Have a wonderful evening… Emma.”

She felt her own face burn, but she told herself it was only from the abrupt wall of wind that hit her face as he opened the cabin door and she stepped out into a starry night.

The two weeks following that eventful Sunday and Monday were wonderful. She’d decided to take a step out of her comfort zone, and texted him first the morning following their night on the boat, asking about how he felt.

He’d answered back about an hour later, and from that point on, they were in almost constant contact, texting back and forth throughout her days. He made her hours at the station pass quickly, and in the afternoons, when she went over to the school to help him prepare the materials for all the various projects he’d planned for Valentine’s week.

Their exchanges had been surface communication at first, but as the days passed and the Monday of Valentine’s week rolled around, their conversations had delved into deeper more meaningful conversations. They spoke about the shared experiences of their childhood, their fears and hangups. For some reason, because it was by text, it made it easier to share. But seeing him every day was also great, because any time her doubts began to sound at the back of her mind that this would be the secret that drove him away, there he’s be, later that afternoon, the same secret smile and low, “Hello love” greeting her. He never changed his behavior at all, and she started to realize that he might not ever.

Which was a pretty profound revelation after knowing him for only a week.

And as it happened, David had decided that maybe he could start coming back to work, as a deputy, and Emma happily gave him shifts, knowing they could always use the padding. But it also left most of her days free, and so, on a whim, she decided to head to the school and offer to help with the projects.

When she’d arrived, there were a bunch of low tables set up, each with a small group of kids sitting around it and loaded down with the supplies she’d been helping with last week. She watched the room for a moment, enjoying seeing Killian in his natural setting, squatting down to answer questions and heap praises.

In one of their many conversations, he confided in her that having taught both college and little ones, he found the latter far more fulfilling. He’d said that at first he had no idea how he’d handle working with children, but as Emma watched him now, it was obvious that he was a natural with them.

He noticed her as he was moving to another table, and his face lit up brilliantly, but he didn’t say anything, just walked over to the door without drawing attention to her. When he reached her, he reached out and very subtly ran his fingers down her arm, “Hello love. What brings you to the madhouse?”

She laughed. “Well I have suddenly found most of my days free this week, so I figured I could come by and help out.” She tried to shrug like it was no big deal, but the way his eyes sparkled and crinkled up at the corners told her that he knew even if she was trying to pretend otherwise.

“Well please do come in,” he made a sweeping gesture to welcome her to the room and she gladly stepped through. Once she was several steps in, she suddenly felt his heat at her back and felt his breath on her ear, “I’m going to introduce you to the class if that’s alright?”

There was no hiding the shiver that accompanied her nod.

Then he was gone and she turned just as he spoke up, “Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for a moment.”

Emma stared in amazement as immediately the whole class was focused on him, thirty-two ten year olds all sitting quietly and waiting.

“This is Sheriff Swan. She’s been kind enough to volunteer some of her time to come and help us with our festivities. She’s our honored guest, so please treat her like one, aye? Excellent, alright back at it!”

There were a few curious lingering stares, and Henry wide eyed one of sheer amazement when a student at one of the side tables raised a hand and called out, “Mr. Joneth?”

She immediately had his attention, “Yes, Maggie?”

“Ith theth gonna help uth with our projecth, thoulden’t the have to pick out a pirate too?” The girl tried hard to enunciate over her lisp and Emma felt her lips tick up, not in amusement, but in pride at the girl trying so hard to speak correctly.

But Killian did nothing to try and hide his proud smile, “Right you are Maggie! Sheriff Swan, if you’d please go over to the brig, you can pick your pirate for the week.”

Emma looked to where he’ gestured, and saw that the little pirates they’d made last week, with a stick body, spoon and painter’s tape head and pipe cleaner arms, stuck into what looked like orange styrofoam, so they all stood upright, their little signs forward and easy to read.

She didn’t remember anything about putting pirate names on them, so intrigued, she went over and pulled one from its place, looking at it carefully, before she turned it around. There on the back of the little sign the pirate was ‘holding’ was a name, written in beautiful block letters.

Captain Hook

She burst out laughing, surprising the class, and making Killian raise an eyebrow. So she composed herself enough to answer the unspoken question hanging in the room, “I got Captain Hook!”

She looked over at Killian, and saw that he was biting his lip to keep from laughing out loud, his shoulder shaking with repressed laughs. He managed to compose himself and announced to the class, “There you have it mates, Captain Hook has joined our crew!”

The next few days passed in a blur of cardboard paper, Elmer’s glue, odd facts about friendships between pirates, and children’s laughter. Henry was dead on his feet at the end of every day, delighted as he was that she was there at school with him.

By the time Thursday the 13th rolled around, Emma actually found herself almost looking forward to Valentine’s Day. But she refused to think about it. She didn’t want to place expectations on Killian. They had only been doing this thing for two weeks, and it wasn’t fair to him to expect some grand romantic gesture for the holiday, fake as it may be. She was still smiling at the adorable valentines that Henry's classmates had been giving her throughout the day. Adorable little squares on sticks with pirates that the kids had drawn on them, little phrases like Aaaargh, Valiteene! and Your Great!, those adorable spelling mistakes included with every gift.

However, her excitement for the following day was viciously tampered when David called in and said that the baby had a colic and he needed to stay with Mary Margaret, and if she could please take his shift.

And as much as she really didn’t want to, which surprised her, it was her job after all. So she resigned herself to a quiet Valentine’s Day. Maybe she’d get a few punny text messages from Killian to pass the day, as he’d taken to sending lately.

Henry ended up running late for some reason, and she barely had time to stop and let him hop out before she had to punch it to reach the station before her shift started. Her day was already off to a bad start. No time for coffee, no time to pop by Killian’s classroom and say hello, and running late to boot.

She managed to rush into the station just before her shift started, and she hurriedly tossed her stuff in her desk and made a b-line for the coffee maker. Only to find that it was empty. She furrowed her brow. In all the years she’d worked at the station, she didn't think she’d ever seen the pot empty before.

Disappointed, she headed back to her desk to grab some of her own coffee grounds, that she kept for the overnight shifts, when she noticed that there was a box and cup sitting on her desk. Curious, she pulled the box towards her, wafting the most beautiful small of pastries and glaze that had her mouth watering in an instant.

She opened the box, and nearly started crying.

For there, inside, lay doughnuts in the shape of hearts, interspersed with bear claws. And sitting right on top was a silly little Valentine- You’re Great!

She bit her lip as she reached for the cup and opened the lid to find hot chocolate with still melting whipped cream and cinnamon on top. Exactly like she liked it. She inhaled deeply and felt the warmth seep down further into her than it ever had before.

She sat down and pulled out her phone to text Killian, but was surprised to find a text from him only moment’s before.

Good morning to my valentine.

Stupid hot, sexy, thoughtful Irishman.

In return, she sent a picture of the whole ensemble, texting him back with the photo and caption.

I don’t know, Jones, I think I might be this guy's valentine, he brought me hot chocolate and bear claws.

And then before she could talk herself out of it.

Looks like he knew just how to steal my heart.

She had a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to check his phone for a while, and so decided to make good use of the time. She grabbed the hot chocolate in one hand and a bear claw in the other then sat back in her chair.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad day after all.

But as the hours passed, she was surprised that he still hasn't responded to her, and by the time lunch rolled around, she was certain she'd pushed too far and ruined it. She was so lost in her spiraling thoughts that she didn’t hear anyone enter until she heard, “Emma Swan?”

She whipped around in her chair to take in one of the newer bussers from Granny’s, still in his apron, holding one of Granny to-go bags.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she stood up, more than a little confused. Mostly because Granny’s did not do delivery. There had been several towninitatives over the years to convince the crotchety old woman to expand her enterprise into delivery, but she soundly shut it down every time it was brought up.

The boy came closer and held out the bag to her.

“Here’s your order, enjoy!” Practically as soon as she had her hand on the bag, the boy turned and rushed out of the station, leaving a mystified Emma in his wake. But Emma wasn’t one to look gift delivery in the bag, so she settled back down at her desk, continuing on the paperwork she’d been processing as she reached into the bag. The first thing her fingers encountered was a piece of paper, and figuring it was a napkin, she pulled it out.

But when it emerged, it was another little pirate, this one with the phrase “Everyone thinks that a pirate’s favorite letter is r or maybe the c. But those are both wrong, because this pirate’s favorite letter is u.”

She bit her lip as she shook her head at the pun before pulling out her favorite order of grilled cheese and onion rings. She took a picture of that one as well and sent it to him.

I’m feeling like a siren, having all these pirates come to me.

It was so simple, his gifts, but this was the best holiday she’d ever celebrated. She could feel herself coming around to the idea of enjoying Valentine’s Day.

She waited the rest of her shift for something else, anxiously looking towards the door whenever she thought she heard something. But five o’clock rolled around and nothing else was forthcoming. She told herself it was ridiculous to be disappointed, given how much he’d already done.

So she packed up her small army of pirates and headed out to her car.

When she was again brought up short, because sitting against her windshield held in place by her wiper, was a single red rose and another valentine.

She pulled them both out gently, careful not to damage the beautiful stem, taking a deep breath of the bud before she hurriedly got into her car. It was only five, she could probably throw together some sort of dinner for him. That would be perfect. A way for her to acknowledge how much she appreciated his gifts.

She pulled up to the house and hurried to get her stuff together and rushed up to the house. Only to find another pirate guarding the entrance, this one stating “The only treasure this pirate needs is you.”

She reached for the knob and was only half surprised that it turned easily. The door swung inward and she gasped when it revealed a trail of rose petals and tea lights. She remembered mentioning it once, just as a side comment while they worked on the craft supplies, that even if it was a bit corny, she’d always liked it in movies when they did the path of rose petals. And yet, despite the passingess of her comment, here it was, a silly fantasy she’d had since she was a little girl.

