#cs ff

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Sleeps Ten, My Ass (2/2)

Summary: It's become tradition for Emma Swan to spend the holidays with her brother, their cousins, and their families. This Christmas was no different. The group booked a four night stay at a cozy mountain cabin to celebrate. The listing said it sleeps ten, but upon arrival they discover a small issue. The listing was wrong and now Emma and Killian Jones, the only two single people within their group, have to spend the next four nights sharing a bed. Fortunately... they've shared a bed before.

A/N: @eastwesthomeisbest I'm sorry this Part Two took a little longer to get to you than I'd planned, but I hope you'll find it worth the wait! Again, it was lovely being your CS Secret Santa!! I hope you have a wonderful 2025!!

For the rest of my readers, I started over with my Curious Crew Tag List (which I typically do at the first of the year). Although I'm pretty sure I've added everyone who told me to date that they wished to be added, if I missed you (SORRY) or you wish to be added, please let me know!!

Thanks to @kmomof4 for looking this over for me and to the @cssecretsanta2020 for once again hosting a fantastic event. Side note, this fic also completes my Only One Bed: Holiday Edition square for the CS Winter Bingo!

Rated E / Also available on ao3 / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me! / Part One

Part Two

“Merry Christmas!”

Emma clinked her mimosa against the glasses of her family and friends then settled onto the sofa next to her brother. Taking a sip of the bubbly beverage, she perused the room and let the early morning alcohol warm her from the inside as the fireplace beside her took care of the outside.

Much as Killian had done for her last night.

Shaking off that thought - and the remnants of the dreams she’d had where he’d kept her warm in other ways - Emma tucked her legs beneath her and gave Liam her attention as he passed out the gifts.

The couples tended to exchange gifts with one another in private before they met as a group, and Emma imagined this year was no different. The gifts Liam was handing out were the ones each of them had brought for a specific member of their group. Every Thanksgiving they drew names at random so each person only had to buy something for one other person. Then, Christmas morning, they would all open their gifts and reveal who had bought for whom.

Emma was grateful that she did not have to buy something for everyone, but she did not enjoy the fact that they opened the gifts one at a time while the rest of the group watched, making the person unwrapping the center of attention.

Well, the person unwrapping and the person who had gifted it.

“David, I love it!” Elsa praised with a laugh, holding up the lightweight sweatshirt for everyone to see.

Printed across the front in bold lettering, it read: No. I don’t need a coat. The cold doesn’t bother me.

“That’s perfect,” Liam chortled, already tearing his gift open.

And around the room they went. After Elsa was Liam, then Kristoff, then Anna, who Emma had drawn and gifted a pair of boots she’d known her cousin had been wanting. When Anna was finally done gushing over them, Emma began to open her gift.

“So… who will I be thanking for this…” She’d gotten the rest of the paper off and the lid to the box open when her words fell away as she looked over the myriad of items within.

“It’s a, uh...” Killian cleared his throat and pawed at the patch of skin behind his ear as he went on to explain. “It’s a sort of… winter stake-out care package, I guess is what you’d call it.”

Emma began lifting the items out of the box as Killian described them and the thought process behind his selecting each one.

“I’d noticed earlier this month when we all got together for that holiday festival that you needed a new beanie,” he said as she slipped the hunter green beanie onto her head and then pulled out a pair of soft gloves. “Now, I know you don’t tend to wear gloves on a stake-out because they get in the way of you taking photos or making notes on your phone, but with these you can slip the individual fingertips off so your hands can stay warm while you still have use of your finger pads.”

Emma tested them out whilst he explained their function, loving the ease with which she could quickly bare her thumbs and fingertips. They would certainly come in handy, as would the next item.

“A portable electric kettle,” Killian informed the group when more than one of them had murmured an inquiry about the item in question. “You just add water and plug it into the cigarette lighter in your vehicle and it’ll boil in less than 90 seconds. It also serves as a thermos once you’ve heated the water.” Killian lifted his chin in a pointed gesture and added, “There’s some hot cocoa packets and instant coffee in there as well.”

“This is…” Emma began, somewhat at a loss of what to say.

“Do you like it?”