She closed the door behind her, dropping her bag right there before she followed the trail of light towards the kitchen. As she got closer, she smelled it. Perfectly cooked cheese pizza. When she rounded the corner though, all thoughts of food vanished from her mind as she took in the sight before her.

Her dining room table was draped with a table cloth and held two long wick candles burning merrily in the darkness, illuminating two beautiful place settings. But that paled in comparison to the man that stood before her.

Killian was standing formally by the closer chair, hands clasped behind his back, at parade rest. He wore a perfectly tailored three piece suit, the black of the vest and jacket contracting sharply with the cerulean blue of his shirt.

She was certain that she was standing in her own kitchen gaping like an idiot, but she really couldn’t bring herself to care. When her thoughts finally returned from hornyville, the only thng she could think to say was, “How did you get in here?”

He smiled widely, his dimples popping out, as if she’d reacted as he had wanted her too.

“Would you believe that your son slipped it to me several days ago?”

That brought her sharply out of her lingering stupor, “What?”

His grin widened, “Aye, would you believe he had the audacity to slide the key across my desk right before the end of the day, and say to me that I’d better not break your heart?”

Emma could only shake her head. Where Henry got his ideas from was a mystery to her sometimes. But she really couldn’t bring herself to be mad about his cheekiness.

“I suppose you also know why he’s not sitting in the living room trying to reach a level sixty paladin?”

“I was informed that he’d been invited over to Nick’s to, and I quote, ‘keep working on that group project you gave us.’”

She rolled her eyes.

“But enough about him love. I do believe that you have a seat here awaiting your presence.” As he spoke, he brought his hands around to pull the chair out.

“Do I?” she teased with a raised eyebrow.

“Aye, and it’s been awaiting your arrival most anxiously.”

She heard what he didn’t say as she stepped forward to take her seat, feeling him slide the chair in behind her. She watched as he reached around her to the wine bottle on the table, pulling the cork out and pouring out a healthy measure of red wine into both their glasses. But he didn’t take his seat, so she watched as he strode over to the oven. He bent over to open the door and pull something out, but she got distracted by the perfect view she was being afforded.

He didn’t even bother turning around when he called out, “See something interesting there love?” but a moment later he straightened, holding a tray in his mitted hand. “Because I am happy to provide you a much more up close and personal experience if you should desire it.”

She knew he was teasing, but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to throw him a little off kilter. “You know, I just might.”

He nearly tripped and she laughed.

“Bad form Swan, teasing a man while he’s holding your dinner,” he mumbled s he approached the table. He tipped the tray and used his other hand to nudge its contents off. And once it had slid onto the serving platter and he’d pulled the tray out of the way, she burst out into more laughter as she took in the beautiful deep crust heart-shaped cheese pizza.

Once he’d put the tray back in the kitchen he finally joined her. He picked up his glass and said with a smirk, “I’ve been reliably informed that this is an excellent pairing for cheese pizza,” and she laughed again.

But then his face grew more serious, “Emma Swan, thank you for being who you are and no one else. Without being too forward, may I say- I hope this is the first of many.”

She picked up her own glass with a shy smile, “I hope so too.”

Emma wandered up the stairs to bed in a daze, glowing with happiness after such a wonderful dinner. She’d never laughed so much or felt so seen in her entire life. She had thought, when they’d finally polished off the meal and the last drops of wine, that he might put an offer of something more on the table, but he’d simply cleaned up the dishes and helped her tidy up. Then he murmured that it was probably time for him to take his leave, and she’d guided him to the door.

“It was my greatest pleasure, Emma,” he said quietly. Then he’d shifted forward and her breath caught, thinking he was finally going to kiss her. But instead he just reached for hand and brought her knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her skin, sending gooseflesh up her arm. “Good night love. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Killian.”

She’d slowly shut the door, trying to keep her eyes on his soft smile for as long as possible before the door clicked shut. And now she felt like she was floating up the stairs. Until she was brought up short by the light gently spilling out from her bedroom door. A door she knew she closed behind her this morning.

Her heart picked up at the thought that he had set up one more surprise for her. She hurried down the hall and opened her door, only to burst out laughing.

For sprawled across her bed was a new blanket covered in cartoon pirates in various seductive poses, and laying across one side of the bed was a full length body pillow with the image of the cartoon Captain Hook on it. She noticed a paper propped up against the end of the pillow and hurried over to it.

Its a shame you didn’t let me shiver your timbers, but I understand that there is not pillaging and plundering on a first date. But still, I’d love to have seen your booty. ;)

That broke her. She threw the valentine back down on the bed and ran back down the hall, taking the stairs two at a time. She rushed to the front door, fully prepared to give chase and demand he make good.

But when she ripped the door open, there he stood, shit eating grin spread across his face.

“Something the matter love?”

“Oh shut up.” Then she reached out and yanked him to her by his lapels and he went willingly, meeting her for a fierce kiss. When she finally had to breath, she pulled back and couldn’t help the question that had been plaguing the back of her mind all night.

“Why?”

He gave her a soft smile, “Don’t you know Swan? I’m sick.”

Her blood froze, “What?”

“Aye, I think I must have caught it from your boy.” He gave her a teasing grin. “I’ve come down with that most common of afflictions.”

And the only way she could think of to reply to that was to jump into his arms and kiss him some more. It didn’t matter if he was sick, because she was pretty sure she’d caught it too.

It was the most common of afflictions, after all.

#cs role reversal #Captain Swan #imagnifika #gingerchangeling does writing #once upon a time

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initiala · 4 years

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The Dark and Light Along the Sea

Hello, wow, I actually wrote something. This is a @csrolereversal fic with art provided by the lovely @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713.

So, uh, this fic goes some places. It’s got graphic depictions of violence, gratuitous goriness, death, destruction, body parts in places body parts shouldn’t be... It’s a Dark One Killian fic with Emma as... not quite the good little witch we’re used to her being. So if that’s not your jam, then go ahead and keep scrolling! Otherwise, please enjoy.

=============================================

Once upon a time, a little girl was stolen from a castle in the dead of night. She’d been born with magic, you see, and that magic was coveted by dark forces across the land. She knew she’d been stolen, because the woman she’d been forced to call Mother told her often while complaining about how much food she ate and the cost of clothing to keep her warm. Mother taught the little girl how to use her magic, though the kinds of spells she learned felt wrong -- slimy under her skin and a cold draft down her back with each success.

Mother didn’t like hearing that it felt wrong. The more the little girl spoke about the wrong feeling, the more she was forced to train, drowning in the feeling of wrongness until one day, finally, she snapped.

Mother looked like a doll that had been thrown across the room, her limbs at odd angles, her head bent uncomfortably.

The little girl, not so little these days, left without looking back.

She traveled far, searching for something to ease the knot of terrible feelings in her belly. Voices whispered in her mind after night fell, echoes of Mother twisting anxiety into her heart and others she couldn’t name leading her to fear she was going mad.

Seasons passed and her search remained fruitless. She grew tall and fair, slim from traveling the realm on foot, and earned her way through performing the only bits of magic she dared: illusion. She could turn a bushel of apples into a basket of snakes and back again, pull a dove from a child’s pocket, make coins vanish and reappear in her shoes. She stayed until the whispers in her mind became real in her ears, suspicious villagers or townsmen who looked a little too long at the traveling magic maid, then took off down the road, still searching for something that felt like peace.

One night, years later, the magic maid found herself in quiet port town; quite the oxymoron, she inquired at the inn as to why this wasn’t the bustling pirate haven or trading port she was used to.

“The Dark One, miss,” the old barkeep told her, setting before her a trencher of bread filled with a thick stew made from potatoes and ham and a mug of watered down ale. “Claimed the castle up the way. Doesn’t much bother us townsfolk, but his presence bothers outsiders. Anyone as wants to trade here comes and does his business quickly, then sails out again on the next tide. As fer pirates, rumor is the Dark One used to be one hisself and knows their treachery. Forbids it, see, less someone else comes to try and claim his power.”

She thought about his story as she ate slowly. She’d heard of the Dark One before, mostly as a bedtime story from Mother to warn her about how people would want to use her power for their own. The last Dark One, Rumplestiltskin, had apparently vanished a few hundred years ago and no one had seen concrete proof of his successor. Yet, allegedly, he was here, in this out of the way town, living amicably beside a town that didn’t seem to care he was there. Then again, she mused, if they’d all grown up knowing he was there and hadn’t done anything before, they probably didn’t see a need to feel afraid of him. And if it kept trouble away, all the better for them.

People around these parts, she discovered, turned in early; she considered herself lucky for having made so much coin in the last town since there would be scant opportunities for her to sing for her supper. She paid up front for two nights at the inn, giving herself a chance to rest and maybe find a cobbler to fix her boots before going somewhere without the Dark One’s shadow looming overhead. Trying not to count and recount the coins left in her purse, she retired early as well, looking forward to a night indoors with a soft bed. Maybe, she thought with a wry smile, mice and bugs would be terrified of the Dark One too, and she’d have a peaceful rest.

The candle was unlit when she got to her room, and she scowled, fumbling in the dark for the flint and steel she kept in her pouch. Sparks flew as she tried to light it, cursing under her breath the whole while; she wasn’t good at using this stupid thing for small fires, she could barely do it for a campfire out on the road-- “Why do you use that thing?” a male voice asked, the candle wick flaming to life.

She whirled, conjuring a fireball in one hand and ready to burn whoever dared come for her in the night. “Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing here?”

“Interesting questions,” the man replied, waving his hand carelessly. Her fireball vanished and she felt like the air was being squeezed from her lungs. “Some might call me hell incarnate. Others simply call me by my more colorful moniker.”

Several other candles lit around the room, giving her a better view of the man before her. He dressed simply, in either dark colors or simply black, with a long leather greatcoat and heavy boots. A hook where his left hand should have been glinted wickedly in the light. His hair fell rakishly over his forehead and one eye, slightly disheveled and looking like it had been some time since its last wash. But it was his piercing blue eyes that caught hold of her, red-rimmed and exhausted as they were, watching her with cautious interest. “The Dark One,” she said faintly.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me. No need to answer that, I know all about your little chat with the barman downstairs. I’ve got ears and eyes all over this town, looking for people such as yourself to cross into my territory.”