Emma’s eyes jumped to Killian’s which were filled with a hesitant anticipation; his brows furrowed as his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“I do,” she answered, smiling softly at him. “This was all so thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Swan,” he replied, a bright smile adorning his lips as he let out a heavy breath of relief.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mary Margaret elbow David in the ribs. No doubt it was an attempt to keep whatever snide comment he had at the ready about her occupation from falling out of his mouth. Emma knew her brother did not approve of her line of work. In truth, most of them didn’t. The only one who never gave her a hard time about it, who never questioned her abilities or capability, who only ever asked about it out of genuine curiosity and interest, and without an ulterior motive to somehow diminish her success or exaggerate the dangers, was Killian.

Emma tried to focus on the remaining gifts being opened by the rest of their group, but her mind kept circling back to her own. The way Killian had noticed the state of her beanie and how he inherently knew and understood the reason why she tended to not wear gloves, despite her having the opposite reaction to the cold from her cousin.

The cold did bother her. It always had.

The contrast of her and Elsa’s response to it had always been a source of amusement within their circle. As evidenced by David’s gift to Elsa and past comments made regarding the issue. It struck Emma, in that moment, that Killian had never taken her objection to the cold lightly. From the beginning, he had always made sure she was comfortable. Warm. Content.

Like last night. Like many times before. Like with his gift. Making sure she’d be warm and comfortable during the long, wintery nights whilst on a stake-out. The way he’d made sure she was warm that night. The night in the Caribbean when a cool ocean breeze had met her damp skin - sweat soaked from dancing in a crush of people - and she’d shivered, her slip of a dress, which left little to the imagination, unable to combat the chill as goosebumps erupted over her entire body.

She could still feel the soft fabric of Killian’s jacket around her shoulders, the warmth it transferred from his body to hers, his scent lingering on the collar and intoxicating her sinuses in the same way the rum had infused their blood. The memory of the heat of his hand, pressing against the small of her back as he walked her to her cabin made Emma shift in her seat, as did the whisper of his hot breath against her neck when she recalled the words he’d murmured into her ear.

“I’ll keep you warm, love. Just say the word and I’ll make you burn until morning. It would be both our pleasure, I swear it.”

He had been good to his word.

So, so good.

“Who's ready for breakfast?”

Mary Margaret’s inquiry, which signaled the end of the gift giving portion of the day, shook Emma from her thoughts. Her highly inappropriate thoughts. Thoughts that had caused her cheeks to grow hot and blush pink; a fact she hoped no one had noticed.

“You look a bit flushed, Swan,” Killian commented on their way to the dining room - much to Emma’s mortification. “I guess my gifts are doing their job.”

Unable to meet his eye, Emma swiped the new beanie off her head and peeled the gloves off her hands. “Yep. I’m nice and toasty now. Thanks.”

“Anytime, love,” he replied in a deep, quiet timbre. Was she imagining the mixture of promise and longing in his words? Was he merely being his usual cheeky self, or was he reminding her of all the ways they could produce heat together… and his willingness to explore them with her?

“Who needs a refill?” Elsa offered, holding up the bottle of champagne and the pitcher of orange juice.

“Me!” Emma responded, hurrying towards the island with her champagne flute and receiving the first of many, many refills she’d imbibe that day.

~/~

This was a bad idea. No, it was a great idea, but it was also, potentially, a very, very bad idea.

It had been Anna’s idea. Which wasn’t the reason it was a bad one. It was actually a really good one. After a long day of cooking and drinking and eating and games and drinking and cleaning and drinking, her cousin had suggested they end the evening with a soak in the hot tub.

Which was a terrific idea, except… wearing nothing but her bikini, in a hot tub, with Killian Jones, also in his swimsuit, with his hair curling from the steam and water droplets clinging to his chest hair and pooling in the hollow of his throat while she - and the rest of them - continued to polish off the bottles of champagne that never seemed to end was a very, very bad idea.

But when had a bad idea ever stopped her before?

Especially when said bad idea had actually crossed her mind days before when she’d packed her bag. More specifically, the tiny, red, string bikini she’d worn during their cruise vacation. But no, she absolutely did not choose to pack this particular bikini because she remembered the look on Killian’s face and the hunger in his eyes when he saw her in it the first time on the pool deck. The same hunger that was threatening to devour her from a darkened, forget-me-not gaze across the hot tub.

Okay, maybe she did pack this particular bikini on purpose with this particular scenario in mind.

The idea wasn’t the only thing that was bad. Emma was also being bad. Very, very bad. And she wanted to do bad things. Very, very bad things with the man she found herself alone in the hot tub with after all their family and friends had decided to turn in about an hour after they’d first all got in.

“D’you wanna stay inna bit longer or turn in,” Killian asked with a heavy tongue from all the alcohol he’d consumed over the course of the day.

The same amount that was currently coursing through her veins and causing her to want to act on her very, very bad ideas.

“Prolly should turn in,” she replied in an equally tipsy tone. “M’ry Marget wants to head out early for after Kissmas shopping.”

Another loathsome tradition, but one Emma complied with for her sister-in-law’s sake. She wasn’t much for bargain hunting, but she knew what the bonding time together meant to the woman who had married into a sisterhood (despite Elsa and Anna actually being Emma’s cousins) after being an only child all her life and an orphan for the greater part of it.

“Right then,” Killian said, standing from where he’d been lounging in the corner and offering her a hand up. “We should get you to bed, love.”

Taking his hand, Emma stood, then immediately lost her footing and fell into his wet, firm chest. His arms circled her waist, his inebriation making him a bit clumsy and the slickness of their skin causing one of his hands to inadvertently land a bit too low. Palming her ass cheek may have been an accident, but the way his grip tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he prompted her hips forward was not.

Nor was the way she responded, bringing herself flush against him as their lips, teeth and tongues met with fervor. He groaned into her mouth when she raked her nails down his back, then reached up and wrapped his other hand around the back of her neck.

“I want you,” he breathed, the much needed air secondary to the words he seemed desperate to convey.

“I want you, too,” she told him before suddenly finding herself in his arms, being carried out of the hot tub and into the cabin. After setting her down by the dying embers of the fire, he grabbed a nearby towel and wrapped it around her.

“I’m gonna shut off the hot tub and close things up,” he informed her. “Wait for me in our room?”

Emma nodded, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she headed for the stairs. Glancing back over her shoulder, she giggled at the way he hurriedly - and drunkenly - took care of the tasks so he could follow after her. He didn’t keep her waiting long. No sooner had she finished drying off - still clad in her bikini, so not completely dry - and taking her hair down from the high bun she’d pulled it into so it would stay out of the water, than he came through the door like a man on a mission.

His mission, it seemed, was to pick up where they’d left off. In less than a second she was back in his arms, their hands indulging in the vast expanse of exposed skin while their mouths fought to devour the other.

“You’ve no idea what seeing you in this bikini does to me,” he growled against her lips, his fingers toying with the knotted strings tied at her back.

Reaching between them, Emma cupped his hardness through the thin, damp fabric of his trunks and hummed into his mouth before murmuring, “Actually, I think I do.”

“We’re drunk,” he stated, pulling back slightly while his hands gripped her hip and grazed her back.

“W’are,” she slurred, flicking her gaze up to his. “Your point?”

“We were drunk last time, too,” he reminded her, sloppily. “I’ve always regretted that.”

“Regretted it?”

“Not what we did,” he clarified, his fingers brushing up her side, over the back of her shoulder, then back down her arm. “I regret I wasn’t in complete control of my faculties when I took you. That the details of you, naked and quivering beneath me, are hazy in my memory because of the alcohol clouding them.”

Emma cupped his length harder, pulling a grunt from the depths of his chest and causing his eyes to slip shut as his lips parted in pleasure. “Will that regret keep you from taking me again?” she asked, kneading the underside of his balls with her fingertips. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she gripped his earlobe between her teeth, eliciting a sharp intake of breath that interrupted the moans vibrating up his throat. “Will that regret keep you from allowing me the pleasure of being taken?”

Killian jerked his head away, her teeth scraping against the lobe of his ear. A growl rumbled in his chest as he pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes dark and piercing despite the alcohol hooding his gaze.

“Absolutey the fuck not,” he declared in a tone that curled her toes and nearly made her knees give out.