“People like me?”

“Magic, love,” the Dark One said, his heavy footfalls echoing around the room as he came closer. “I could practically smell your magic the moment you crossed the border of this little place,” he continued, leaning in and breathing her in to prove his point. “Never before have I met anyone with as much raw power as you.”

She shivered, her magic reacting to him in a way that made her hair stand on end. It liked him and that frightened her -- her magic barely liked her, leaving her with those terrible feelings when Mother had trained her, fighting from her control every time she tried to use it to light a fire or performing for her own survival. She felt it wrenching from her control even now, reaching for him and twining about him like a cat. “Interesting indeed,” the Dark One murmured. “What’s your name, love?”

Mother had drilled in many things to her over the years: don’t eat so much, stop growing so fast, stop being ungrateful for the roof over your head, listen only to Mother, never do any sort of magic without exacting a price, never give anyone your name lest they have power over you. She hesitated now, and his eyes hardened. “Your name,” he said again, and she felt his power squeezing her, forcing her to obey his will.

She closed her eyes and forced her magic out, against his and whatever hold he was trying to put on her. He flew back, stopping just before he hit the wall, and when she opened her eyes again she took some satisfaction from the infuriated look on his face. “You have no power here, Dark One,” she said firmly.

But, just as quick, she felt her magic slip from her grasp as if he’d pulled the rug from under her feet. It hurt, having her magic pulled from her, and she pulled back with all her will to keep it from escaping into whatever magical trinket he was keeping in his pocket. He stared at her like he’d never seen anyone quite like her before, and the magical tug-of-war ended. She felt her magic slip back under her skin, under her control, and glared at him defiantly. “Killian,” he said finally. “If it makes you feel any better, we can trade names. Mine’s Killian.”

She kept glaring, unsure if this was some kind of Dark One trick; she didn’t know a lot about this particular Dark One, but she knew his predecessors weren’t afraid of using any sort of trickery to get what they wanted. “What do you want, Dark One?”

“Your name. And to know why someone so powerful as yourself has crossed into my domain.”

“That’s easy enough. I’m traveling.”

His eyes glinted, clearly aware she continued to dodge the question of her name. “Traveling where? And for what?”

She shrugged. “Nowhere. Everywhere.”

She felt a tendril of his magic reach out to probe hers again and she pushed it back, fixing him with a steely gaze again. The Dark One -- Killian -- regarded her again. “Your magic walks a fine line between darkness and light, a line I find interesting. The depths of the darkness you’re capable of -- and the strength of the light -- should have most of the realm after you. Is this why you travel to places like ‘nowhere’ and ‘everywhere’?” he asked, his tone mocking as he threw her answers back in her face.

“Maybe.”

“Not very forthcoming, are you?”

“With strange evil wizards who let themselves into my room? Why should I be?”

In a flash of red smoke, he was in her face again, nose brushing up against hers. She could feel his breath on her cheek when he spoke, “Because I may be the only one capable of helping you.”

She put her hands on his chest and shoved, but he didn’t budge. “Why do I need help?”

A slow grin stretched his lips, making crow’s feet around his eyes, but it did little to soften him or reassure her. “There’s darkness in you, little witch, and I sense trepidation where it’s concerned. You want the light, but don’t know how to reach it. You fear the dark, yet you’ve dabbled in it. Who taught you darkness?”

She found she couldn’t look away from his eyes, intense and oh so blue. She wondered if he could simply hold someone with his stare like this, or if there was something else at play, the same something that forced the words from her mouth, “Mother. Not my real mother, the… woman who took me.”

He blinked and she could look away, though she did so only briefly. “What happened to her? If she’d already taken you as a prize, I’d be sure she wouldn’t let you slip away so easily.”

Her throat worked but she couldn’t bring herself to admit it. Her gaze dropped to the floor, staring at the way her feet fit neatly between his wide stance. “You killed her, didn’t you?”

She nodded.

“No controller, but no protector either. You’ve been running ever since.”

Another nod.

“Did you want to?”

She hesitated. She’s thought for years about this very question. Had she wanted to kill Mother, or had it just been some kind of unfortunate accident? Her powers slipping out of her control, spiraling from her own frustrations and fears, directed at the one person who’d sparked those feelings for her entire life?

Did she want to? Maybe, in some small, dark part of her heart.

Maybe not such a small, dark part anymore.

She met his gaze again, unsure, and an unreadable flicker of emotions crossed his face as he considered her nonanswer to his question. “Emma,” she whispered. “My name is Emma.”

=====

Once upon a time, a man fell in love with a woman. This happens often enough, you see, but this particular woman was already married. But she was desperately unhappy in her marriage and begged the man to take her away; the man happened to be a pirate, renowned and feared across the seven seas, but the man also believed in good form, and carried on with ideas of dashing rescues and the like -- what could be more dashing a rescue than a woman trapped with a man she described as a monster?

What the man didn’t know, however, was that the monster was more than what he appeared.

The monster killed her, this woman they both claimed to love, and the man swore revenge as he buried her at the bottom of the sea. He left that very day to find the tools to enact his revenge, stopping time itself while he laid out his plans. And it took years more before he finally succeeded, swiping the blade that was the key to the monster’s power and taking it for his own.

The blade and the power.

To kill the monster was to make a monster of yourself, for the power of the Dark One could only pass on to whoever slayed their predecessor. It was a terrible price to pay, but the man was too far gone into his hate and drive for revenge to care much for what happened to him next.

The power of the Dark One buzzed in his ears for decades. He locked himself away in a castle -- he may have killed the previous owners, he couldn’t remember now -- drinking himself into a stupor to quiet the voices in his head telling him how to use the darkness to his advantage. Darkness had taken the woman he loved from him, and for all he cared it could drown with her at the bottom of the sea.

Time moved differently when one was functionally immortal, he discovered, and spending most of that time drunk made it nearly impossible to tell what century it was. Occasionally he woke out of his stupor to find blood on his hands or entrails in the entryway, with no memory of how any of it got there. But the voices of the darkness whispered in his ears still and he found himself wondering if the darkness just took hold, using his body as some sort of vessel to carry out its desires.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

By the time Emma found her way into his castle, he mostly had himself under control. He’d spent years actually reading the tomes that had found their way into his collection, learning to set defenses like invisible glass walls between himself and the darkness, meditating to quiet the voices in his mind. He drank less, though it became increasingly clear that awareness of the passage of time was incredibly boring. Immortality and having no clear purpose of what to do with that time was terribly dull, and when the boredom became insufferable he would drink again, only to find himself with the same problem as before. The fragile glass that made up his protective walls was shattered every time, the darkness flowing through his defenses and dragging him down further each and every time. There were fewer mysterious body parts strewn about after these blackout periods, less blood on his hands, but sometimes treasure would find its way into his possession and he had no idea where it came from.

Once a pirate, always a pirate, the darkness would taunt, until he slammed up his defenses and shut the darkness out again.

Keeping the darkness at bay proved to be more difficult as he introduced Emma to his books on light magic. The taunts grew louder and more frequent and he found comforts at the bottom of a bottle four nights in seven. Even Emma noticed something was off with his manner, seeing as how they were the only two living creatures in the castle. After a month of him disappearing in these blackout rages, she confronted him after their lessons. “Is it me?” she asked pointedly. “Do I drive you to drink and run off somewhere? Do I need to leave?”

“No,” he said hoarsely. “Yes. I don’t know.”

“Are those answers to my questions, or is it a general statement of incompetence?”

He glared at her, the darkness whispering in his ear to silence her smart mouth permanently. “You walk a fine line, little witch.”

“Silence me then,” she said, shoving herself up in his face. “Do it. I know you can, you just haven’t yet -- I’ve seen the mess you leave when you come back. Is this your normal thing or is it just too much to be in the same fucking castle as me?”

She was right, he realized. He could kill her, but something kept him from doing so, even when he was in one of his rages. That was curious -- clearly he had no problem doing away with whatever was bothering him, but even though she was what brought the darkness out she was never the target of his ire.

Curiouser and curiouser.

“No,” he said finally. “This is something that requires… meditation, I think. And perhaps a change in your lessons.”

He would keep her from the books containing only light magic, that was all. The darkness whispered in his mind that she could be a power to rival his own, a terrible and beautiful queen at his side, if he would show her the books with the blackest of magics, but he didn’t want that. The darkness in him hated and feared her potential for light, but it was something else that drew him to her, like a moth to a candle. She wasn’t wholly tarnished, not like him, but she knew the taste of villainy and what it could do.

What do you plan to do with her? the darkness hissed, the evil imp always lurking over his shoulder. He paced in what amounted to his study, the sky full of stars and Emma slumbering somewhere below in the castle. It wanted to take her and twist her, but he refused to allow it.

For the first time in years, Killian spoke aloud to his demons. “I don’t plan to do anything. She gets what I never had in all of this: a choice.”

====

Once upon a time, a young woman lived in a castle. This wasn’t the castle of her birth, but it was a castle all the same -- drafty and enormous, far too many rooms for the only two people living in it, and full of secrets. She found many of these secrets on accident: hidden passageways, libraries full of cobweb-covered books, a treasure room full of magical artifacts that made her magic itch under her skin. Some secrets were laid in the open but never talked about: the blood on the doorstep most mornings, the hand she found in the kitchen, a collection of ears in a chest.

This should have, and would have, frightened any number of normal young women, but Emma was far from a normal young woman anymore.

She knew he was the Dark One, so finding collections of strange, arcane objects and evidence of dark doings wasn’t as outrageous as it may have been. Killian treated her well and never made threats against her -- outside of arguments, where she gave as good as she got and was rewarded with an amused smirk -- so she never felt unsafe in his presence, but the way he seemed to drink heavily and return with more strange talismans and more blood left around the castle after their lessons did bother her. If she was the cause of all this rage and theft and dark magic, why wasn’t he taking it out on her?

She shouldn’t be asking why she was still alive, but the thought nagged at her all the same.

Mother had always drilled into her to expect the worst in people, after all.

But even confronting him didn’t give her any answers, only a change in what she was given to study. Light magic left her feeling odd, like her head was stuffed with cotton and her limbs tingled like she’d touched something metal after walking on carpets in winter. It wasn’t worse than the feelings she’d had when Mother made her cast dark spells, but it still didn’t quite sit well with her. “Not a light witch or a dark wizard, just… something dull and gray in between,” Emma muttered one night, flipping a page and squinting to read the writing by the light of her candle.

“Hardly dull, sadly.”

It was Killian’s voice, but there was something different about it. She turned in her chair and he leaned against the window. He looked terrible, sallow and hollow-eyed in the candlelight, his hair matted down as if he’d been sweating through a fever. He grinned and it was unnerving, lips stretched a bit too wide and showing a few too many teeth. His skin even glistened in the light, making her wonder if he really was feverish -- could Dark Ones get sick? “He likes you,” he said, and again she tried to pinpoint what was different about his voice. “That’s the only thing keeping us from slitting your throat when you sleep -- no, that’s far too easy, we like to watch people squirm. You’d shriek, wouldn’t you? Beg for mercy, offer us whatever we like if only we’d let you live?”

There were multiple tones in his voice -- a deep baritone cracking over words, a high-pitched giggle trilling at the end of a question, a cold feminine rasp. This isn’t him, she realized. “Is this what you do?” she asked. “Take him over like he’s some kind of puppet and whisper scary bedtime stories?”

The Dark One moved so fast it was like a blur, hovering over her and pressing her back in her chair, and this close she could see the manic look in his eyes, the pinpricks his pupils had shrunk to, the redness and the deep purple splotches under his skin. “He’s weak,” they rasped -- and it had to be the voices of Dark Ones past, that’s what Mother had said, right? No one could truly kill the Dark One, only take on the mantle of all who came before? “He refuses to act as he should, dabbling in training a witch like you in light magic. He could be powerful and feared but he locks himself away like--”

“Like a terrible thing that needs to be locked away?” Emma snapped, pushing him -- them -- away. “I haven’t heard of anything as bad as the last Dark One, so apparently he’s doing a good job of that. You’re just mad you don’t get to run as free as you want, you’re like a dog tied up at the market--”

Pinned to the wall by the hand to her throat, the rest of her taunt died as she struggled to breathe. Her feet couldn’t touch the floor and she wrapped her hands around his wrist in futility. “K--Kil--”

The wicked snarl on his face only widened and for the first time she felt true fear around him. “Killian--”

His face twitched and his features relaxed into something less feral, his eyes returning to normal, then widened in shock and fear before he pulled away, letting her drop to the floor. Emma gasped, pulling in air until her chest hurt, and coughed to clear the tightness lingering around her neck. She saw his boots shuffle backwards, and then a swirl of red smoke signaled his departure, leaving her to process what had happened.

Alone.

====

Once upon a time, a man slew a monster, only to become a monster himself.

The darkness loved to play with his mind, replaying the deaths of those he loved most over and over in his memories, twisting them and making them worse than even the horrible truth had been. He saw Liam’s skin crack open and bleed black blood, darkness seeping out of his nostrils and the gurgling sounds of a man drowning in his own blood so real that Killian was no longer sure if he’d only died of dreamshade poisoning and a stopped heart. He saw himself ripping Milah’s heart from her chest and crushing it, watching her collapse lifeless onto the deck of his old ship -- worse was knowing that the previous Dark Ones shared his mind and this was entirely likely to be a true memory with his own face plastered over Rumplestiltskin’s. But there were other nights when he was treated to visions of abusing the power one had over possessing another’s heart, taking possession of her mind and her body. He didn’t know if someone could be killed while their heart remained whole and outside of their body, but the darkness showed him all the ways it could have made Milah walk willingly into her own death, by her own hand or others.

Once, Emma commented that he looked feverish all the time, like he was overheated and needed a cool bath. Dark Ones were hardly bothered by something as simple as the temperature, but the worst fates that could be laid upon those he’d once loved were enough to give even the most mortal of men the sweats.

Waking from his latest plunge into the darkness, seeing Emma fearful of him and being crushed by his own hand? He was willing to walk into a thousand fiery deaths if only to make up for the terrified look on her face.

He stayed away from her for a time; she didn’t leave, which was curious, but he saw her in his scrying bowl in the library, her head bent over her books and purpling marks around her neck.

He hated the sight of that. She had such a lovely neck, she --

You like her, the darkness had whispered, weeks before, and he’d vehemently denied it. He was interested in what she could become, that was all, and it was to his advantage at the time to indebt her to him. But she had a choice now, he’d promised himself. He’d freed her of the debt she never knew she’d had, removed the price of learning.

The darkness liked exacting payment from people. Was that why it had acted out, taking over in his moments of weakness, hurting her?

She was still in the library later when he slipped in, his hand in his pocket. She looked up when his footsteps grew near and it was a small comfort that she didn’t cower away from his approach. “You look better,” she commented.

“You don’t,” he said, and went behind her, draping his gift around her neck.

The diamond necklace had arrived in his treasury as most things did: with no knowledge or history of how it got there, only his bloody hand and hook and the scent of expensive perfume lingering on his clothes. But diamonds, like all gemstones, held magic well and the sheer number of them would do wonders to speed up the healing spell he’d placed on it. Emma’s hands went to it, automatically holding the chains in place as he looped them around her neck and used a bit of magic to help close the clasp. Stepping back, he noted with pleasure that the bruises were already starting to fade.

She conjured a mirror to see the full effect and he noted how easily the magic was done; when she’d arrived, she couldn’t even conjure sugar for her tea, but this was more solid, more real, and easily broken if done incorrectly. “You’ve improved immensely,” he murmured, watching her admire the jewelry and the healing effects.

“I had a good teacher,” she said, her voice just as low.

“Emma, about the other night…”

“Don’t. I know it wasn’t you,” she said, catching his reflection’s eye.

“It doesn’t make it right,” he said. “I apologize, for harming you as well as frightening you. I…”

She shook her head. “It’s… well, we can move past it. It was something beyond your control.”

Fury built in his chest, not at her but at the circumstances of her life that made her shrug away a brush with death. He could have killed her, the power at his fingertips -- the power controlling his fingertips -- should have killed her, but something in her had broken through and found him drowning in the depths. “No, Emma,” he snapped, making her look back at him. “The darkness is afraid of you.”

“Me?” she asked, surprised.

“You. You’re… different. It’s… it doesn’t like to be challenged, only obeyed. I have been a consistent thorn in its side, refusing to do as it wants or follow orders.” He felt like he bled these words out, the darkness ripping at his defenses to keep him silent, keep him from spilling its secrets to this woman it feared so much. “It’s particularly damaging when my defenses are down, or when it can break through them. I don’t remember where I go or what I do, though I have an idea. I’m weak, especially susceptible to its control, and your challenge only made it… worse.”

“So it is my fault,” Emma said softly.

He turned her chair and knelt before her, looking at her properly for the first time in days. “No,” he said earnestly. “You… you frighten it, which is enough of a miracle on its own. It’s not your fault I was weak, that I couldn’t control it. I’d wondered why it hadn’t led me to kill you if it was so frightened of you. And I wonder still, but I believe the other night was because I refuse to let it indebt you to me when you’ve completed your training.”

He watched a thousand emotions cross her face; she’d told him how she’d grown up, enslaved to the woman she’d called Mother with fear tactics and the threat of being controlled by others for her magic. He refused to be one of the monsters in her childhood nightmares, chaining her and claiming her, using her as the darkness saw fit -- just as he’d hidden the dagger that bore his name, refusing to let others chain and claim him to be used as his jailer saw fit.

He knew what it was like to have the threat of freedom stolen from under you and refused to allow her the same fears.

“It’s afraid of me?” she asked, and he wondered when she’d taken his hand in her own; she squeezed as a flicker of wonder and fear crossed her face.

“Terrified. I don’t… I don’t know how well I can control it, but it’s why I changed your learning around. It was worse with the light magic.”

She looked away. “I see… and it would probably like it if I did more dark magic, but I can’t stand the feeling of dark magic.”

She’d like it more if she practiced more, the darkness whispered in his mind, and he wondered how often that her mother had the same thought. He gripped her hand tighter as he slammed his defenses back up, imagining a wall of glass three feet thick between himself and the demons taunting him. “You don’t have to do more dark magic. You don’t have to do anything to appease the darkness, Emma, that’s my burden to bear. In fact --” The idea struck him so suddenly that he didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. It wasn’t as if he’d formed a particular attachment to the place, and there were enough enchantments to keep it running that she would hardly notice if he’d left. “Perhaps I should be the one to leave. There are enough learning tools here to keep you busy until you feel ready to move on. You’ve been doing well on your own with the magics I can’t do, and you’re surer of yourself than you were when you came here. I can spell a few rooms to make them safe to practice in without causing havoc across the countryside.”

The more he spoke, the better an idea it became. He would leave the castle to her, let her practice and perhaps visit the port enough to reassure them the Dark One was truly gone. He knew the town suffered a bit from trade from his presence, but the threat of him had also kept the peace so no one seemed to mind all that much. Perhaps she’d simply stay, take over as the lady of the land. She’d do good here, not some insufferable white witch like those blasted fairies, but not a terrible dark queen like his demons wanted her to become -- a real person who understood there needed to be balance.

“Killian.” Emma’s voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he noticed the confusion in her eyes. “What are you saying, that you’d give up your home for me?”