With a series of sharp tugs, he undid the knots that had kept her bikini top secured, then tore the flimsy piece of fabric from her breasts so his mouth and hands could replace it. Clutching his head to her chest, Emma gasped and wrapped her legs around his waist when he managed to lift her, one handed, so he could carry her to the bed. He probably would have deposited her on the mattress with more finesse had he been sober, but Emma wasn’t complaining, not when he sank to his knees at the end of it and began divesting her of her bikini bottoms with his teeth.

She wasn’t sure whether she said them out loud, but the last coherent words to flow through her consciousness before his tongue began its assault on her sex were, we really ought to do this sober at some point.

~/~

“Got our to-go coffees!”

Emma groaned, her head resting against her arms which were crossed on top of the table they’d just finished having breakfast on. If you could call a slice of dry toast breakfast, that is.

She really shouldn’t have drank so much the day before.

She hated to think how much worse her hangover would be if, after their… relations, Killian hadn’t insisted they both take an aspirin and chase it with a large glass of water before crashing.

Yet another thing to be grateful to Killian Jones for.

And he had given her many, many things to be grateful for last night.

Of course, she’d given him her fair share as well.

Not that she should be thinking about any of that now, especially when thinking in general was causing her head to pound.

“Here,” Elsa said, prompting Emma to sit up and take the to-go cup being offered to her. “I slipped a little hair of the dog in it for you.”

Emma glanced down to where Elsa was brandishing the flask she had tucked away in her purse, a very Jones-esque smirk pulling at her lips.

“Your brother-in-law is a bad influence,” Emma chortled, then winced at the way the action made her stomach gurgle.

Elsa laughed and stood, prompting the rest of the table to follow. The four women made their way out of the diner and towards the shops that were just beginning to open for the after Christmas sales. Emma took a large gulp of her doctored coffee, willing it to sustain her these next few hours. She was gonna need all the help she could get.

“Emma,” Elsa said quietly, as they milled around the third - or was it the fourth - shop of the day.

When Emma glanced over at her, Elsa tilted her head towards the corner, indicating a more private place to chat, and Emma, curious, followed her cousin.

“What’s up?” Emma asked, noting the discomfort and hesitation Elsa was struggling with.

“It’s just…” Elsa began, tentatively. “I know you were joking before, when you said Killian was a bad influence, but…”

“But?”

Elsa’s cool blue eyes locked onto Emma’s. She knew that look. It was the same look David would give her when he was about to go all I’m-telling-you-this-for-your-own-good, trust-me-I-know-what-I’m-talking-about, slightly insufferable, older brother on her.

“He isn’t a bad guy.”

Stunned, Emma blanched and assured, “I know that.”

“I mean,” Elsa continued. “I know David thinks he has a reputation of being a ladies’ man, and has written him off as a ‘bad boy’, but Killian isn’t actually like that.”

“Okay,” Emma drawled, suddenly very uncomfortable with where this conversation might be going. “Why are you tell--”

“Because… He talks about you all the time,” Elsa told her. There was something in her tone that alerted Emma to the fact that her words might be considered a betrayal, but she’d decided to place her loyalties with her cousin rather than her brother-in-law. “He asks about you when it’s been awhile since we’ve all gotten together. I really… I really think he has a thing for you, and I wouldn’t want any misconceptions to get in the way of you possibly--”

“Elsa, stop.”

Emma couldn’t listen to anything more her cousin had to say. It was too much. Too much to hope that this… whatever it was between her and Killian, was more than some ‘dalliance’. More than an itch he felt the need to scratch or some challenge he wanted to conquer.

More than just another notch on his bedpost.

“Look,” she said, her tone not quite as snappy as it had been. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you don’t have to defend Killian to me. I know he’s a decent guy, and I…” Emma wasn’t sure what else to say without giving away her feelings, something she was barely ready to do with herself, and nowhere near ready to admit to anyone else.

“Right,” Elsa said, letting Emma off the hook. “Well, I’m glad we got that sorted. I just… Now that Liam and I are married, the Jones brothers are a permanent fixture in our lives and I--”

“I know,” Emma interjected, wishing to end the awkward conversation. “I get it.”

“Do you?” Elsa asked, stepping a bit closer. “Emma, Killian isn’t going anywhere. I know you keep your guard up because you’re afraid of being wrong about him, but… give him a chance? I really think he just might surprise you. In the best way.”