“Well, more that I’d give it to you, let you--”

Whatever he’d been planning to say next died in his throat as she leaned forward and kissed him, and for the first time in a very long time all of the voices that haunted him fell silent. He felt normal, with no looming darkness in the back of his mind making him feel like he needed to keep looking over his shoulder, keep running, keep doing something to keep the darkness from swallowing him whole.

Like there was a light at the end of the long, dark tunnel of his life.

She started to pull away and he realized he’d done nothing but let her kiss him with no reciprocation. Well, that simply won’t do, he thought, and for once there was no response from anyone else except himself: I need to kiss her again.

And so he reached for that light, meeting her lips again, and feeling like her shine could ward even the darkest of his nightmares away.

====

Once upon a time, darkness descended from a castle tucked away, and brought light to a town by the sea. The traveling magic maid, it seemed, had staked her claim, though to what exactly the townsfolk were never quite sure. No longer did she dabble in tricks of her trade: instead, they found her hands pressed against the earth, against feverish skin and splinted limbs. She disappeared each night, back to the castle where darkness lurked, but returned each morning with a smile and a will to continue her work. What to make of her, they hardly knew, but it was the pirates, in the end, that brought shadows on the heels of her light.

Rarely had the Dark One been seen in all the years he’d festered in the castle up the way, but down he came, in answer to the maid’s call, a raging force stronger than any sea. The townsfolk stuck to the shadows while he made quick work of the pirates, trading murmured words when the maid removed her cloak and made to follow. Light turned to dark, turned water red at port, and only when the screams were silenced and their hands met did the magic in the air fizzle into something altogether gray.

The blood didn’t seem to bother her, the maid, and it went hardly noticed by the Dark One as a heavy mist crept into town, his teeth gritted all the while muttering about bad form. The maid only leaned in close, her hand on his cheek and an almost peaceful calm on his face at her touch; she whispered something that may have sounded something like home, and the red followed them up in a cloud of smoke.

And when the next dawn broke, the maid returned, with the same beatific smile on her face as always, and went back to her work keeping all but the worst darkness at bay.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs role reversal #cs angst #ouat #it's angsty yeah and also just.... it's fucked up in parts

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stahlop · 4 years

Text

Honeymoon in Paris (CSRR) 1/1

Ao3

Look at this amazing artwork @kmomof4 did for this! That picture in the top right corner was the real inspiration for this piece. I knew it had to be really steamy and sexy. So this is basically a CS honeymoon and it’s pretty much a PWP. There’s a little plot, but not a ton. Just lots of smutty fun. So I really hope you like this Krystal!!

This piece is based off canon and in the same universe as my other CSRR piece, Not All Treasure is Silver and Gold (sometimes it's chocolate). While that one was pure fluff, this one is just sex.

Thank you to my betas, @profdanglaisstuff and @thisonesatellite. Honestly, Saira, I don’t know if this piece would’ve been written if it wasn’t for all your help.

Rated E

Summary: Emma and Killian are on their honeymoon and Emma wants to take things really slow and just enjoy each other.

He’s on her before she can even get the keycard in the slot, nuzzling against her ear, hitting that spot right behind her earlobe that he knows drives her crazy.

“We are in the hallway of the hotel,” she admonishes him in protest, but he knows she loves it all the same.

“Then get that door open so I can ravish you, darling,” he says, smiling into her hair.

She’s trying to get the keycard to work, she really is, but she can’t concentrate when he’s busy kissing his way down her neck.

“Killian!” she hisses as he starts moving the neckline of her top aside to kiss her collarbone.

Finally, after what seems like forever, Emma finally gets the damn keycard to click and opens the door.

Killian shoves her inside, kicking the door shut behind them, swinging Emma around, and pushing her up against the inside of the door; not even taking the time to see the view of the Eiffel Tower that is supposed to be visible from their hotel suite window. Her breath is coming out in short puffs with the way he’s all over her. He captures her lips with his own in a searing hot kiss, only pulling away to start giving hot, frantic kisses down her neck. The salty taste of her skin on his tongue. He uses his hook to skim down the buttons on her blouse.

“Do you like this shirt, love?” Killian asks as he bites the junction between her neck and shoulder, quickly soothing it with his tongue. Emma braces her hands on his chest and pushes him back.

“Whoa, Killian, slow down.” He pouts at this, not happy that she interrupted his ministrations. “I didn’t say stop,” Emma gives him her best seductive smile, “just slow down.” She runs her finger down his still buttoned up shirt, “We’re on our honeymoon.” She unbuttons one button on his waistcoat. “We’ve spent so much time rushing things because of larger-than-life villains.” There goes another button. “We can actually enjoy the quiet moments.” She says echoing what he used to tell her when they first started dating. He looks down and now all his waistcoat buttons are undone.

Killian shucks it off, letting the black waistcoat Emma loves drop to the plush carpeted floor. He resumes kissing her and slowly backs her up toward the huge, four-poster, king-sized bed, adorned with rose petals, that is waiting for them. Emma’s knees hit the mattress and she sits.

Killian expects her to either start unbuttoning his shirt and play with his chest hair, which she loves to do so much, or unhook her bra so he can play with her, but she does neither. Instead, she starts unbuttoning his pants.

“Emma…” Killian whines. He normally likes to pleasure her first, but she shushes him. She gets the button through the hole and slowly pulls his zipper down.

He’s commando, as usual, so his cock springs out when she lets his pants drop. She cups his asscheeks (like peach fuzz she tells him) as she pulls him forward closer to her face, her breath making his dick twitch in anticipation. Killian can see Emma is practically salivating at his velvety, smooth penis that stands at attention before her. She grasps his erection with both hands making him gasp and gives him a few good pumps before she engulfs him in her hot, wet mouth.

Killian’s hand goes immediately to her hair, twisting in her golden locks as she slowly bobs up and down his shaft. Emma is alternating using her whole mouth to suck him down and licking him from root to tip. She stops to swirl her tongue just around the tip, sucking it like a lollipop, before taking him in all the way again, deeper than before.

“Emma…” he groans, the sensations of her wet mouth making that feeling coil in his balls. Emma lets him go with a pop. Killian looks down at her, wondering why in heaven she stopped.

Emma’s green eyes stare right into his when she says, “Fuck my mouth, Killian.” He didn’t think he could love her any more. And also, when did his wife start to play so dirty in the bedroom? Not that their sex life is boring by any means, but she’s never straight up asked him to do this before. And Emma Swan (Jones) is never shy about what she wants in the bedroom.

She’s still looking at him expectantly. He puts the tip of his cock right to her lips, smearing the mix of pre-cum and saliva over her lips. “Open up, love.”

Emma opens up for him. Killian’s hand is still in her hair and pushes her head forward as she follows his directions. He can feel her throat opening up as pushes back as far as he can, her throat contracting around him. Usually her blow jobs are quick, a means to get him hard fast (not that he needs that much help), because who knows when they’ll get interrupted by a dwarf or her parents (or, god, that one time Henry almost caught them in her bug). But here, they can just enjoy each other, and maybe that’s why Emma is relinquishing some of her control to him right now.

The first time she did this for him he was embarrassed. He only ever had women he’d bought suck him off. Even Milah never went down there. It wasn’t considered ladylike. He tried to pull Emma up, claiming she didn’t have to do this, but she wouldn’t have it. Turns out fellatio wasn’t a dirty thing in this realm, and Emma enjoyed it. She enjoyed it a lot. And who was he to deny the woman he loved?

Killian keeps pushing her head back and forth, relishing the feel of his cock in the tightness of her throat. She takes one of her hands from his ass and brings it down between his legs as she starts slowly massaging his balls and his breath stutters.

“Emma...I…” he grunts. He really doesn’t want to spend himself in her mouth, but he can see that is exactly what his minx of a wife wants. Emma starts sucking faster and faster until he cries her name, and his cum explodes down her throat. He continues to fuck her mouth until he is spent, his grip on her hair loosening as he finishes his orgasm. Emma makes sure to lick all the cum off his cock thoroughly before she releases him, giving one final kiss on the tip.

Emma looks up at him earnestly, waiting for his reaction. Killian takes his hook and puts it under her chin, tipping her face up even more to him before he comes down in a heat-searing kiss.

“You are a naughty wife.” Killian says into her ear, and she shivers. “Making me come in your mouth before I’ve barely gotten to touch you.” He takes his hook and starts plucking the buttons off her blouse. “You didn’t answer my question before.” He says kissing his way down her neck, making sure to pay special attention to the hollow of her neck, one of her most sensitive spots.

“What...I...question?” she sputters rubbing her thighs together.

“Do...” pluck

“you…” pluck

“like…” pluck

“this…” pluck

“shirt…” pluck

“love?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer though. His hook comes down and rips off the last two buttons.

“Up on the bed, love” he says as he toes off his socks and shoes, and kicks off his pants which had pooled around his ankles. She throws the ruined shirt off somewhere into the room, now clad in only a lace bra, black leggings, and black flats. She quickly kicks off her shoes before she lays herself back on the outrageous amount of pillows gracing the bed.

“Now, what to do with you.” Killian smirks as he starts unbuttoning his own shirt and walking towards the side of the bed. “You say you want to take things slow.” He sits down on the edge of the bed, sees Emma’s stomach dip in anticipation, and gets right next to her ear and practically growls, “Well, love, I always did love a challenge.”

Killian takes his thumb and brings it to her face, tracing the outline of her perfect, pink lips. Emma takes it into her mouth and starts sucking on it and he closes his eyes at the feelings it stirs up in his belly, but he pulls it away, much to Emma’s dismay. “Ah, ah, ah, darling.” He warns and taps her nose, “You already had your fun, it’s my turn now.” He slowly caresses down her cheek, then moves to her neck, feeling her pulse rush as he presses down slightly. Emma gasps at the slight squeeze, her thighs pressing together due to the lack of friction. Killian understands that want, that need, but she insisted on slow, so slow he will go.