Elsa’s words lingered in Emma’s mind for the rest of the day, as did nearly every interaction she’d ever had with Killian over the past several years. If what Elsa had said was true, that Killian had genuine feelings for her, then why hadn’t he ever made a move?

Granted, in the early years of Elsa and Liam’s relationship, he only came around a couple of times, but he had been a solid member of their group for at least the past two. Yet, he’d never given her any indication of being serious about her. Sure, he flirted and made suggestive comments and did outrageous things with his eyebrows and tongue, but he did that with everyone, right? Even David and Kristoff.

He didn’t have their preferred drink at the ready when they inevitably showed up late, though. Nor did he buy them thoughtful gifts that affirmed and supported their chosen profession. He also did not gravitate towards the rest of them like he did her. And she to him.

He didn’t look at any of them the way he looked at her. In fact… She could not recall a single time they’d been together when she’d seen him look at another woman that way. Not even on the cruise when there had been no shortage of beautiful women in revealing, eye-catching outfits. Not even when those women had come onto him, slipping their room numbers, phone numbers, and who knows what else into his pocket.

Surely, given the fact that he was gorgeous and charming and sexy as hell - don’t get her started on the accent - and had women throwing themselves at him, he had no trouble keeping his date book full and his bed warm. It’s not like he’d been pining after her all this time.

Right?

~/~

The ladies got back to the cabin later than they’d planned. Initially, the group was going to make do with the leftovers for dinner, cleaning out the fridge and making sure nothing went to waste before checking out the next day. However, the shopping and bonding and girl-time had led to them informing the guys that they’d be dining out instead and to not wait up.

Emma - despite the internal turmoil and lingering questions her conversation with Elsa had left her with - had actually enjoyed the day with her cousins and sister-in-law. So much so that it might have been her idea to ditch leftovers with the gents and treat themselves to a lovely meal at the bistro they’d walked by several times during their shopping ventures through the town.

Was a small part of that suggestion due to the fact she wasn’t ready to face Killian?

Yup. Absolutely. 100%

There was no putting it off any longer, though. Despite their insistence that the men should not wait up for them, they had. Because, of course they had.

After a brief recap of the day and a run down of what would need to be done in the morning before they checked out of the cabin, the group dispersed, heading to their respective rooms and turning in for the night. Emma glanced at Killian, whom she’d been avoiding making eye contact with, and could see the same uncertain, hesitant, bracing-for-what-may-come-next demeanor she knew she’d walked into the cabin with.

Making her way into their room, she noted how he’d made the bed and picked up their discarded suits that had still littered the floor when she’d left early that morning. She swallowed heavily at the memory of her quickly quieting her alarm and getting ready - queasy and heavy-headed - as silently and stealthily as possible as not to wake him and force an interaction. What had it been like for him to wake up alone? Had he been plagued by thoughts and memories and questions all day like she had? Eager to see her and discover what it all meant whilst also willing to allow the hours to drag on and avoid having to face a reality that may not meet hopeful expectations?

The door softly snicked closed, the air growing heavy and charged as tense anticipation palpated throughout the room.

“Swan,” Killian began, his voice gentle but resolved as he hovered by the door, giving her as much space as he could within the privacy of their room. “I know talking about last night is probably the last thing you wish to do, but I really think, given that it’s happened twice now, that we really ought to dis--”

“You’re right,” she agreed, cutting him off. “I think we need to talk about it.”

Killian balked. That was clearly not the response he’d been prepared to receive from her. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she said, wetting her lips and shuffling her feet against the carpet, her gaze turned downward as she slipped her hands into her back pockets. “I’ve, uh… I've been thinking about it all day. I mean…” she paused, her eyes closing briefly at how that statement could be misconstrued, even if the presumption wouldn’t be completely off base. “I’ve been thinking about us all day.”

“Me, too,” he replied with understanding, no hint of teasing or suggestive provocation in his tone.

Emma lifted her gaze and met his eyes. He was looking at her as one would a cornered animal, cautious and careful of making any sudden movement that might frighten the creature away.

“Actually,” she continued, her heart thumping wildly in her chest as she gathered the courage to make her next confession. “I’ve been thinking about us since that night on the ship.”