Killian’s hand wanders down Emma’s neck into the valley between her breasts which are encased in a black, lace bra. He lowers his head down and starts licking the tops of her breasts visible above the bra. He sees Emma’s nipples straining against the fabric. Well, something needs to be done about that. He continues to lick and suck, leaving the occasional mark while his hand grazes the bare skin right underneath, making its way towards her back. Killian loves this realm’s corsetry. It doesn’t require so much work to get it off, just a simple flick of the fingers, something even he can do easily.

He pulls down the cups now that the bra has been undone and starts to suck on a rosy, pert nipple. Emma takes in another breath, her hands now scratching his shoulders. He’s sure there will be little half-moon marks from her fingernails, a cross he’s willing to bear.

His hook now joins in, skimming around the other breast and encircling the nipple. Emma breaks out in goosebumps, most likely from her overheated skin and the coolness of his hook. Killian releases her nipple and kisses his way over to the other one. His hook lightly scrapes down her stomach.

“Killian!” she moans. He knows how much she loves the feel of his hook. He was surprised that his lovely Swan loved the hook play so much. Having used it as a weapon for so many centuries, the idea of using it on Emma, regardless of how much she got off on it, took awhile for him to be comfortable with. But after seeing Emma fall apart on his hook the first time, he couldn’t imagine never using it like that again.

“Yes, love?” He asks with an air of innocence. His hook now dipping into the waist of her leggings.

“I...oh god!” Emma pants as his hook barely brushes her panty-covered clit.

“Killian will do.” He teases into her breast as he brushes her clit again.

He gives her a few more rubs through the fabric before he gets impatient and uses his hook to (slowly) slide her her undergarments down her long, pale legs.

They are now both completely naked (took long enough, he thinks, usually they’re naked immediately; Emma has even poufed their clothes off before in her rush to get to the good stuff). Killian looks up into his beautiful wife’s face. Her head thrown back, exposing her long, graceful neck. Her bottom lip between her teeth mostly likely stifling a moan. Her eyes squeezed tight in anticipation of what she knows is coming next.

Killian scoots down toward the edge of the bed, gliding his fingers down her body as he moves. Emma is taking in shallow breaths and he hasn’t even got to the good part yet. He stops slightly to tangle his fingers through the small thatch of hair between her legs. She had been bare the first time they came together, after she returned his heart. A frenzied, rushed encounter that had them both coming in no time at all; not how he’d imagined their first time in any of his musings. He hardly noticed until after they were done and he was pulling out. Emma explained the custom of women shaving down there, but that it was easy enough to grow some back if that’s what he preferred. It was. The bareness down there made him think of the first girl he coupled with, the one he lost his virginity to at the tender age of 16. It had been with a new girl to the house of ill-repute that the sailors on the ship bought for him, telling him that even though he was a slave he needed to ‘become a man’. He knew that she was young, probably too young, and he was pleasantly surprised when the first woman he took to bed once he and Liam joined the King’s Royal Navy had hair down there. It made her seem more experienced and mature; more of a woman than a girl. And Emma is definitely a woman.

Killian trails his fingers down to her inner thighs and coats his fingers in the slickness between her folds that is soaking the bed. Emma sighs in contentment. He takes his fingers away for just a moment to kneel on the bed, much to Emma’s consternation. Killian grabs her legs and throws them over his shoulders, and then starts kissing his way down them. He is unhurried as he makes his way down. He wants to make her squirm, make her beg, make her cry his name out like a prayer on her lips.

She is right. They never get the time to just enjoy each other. Even over the past six months since their defeat of the Black Fairy and winning the Final Battle, she’s been so on edge waiting for that next villain to pop up that it’s still been that rapid race to the finish line without all the other fun stuff. Killian is disheartened that he has rarely gotten to bring Emma over the edge more than once during their couplings.

He finally reaches the treasure between Emma’s legs, but he does not use his mouth on her right away. He can hear her frustration from above as she grabs his hair and practically forces his face near the place she wants him most. He laughs as he turns his head and gives a wet kiss right at the intersection between her thighs and her most private of parts.

“Killian…” Emma moans, tugging his hair in annoyance.

“Patience, my love.” He says moving his face upward to see hers. “You’re the one that wanted us to... go slow,” he teases, throwing her words back at her. “Now, be a good girl and let me hear what I do to you. Don’t be afraid to really get into it.” He chuckles. He swears he hears Emma whisper “Smug bastard” from above, but then he tongues up her slit, tasting the tangy flavor that is all his wife, and all he gets from her is an illicit moan that goes straight to his groin.

He continues to lick her, his tongue savoring her essence. Emma is making the most wonderful noises from above him. Killian is torturing her by lazily caressing his hand and hook down her stomach, just barely touching her on the way down. He grazes her sides at the same time he takes the flat of his tongue and presses it against her clit, making her arch off the bed.

“Killian!” Emma practically screams. He knows this is the moment. Without any of his usual savvy, Killian takes two fingers and enters her sweet cunt while bringing his hook back to her clit for a few swipes. The cool metal against Emma’s heated and swollen flesh is almost too much for her to bear, Killian knows. He also knows that it’s the easiest way to get her off before the main event.

He continues to alternate between his mouth and his hook on her clit, driving Emma wild. She is making incoherent noises now, and Killian thanks his lucky stars that he’s the only one who can make her feel like this. Killian absolutely loves the way Emma looks when she’s coming undone. And she’s almost there.

He takes one final turn with his mouth, drawing her clit into his mouth and grazing it with his teeth, while also adding one more finger into her cunt and curving them to massage her sweet spot inside. Emma falls apart with a long moan, legs shaking, hands nearly pulling out his hair, walls clenching around his fingers.

“Fuck, Killian!” She screams. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He brings her down, slowly massaging her inner walls until her breath starts to even out. His erection is back in full force and he feels like he’s never been this hard in his life. He wants to gather Emma in his arms and just fuck with no grace whatsoever. But as much as she may be protesting it now with how keyed up she is, he knows that’s not what he needs to do.

He trails kisses up her stomach, making sure to dip his tongue into her belly button, a sensitive spot for her, then goes back up to her breasts, making sure to lave attention on the straining nipples,before moving in between her legs, his cock barely brushing against her still sensitive clit.

Emma lies beneath him, looking every bit the princess that she is. A very naked and flushed princess, but still a princess. Her blonde hair is fanned out on the pillows, giving her an ethereal quality as well. Her eyes are still closed and her head is still slightly thrown back.

“Killian…” she moans, “Killian, please!” Ahhh, the begging portion has finally begun.

“Please what, darling?” he asks, kissing his way up her neck.

“Please!” Emma moans again as she rocks her hips up trying to catch his cock on her clit again. Killian moves slightly up, even though it’s killing him. Emma has been lightly raking her fingernails down his back while he nipped and licked up her body, but now she tries to pull him closer by digging her nails into his back.

“Patience.” Killian repeats.

Emma snaps open her eyes and pulls his head up to hers by his hair so that they are now eye level. “Fuck patience!” she says, her emerald eyes practically black. “I swear to God or any of your gods, Killian, if you don’t stop teasing me and get your fucking dick inside my cunt, I will finish up myself and I will not allow you the luxury of getting to watch me do it or letting you relieve yourself!”

Normally, Killian would laugh at such a declaration, because he knows his wife. He knows she won’t get off quite as hard by her own hand. And he knows it turns her on too much when he watches her pleasure herself. But she is in such a state right now, he really doesn’t want to test her.

“As you wish.” And that’s all the warning he gives her before quickly taking himself in hand and quickly guiding himself into her warm, tight cunt.

He’d had plans when she insisted on going slow. He was going to tease her, just put in the tip, shallow thrusts until she couldn’t stand it. Instead, he takes her in one stroke, going all the way to the hilt. He pulls out and thrusts all the way in again. Emma’s breath changes erratically from normal breathing to shallow breaths almost immediately.

“Is this what you wanted, love?” he growls into her ear. “Fast,” he pulls out again, “and hard?�� and slams back into her. Emma does nothing but nod her head and moan again into his ear.

He could just keep fucking her with no finesse, but it’s their honeymoon. It’s their first time together in any sense without possibility of danger or distraction. He wants to savor this. He wants Emma to savor this. It was her idea to go slow after all.

“Open your eyes, love,” he demands; Emma does. She looks at him with questioning eyes before he hits the right spot inside of her and she keens up toward him and closes them again. “Keep them open!” Killian all but commands, “And give me your hands.” He adds as almost an afterthought.

Emma unclenches her hands from his shoulders and slides them over to his on either side of her head. Killian pulls them out straight on either side of her. Emma quickly adjusts, pulling her legs up higher on his waist and drawing him in closer. The new angle is fantastic for both of them. His balls and cock are so tight he feels as if he’ll explode any moment. Emma is rocking her hips into him, now doing most of the work as Killian can’t thrust as much in this position. But being so close her clit rubs against him easily, and as they are practically eye to eye, Killian can see she is getting close.

“Let go, Emma,” he breathes, and that’s all she needs. Her hands tighten around his and her body arches up as Killian feels her heat tighten around him.

“Killian,” she sobs and it sounds like a prayer on her lips. It’s enough to trigger his own orgasm, his cock pulsing and bathing her inner walls with his come.

“Emma, Emma, Emma,” he repeats over and over again thrusting in and out of her until he is completely spent.

Emma’s legs are no longer around him when he comes back to himself, they lie on either side of him. Her eyes are gazing up at him adoringly and he lets go of her hands, now bracing himself on his elbows and gives her a sweet chaste kiss on the lips before pulling out and rolling onto his back.

They are both breathing heavily, trying to get their heartbeats to slow down. Emma scooches over from where she is on the bed to snuggle up on his chest, her hand automatically going to his chest hair. She loves to play with his chest hair. The first time she saw him with his bare chest, not just tufts peeking out from his shirts, she pinned him to the bed and rode him like a stallion just so she could keep her hands on his chest the entire time.

“Darling,” Killian says, playing with the strands of golden hair that are falling down her back. “As much as I would love to fall asleep with you right here, we should get ourselves cleaned up.” Emma gives a slight grunt in protest, but eventually sits up slightly to look at him. Killian notices that the look on her face is not one of disapproval though, but one of mischievousness. Killian raises an eyebrow in question to her look. She gives a slight laugh, using the hand she had just been rubbing his chest with to graze her thumb against his lips. Then she moves her hand down tracing the scruff on his chin.

“One of the reasons I booked this room, besides the spectacular view of Paris from our window,” she begins as her hand now moves up to card through his hair, “is because of the large whirlpool tub.” Killian isn’t quite sure what a ‘whirlpool tub is, and Emma must notice the look of non-comprehension on his face. She smiles. God he loves that smile. He still remembers the first genuine smile he ever got from her after he was hit by Greg Mendell’s infernal car. Even though he’d just done the most atrocious thing that Emma had ever personally witnessed (or at least seen the aftermath of) up to that point, the smile she gave him in the hospital gave him hope for something more than flirtation with her. Even if it took him a while to act on it.

“It’s like a hot spring in a bathtub,” she explains.

Emma sits up all the way and extends her hand for him to take. They walk naked over to the bathroom where Killian does indeed see a large tub with little holes all around the inside of it, he assumes for the bubbles to come out to mimic a hot spring. Emma leaves him briefly to turn on the water, testing it to get the right temperature before flicking the lever to plug the bath. He notices the plenty of bubble solutions, fragrance oils, candles, a bottle of champagne (in a half melted ice bucket) with glasses, and even a bowl of rose petals sitting on the edge of the tub.

“They go all out, don’t they?” Killian asks impressed.

“It’s Paris, the City of Love.” Emma shrugs. She turns toward him and presses kisses under his chin. It goes straight to his cock, which starts stirring again.

“You can’t possibly be ready to go again already, Swan?” He groans as she starts nibbling on his earlobe. Killian feels her laugh against his neck sending chills down his spine.

“Let’s just relax in the tub and see where it takes us,” she says climbing into the tub, which is now half filled.

Killian follows her, relishing the feel of the steaming water on his muscles. Emma grabs the champagne, pops the cork, and fills the two glasses. Once the tub is filled, she turns off the water, throws some of the petals into it, lights the candles, and hands Killian a glass of the champagne. She holds her own out in front of her and he follows.

“To our honeymoon,” she says, looking straight into his eyes.

“Aye love, to our honeymoon.” They clink glasses and then both practically chug the sweet carbonated liquid before quickly placing them back on the edge and attacking each others lips.

Seems like their next coupling won’t be nearly as slow as the first.

Please leave comments and reblog! Also, let me know if you want to be tagged in future stories

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @csrolereversal

#Captain Swan #captain swan ff #cs smut #pwp #cs role reversal #kmomof4 #ouat canon divergence #cs honeymoon

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darkcolinodonorgasm · 4 years

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militiae species amor est - read on tumblr - ao3

Summary: A sleeping curse cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.

Happy Valentine’s Day everybody, to those who does not have a Valentine, to those who do! This is my entry for @csrolereversal and I would not be sharing this were it not for the wonderful, most amazing, irreplaceable @thisonesatellite !

Steph, you listened to my ramblings about this plot and my need to have this bloody underwater coffin and I’m in bloody awe of you. Thank you for being my companion once again, I love you so much and you chose the best summary in the whole world using my favourite quote from The Princess Bride and I don’t know whether to yell at you or hug you or do both - but probably both. From Italy. I don’t care, I’ll shout so loudly you’ll hear me!

Thank you so much darling ♥

So, everybody, give Steph lots of love because I might have cried a little when I read the finished fic because it not only contains so many elements I love, but it’s written by a wonderful, talented person and what more could you ask?

♥

#captain swan #cs au #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #my edit #cs role reversal #cs fanart #cs valentine's week #cs fic rec #thisonesatellite #cs edit

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allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 · 4 years

Photo

Its a brand new day, (it’s never too late to start)

Here is my second of two art pieces for the Valentine’s Day 2020 event for @csrolereversal! This one is a lot lighter this time with candy, paper, cookie, and coffee hearts instead of real ones this time.

The lovely @lassluna wrote a wonderful, adorable, two-part CS coffee shop au fic to accompany it. She posted part one so far which I’ll link below, and if you’re seeing this on a reblog, check back with the original post for an updated description with links to both parts when she posts part 2.

Here’s the summary from her post:

All Killian Jones wants is to survive this February as painlessly as possible. Hopefully without telling his best friend he loves her. That would be a disaster.

It’s made all the more difficult when he gains the attention of a secret admirer.

Asdfghjkl here are the fic links: FFN, Ao3, tumblr. ch1

Go give her fic some love!

#csrr #csrolereversal #cs role reversal #captain swan #cs au #coffee shop au #cs coffee shop au #best friends to lovers #cs ff #cs aesthetics #cs fic rec #aesthetics #lassluna #kayla's aesthetics #my aesthetics

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theonceoverthinker · 4 years

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A Winter’s Snowball (CS Role Reversal)

Summary: It’s unusual for love to be in the air just outside of a ball meant to inspire it, but that’s how the Charming family has always worked, hasn’t it?

AO3 Fanfiction.net

A/N: Hello, OUAT fandom! It’s great to be back, and just in time for the @csrolereversal!

What? Did you think you’d get rid of me so easily? As if!

AND LOOK AT THE AMAZING ARTWORK THAT INSPIRED THIS, YA’AL!!! ALL of the props in the world to my super awesome artist, @clockadile. Clockykins, what can I even say? I love this artwork. It’s an incredible mix of the classic Captain Swan aesthetics as well something so new and fun! The watercolors are gorgeous, and give off this amazing fairy tale feeling that works so well with all things OUAT! It really helped me to make this piece the quirky thing that it is.

()()()()()()()()

If there was one thing that Snow White was more certain of than anything in regards to her daughter, it was that she did things her own way. It’s what Snow loved about Emma the most -- Emma was hardly the ambiguous type, always upfront with her feelings and at-the-ready to follow her gut and her heart.

David joked that it was something the two of them had in common, and Snow wholeheartedly and unashamedly agreed with the sentiment, proud of all that it entailed, especially because in so many respects, they truly were different in so many other things.

For instance, they had different approaches to their kingdom’s grandest of celebrations.

Balls were fun for Snow and David -- remarkable events with elegant dances, decadent food, and encounters from all over the kingdoms of the world that brought with them memories the attendants would have for life. Rooms came alive as conversation, lights, and music beamed all throughout their castle. Snow was positively invigorated by everything about them, from the planning phase to the final bits of cleaning the castle’s halls up.

However, while they were fun for Snow, they weren’t so much for Emma, as she was often one to tell them. It wasn’t that she hated her dresses, the idea of dancing, or even the socializing -- quite the contrary in those respects, since she loved those things at times where balls weren’t being held.

No, what she disliked was actually what Snow loved the most -- the grandeur of it all. Emma compared balls in their castle to what would happen if an entire circus or bazaar was shoved into their dining room, calling it “too much to handle at once.” In her defense, she wasn’t wrong. Balls could serve as courtship openings, family reunions, dances, and managerial work all at once.

Oh well, not every daughter was like her parents. She supposed it couldn’t be helped.

At least Emma was like her where it counted.

That’s the conclusion Snow reached upon seeing Emma playing in the snow of all things from the balcony, in any case.

While Snow loved balls with all of her heart, even she wasn’t about to say no to a short break from one after a few hours, and few spots in the castle served better to hide away in during those breaks than the balcony just outside the ballroom. It was private enough where she could get a moment to herself, yet close enough to the festivities that if she was needed, she could be there within moments. And the view from this balcony in particular was simply gorgeous. Their castle was blessed with a luscious garden, and while the snowfall that started this morning and persisted until the start of the ball had covered the lovely bushes of flowers there, it left the ground with a beautiful blanket of snow amidst the garden’s many arches and gazebos that was quite the sight to take in all the same, and much of it was captured so well by that balcony’s vantage point.

Snow had spent a few minutes there by herself, enjoying both the quiet that now surrounded her and the cold and crisp nighttime air. It was so peaceful there that if not for the ball inside, she’d have been content spending the entire evening out there.

But all of the sudden, that placid atmosphere was interrupted when she heard a sound from down below.

It was a man’s yelp.

Immediately, Snow’s attention moved to the previously peaceful ground.

Her speedy reaction was rewarded when she saw a young man emerge from below the balcony, now hurrying across the formerly clean landscape.

“Y-your Majesty!” he cried, his right hand massaging his shoulder where a bright spot on his otherwise dark navy jacket appeared to be.

And then she heard a second, quite unorthodox sound.

It was her daughter’s voice.

“For the last time, Killian, it’s Emma!” Emma barked through a chortle. Something then flew from her form to his, something small, and something fast, but something Snow also couldn’t quite see -- that is, until it hit him in the chest.

Yes, the man -- Killian -- filled in the remaining blanks of her sight with another yelp.

“Bloody hell, that’s cold!” he shouted, as what was clearly now a snowball made contact with the space just above his ribs.

“Not used to the winter?” Emma asked, the hand that held her snowball now resting against her hip.

“Not at all,” Killian answered, seemingly coming down from the chill that the snowball birthed in him. “My work tends to keep me in warmer climates.”

It made sense, now that Snow thought on it. The way he was dressed spoke of a military profession, and if Snow remembered correctly from his introduction alongside his brother earlier in the evening, he was a lieutenant.

Hmm. A princess and a lieutenant -- how unorthodox.

Snow wasn’t surprised though -- after all, this was her daughter.

And they looked cute together.

“But,” Killian continued, “I will say, though the winters here are merciless, they are indeed beautiful all the same, just as you are, Your Highness.”

Instinctively, Snow’s hand shot to her mouth.

Killian seemed to instantly tell what he has done wrong as well, as a sound -- not of any existing tongue, but one that could only come from the worst of realizations -- left his mouth not three seconds after he addressed Emma.