“Aye,” he breathed out on little more than a whisper. “Me, too.”

With her hands still tucked away in her pockets, she dipped her gaze down to her feet once more and said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he replied without hesitation.

It took her a moment to get over her own.

“The other night,” she began, haltingly. “When you implied that you didn’t share your bed often enough to develop a preference on which side of the… I know it’s none of my business, but…”

“But?”

Flicking her gaze to his once more, she took a breath and asked, “How often is not often enough?”

Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear; a usually endearing tell of his, but one that had her stomach churning at that moment.

“I, uh… actually…” He cleared his throat and cast his gaze aside, though he did throw a furtive glance her way as he answered, “This past year I’ve only shared my bed with one person.”

“Oh,” Emma replied, her heart sinking a bit. “Can I ask who?”

Killian’s head snapped back towards her, a look of amused confusion on his face. His expression softened and he closed the space between them, his hand coming up to cup the side of her face, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw as he said, “Don’t you know, Emma… It’s you.”

“What?” she exhaled, stupidly. “What do you mean… me?”

“I haven’t been with another woman since last Christmas when you kissed me beneath the mistletoe.”

Emma knew her mouth was hanging open. She knew she must have looked - in his words - absolutely gobsmacked. “B-But that was…” she stuttered, recalling the moment he was referring to. “That was just a silly, little peck on the lips because Elsa had hung it over the bar station and caught us standing there. It was hardly even a kiss.”

“Perhaps not to you,” he said with a tinge of hurt in his voice. “But it was to me.”

Dropping his hand he took a small step back and Emma instantly regretted making it seem as though the kiss hadn’t been a big deal. In truth, she’d had to convince herself for months afterward that it wasn’t.

“But it wasn’t just the kiss,” he continued. “It’s what the kiss exposed.”

Emma felt her breath hitch at the way he was looking at her now: vulnerable, unguarded, and - to use the word he’d just uttered - thoroughly exposed.

“Which was?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and a longing took over in his forget-me-not depths. “That you’re it for me, Swan. I…” Boldly, he approached her again, his words and expression leaving no room for doubt as to his sincerity. “There’s no one else. I don’t want anyone else. You’re the one I want.”

“Why… Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked, the sound of her heart thundering in her ears, her chest rising and falling a bit too rapidly.

He cocked his head to one side, an uncomfortable expression taking hold of his features as he reminded her, “At the time, you were with that Walsh bloke, and despite my dislike of the fellow, it seemed bad form to make heartfelt declarations whilst you were in a relationship.” Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled heavily and added, “When it did, thankfully, end, although his timing was rubbish, leaving you high and dry on Valentine’s Day, you seemed a bit… put off by the idea of, well, all men.”

“Right,” she said, her cheeks flushing hot at the reminder. “My rant at the pub about how all men are bastards and how I was vowing to live a celibate life from then on.”

“Aye,” he chuckled. “Didn’t seem like the right time to suggest we start… anything.”

“So,” she said, understanding why he’d taken a step back. “You gave me some space.”

“I thought it best to give it time. Let you heal. Remind yourself that, though the wanker had broken your heart, at least that meant it still worked.”

“And then,” she said, prompting him to continue. “The cruise.”

“Aye, the cruise,” he parroted, swallowing hard. “Liam and Elsa’s wedding, both of us in the wedding party, spending all that time together, flirting, connecting. I thought… I thought, perhaps, it was finally my chance. Our chance. We had that amazing night together. Not just the sex, but everything else that had led up to it. And then…”

“And then, I metaphorically ran for the hills the next morning.”

Killian dropped his head, his shoulders tense as he drew in a deep breath. “I was afraid that I may have taken advantage of--”

“No, Killian,” she said, cupping his cheek and urging him to look at her. “We went over that the next day. You didn’t take advantage of me. At least, not anymore than I took of you. That wasn’t why I--”

“I know, love,” he murmured. “I know you weren’t ready. You were still getting over--”

“No, I wasn’t,” she told him. “I got over Walsh a long time ago, I just…”

“What?” he asked, his eyes flicking between hers. “You just what, Swan?”