Bless this young man’s heart -- Snow knew he was quite earnest and liked him already, but she knew her daughter well, a Emma was never one for royal titles.

“I-I!” Killian started saying, trying to cover up his tracks.

But Emma crouched to the ground and rolled up another snowball, clearly not about to let him get away with it.

“Looks like the lesson hasn’t sunken in yet,” Emma said, seemingly very excited about what was to come once more. “Good thing you like the winters here, because here’s another taste of them.”

Killian tried to catch the snowball with his hands, but was woefully unprepared for Emma’s speed. After all, lieutenant or not, no one could compare in a snowball fight to the girl who cornered her own father when she was only nine.

And so another snowball hit him, this time square in the chest. Another followed seconds later, just above Killian’s right bicep. A third hit just seconds after that, this time on his left knee.

Despite every part of her upbringing telling her she shouldn’t Snow couldn’t help but laugh as she watched the scene before it.

“Emma, Emma, Emma!” Killian yelled. “That’s your name! I promise to Poseidon that that’s all I’ll ever call you from now until my dying days! As far as I’m to ever concern myself with, the only name you go by is Emma! Will that suffice?”

Snow could hear her daughter chuckle as she approached Killian.

“Well,” she said, “when you put it like that, how can I say no?”

Killian’s breathing was so loud that Snow could hear it from the balcony, but while it was heavy, the last thing she expected to see was him fall to the ground from exhaustion.

That made it all the more startling when that’s exactly what happened.

“Killian!” Emma cried, her tone quickly shifting from lighthearted to worries as she now ran over to help him. Snow covered her mouth, now in freight, not daring to utter so much as a call in their direction out of fear of distracting Emma from aiding him.

This man -- he seemed so healthy. There was no way he could just collapse like this, could he?

Then again, Snow knew more than most just how powerful diseases could be in this world. It was certainly possible, and especially in this kind of weather.

Killian was right -- this weather was indeed merciless. But hopefully, it would make an exception this one time.

As Emma was checking on Killian’s situation, that’s what Snow prayed for.

Thankfully, with Emma’s help, it seemed like Killian could at least stand. Snow sighed in solace as she watched them rise from the ground, snowflakes sticking to their clothes, imprinting themselves onto them like fingerprints to a blade.

Few things were ever as much of a relief as seeing someone come through a scare like that. And though she cared for Killian’s fate, Snow was especially relieved for Emma’s sake. The guilt of feeling like one caused the death or even pain of another was something Snow would never even wish on her most vicious of enemies, let alone her own daughter. Words couldn’t begin to say how good it felt to know that Emma wouldn’t feel that way tonight.

“Thank you, Emma,” Killian said, just barely audible enough for Snow to hear. “I’ve worked with strong sailors before, but you’ve quite the powerful throwing -- and apparently, lifting -- arms on you.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Emma retorted, smiling and winking all the while.

Killian slowly stood back from her, as if testing his balance after his fall. Fortunately, he looked to be stable enough standing on his own, another relief in a moment filled with them. He and Emma smiled at each other, and Snow relaxed her elbows upon the balcony’s edge.

“I promise you I shan’t again.”

Emma turned and looked out towards the rest of the snowy garden, possibly in search of a bench or something they could sit down on.

Snow was tempted to call out to them and see if Killian needed any further assistance as opposed to letting him linger on outside in the cold, but before she could, she saw something in Killian’s right hand. It was obstructed by the night’s sky, but she knew what it was.

Oh, Emma!

Killian smirked. “But,” he continued, “I’ve quite the strong arms myself, and one thing you ought to know is that there’s only one thing a man can say after enduring an attack like that -- revenge is a dish best served cold!”

And with that last sentence, a muted snowball flung through the air and landed right in the middle of Emma’s back.

It was now Emma’s turn to yelp, and yelp, she did.

“Eep!” she screamed, jumping forward, only to trip and land face first into the snow.

Snow covered her mouth again, though unlike the previous times, she was unsure if it was out of shock, amusement, fear -- for Killian’s sake, that was -- or all three.

“You sneak! You planned that!” Emma shouted.

Killian’s smile had grown into a smirk so large, it bordered on a grin.

“Aye, love. Charming though you may be, I can’t let you get away with your crimes so easily.”

Despite Killian’s retaliation, Emma met it with a smirk as she got up and wiped the snow away, half shocked and half cocky.

“Something you ought to know, Killian -- Charming is my father, not me. I’m more of the vengeful type too. So trust me when I say you’re going to PAY for that!”

“Assuming you can hit me again,” Killian cheekily retorted, now smirking at her as he rolled another snowball into his grip. Snow realized as he did so that one of his hands was fake, but he was so adept at it that she hadn’t even noticed it. She wondered if Emma did. “Looks like I’m adapting quite well to these winters, aren’t I?”

“I’d say so, but let’s put it to the test, shall we?”

“Ready whenever you are, Emma.”

Emma said nothing, simply crouching down to grab another snowball of her own.

And then, the fight began.

Killian took off running, making sharp turns as he ran through the gardens, with Emma hot on his tail. The garden’s smaller space kept the game exciting, and kept them close to each other the whole time.

Snow had a feeling they liked it that way.

She certainly did.

For minutes on end, Snow watched them run around, laughing as their various snowballs hit and missed each other without reason or rhyme. It was so exciting to watch that she had completely let the time fly away from her, perhaps for too long given her role at this ball.

And someone took notice of her absence.

“Sn-o-ow?” David called in a sing-song fashion, walking out from behind the curtain onto the balcony, and gently pulling Snow close to him. “I was wondering where you went off to. And where’s Emma? It’s almost time for desser-.”

The finale of that sentence never came, as David grew quiet upon looking out into the expanse of the garden below them, clearly realizing what he was now bearing witness to.

As David studied the two of them, Snow eyed him warily. It was always impossible to tell how David would take things regarding Emma’s love life, and especially under such unconventional circumstances, even Snow was at a loss for how he would react.

After a pregnant pause that followed his glance at Emma and Killian, David looked to Snow, and then back to them, and then back to Snow.

“Are they having a snowball fight?” he finally asked, more confused than any other emotion Snow could so much as hope to discern from him.

“Yes, they are, David,” she answered, careful to keep pride and support in her tone.

David nodded. “Okay. Just wanted to check.”

Then, his reaction came out, and in a way Snow never expected it would -- he smiled.

“You know,” Snow said, positively beaming from his reaction, “when I pictured our daughter falling in love, I probably should’ve considered that beating whoever it was over the head with something was a possibility.”

“You didn’t?!” David cried, mock surprise littered in his voice.

Snow playfully smacked David’s chest, but settled back into his embrace not five seconds later.

“At least the snow won’t leave a scar, unlike the one my lovely Snow did,” he continued.

Feigning shock, Snow turned from him, her mouth agape and a hand to her collarbone. “Are you trying to get kicked out of this ball? Because if you are, know that you’re going to have a far worse time outside than they are if you do.”

David kissed her temple.

“No, I know my wife. She would never kick me out of a ball, and if she did, I would just take her with me.”

Snow chuckled as she once more snuggled up to David and looked out at Emma and Killian in the garden.

“Do you think we could take them in a snowball fight?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” David answered. “We’re the ones that taught Emma to throw a snowball in the first place.”

“That may be so, but she’s better at it than you.”

David scoffed, though his smile betrayed him. “She got lucky once, and you two have never let me live it down since then. I could take her.”

“He’s good, too. You should’ve seen him get the jump on Emma earlier.”

“Whose side are you on?!” David teased, nudging Snow.

“I’m just being realistic!”

The two of them broke down in laughter, watching as Emma and Killian came together in much the same way.

A powerful gust of wind brought Snow’s attention back to the fact that outside of their little bubble, there was still a ball going on, one they were needed at more than they were on this balcony.

Snow sighed as she sadly looked at David, who was already giving her the same look she knew she herself carried. Balls were wonderful, but she was starting to understand why Emma found herself able to ignore them so easily in favor of having such a wonderful time outside.

From atop the balcony, Snow could see Emma snuggle into Killian’s side, nuzzling her face into an unmarred part of his uniform for warmth while his arms surrounded her. Despite that chill, they looked so warm together.

Still, all it took was another gust to remind Snow that while it was lovely outside, it was indeed cold, and these winters were gorgeous, but intense all the same.

“We should make sure they come inside,” Snow said. She didn’t know how she’d broach the topic, especially since it meant revealing that they’d been watching the two of them for however long they’d all been out here.

Thankfully, before Snow needed to put too much effort into it, David beat her to the punch, at last breaking the silence between the two couples for the first time.

“Hey, guys!” he shouted.

Never before had David seen two people stop what they were doing faster than Emma and Killian as they jumped apart from their embrace and straightened their postures to face David. It was almost enough to make Snow keel over in laughter.

David smirked.

“They’re serving cake now, and it’s going fast,” he continued. David then turned to Killian. “The first thing you should know about Emma is that she cannot ever be held back from her desserts without serious repercussions.”

The smirk dissolved into a smile, one that grew as he saw the tension drop in both of their shoulders. Emma smiled at him, moving closer to Killian once more.

Killian let himself smile as well.

“Well, in that case, we shall be right up!” he called out. “Can’t have Emma going without a slice. She has too good of an aim to chance the consequences.”

Emma started laughing, a laugh that Snow recognized well. It was a laugh that spoke of such happiness, such hope, and Snow couldn’t be happier to hear it.

From below them, Emma and Killian made a start for the nearest entrance back into the castle, and while Snow and Charming came back into the ball, Snow made a point to request to one of the servants that a set of matching towels be brought to the door closest to the garden. And while the servant gave her a look, all Snow could do was smile and shrug.

After all, her daughter did things her own way, and as it turns out, so could she.

#ouat #once upon a time #captain swan #cs #emma swan #killian jones #cs role reversal #csrr

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