A contrite expression pulled at her brows and she dropped her hand to his chest as she confessed, “I didn’t want to be just another notch on your bedpost. I didn’t want to be some conquest.”

“Oh, Emma,” he whispered, gathering her in his arms. “You are not some conquest. Not to me.”

He held her for several beats of their hearts, his face nuzzling the top of her head. “Ever since that night, I have waffled between the desire to respect your wishes, and the urge to fight for what I want.” Pulling back, he gazed down at her and professed, “I’m done waffling. I want you, Emma. I want to be with you. I want to pursue you, and woo you, and court you in all the ways you ought to be.” Bringing his hand up, he caressed the side of her face with the backs of his fingers and murmured, “But only if you want that as well. Whatever we become is as much up to you as it is to me.”

“That all sounds good to me,” she said, pulling a deep chuckle from his chest, and they both smiled at one another, basking in the joy of the moment.

A joy that transitioned as they stood there, lightly caressing the other, breathing the other in, and gazing into each other’s eyes. Eyes that were darkening and becoming more hooded and intense as the atmosphere began to electrify around them.

When their lips met, it wasn’t in the chaotic and frenzied way they had in the instances before. There was no less passion, no less heat, but the desperation in this kiss was for closeness, intimacy, and not because either of them thought this might be the only time they’d ever get a chance to experience the other in this way.

After a long, thorough, languid exploration of her mouth, Killian’s moved to her jaw, the space below her ear, then down her neck. Emma’s fingers carded through his hair as his tongue mapped the slope of her shoulder, his hand gently pulling at the collar of her shirt to expose a greater path.

“I agree,” he murmured into her skin, his lips applying soft kisses and gentle, sucking pressure to her pulse points as they traveled back up her neck.

“With what?” Emma panted, torn between wanting to bask in this unhurried moment of enjoyment and her eagerness to move things along so they could get to the really good stuff.

“With what you said last night,” he reminded her, pulling his face away from her neck so he could stare down at her with a smoldering gaze of desire. “We really ought to do it sober sometime, and I see no better time than now. Do you?”

“Uh, yeah. No. I mean…” Emma silently cursed herself for sounding like an idiot. Taking a deep breath, she reached down and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, then began lifting it as she replied, “I think so, too.”

Killian raised his arms, allowing her to peel the shirt from his body. His breath visibly hitched beneath her touch as she ran her fingers down the front of his chest; the muscles in his lower abdomen jumping when they reached the top of his jeans where his body hair began to taper into a happy trail. She could feel the heat of his gaze as she loosened his belt, heard the soft gasp that fell from his lips when she unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and the groan he let out when she slipped her hand past his boxer briefs to wrap around his hardening, hot, velvety length sent a shiver of wonder down her spine.

“I think,” she whispered in a sultry tone, flicking up her gaze up from beneath her lashes to meet his; her words causing them to open after her actions had clearly made them fall shut in pleasure. “I’ll be the one doing the taking this time.”

A shudder ran through him and his gaze darkened. “As you wish,” he murmured, his timbre low and gravelly and making her want to do all sorts of naughty things to him.

Her hand still wrapped around his cock, she guided him to the edge of the bed and prompted him to sit on the edge as she sank down onto her knees.

“Lie back,” she instructed while working to free him from his jeans and underwear.

“As my lady commands,” he replied, collapsing back onto the mattress, though his head remained lifted so he could watch.

After divesting him of his remaining garments, Emma pulled her hair into a high ponytail. She delighted in the way his body jumped and quivered beneath her touch; her teasing caresses and taunting kisses applied to all the areas except where he’d want them most. Pained pants puffed from his chest and soft whimpers collected in the back of his throat. The cords of his neck strained whenever his head fell back, his eyes following the motion, his lips parted and sticking at the corners whenever his teeth weren’t burying themselves into their soft flesh. When she finally turned her attention to his neglected manhood, his hips jerked off the bed from the feel of her tongue running the length of his cock.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed, his hands balling up the comforter in a white-knuckeled grip.

“Shhhh,” she admonished. “Don’t make me gag you like you had to with me last night.”

The reminder forced a half-growl, half-groan from his chest, but it fully transformed into a moan of pleasurable relief when she took him fully into her mouth.

“Gods above, Swan,” he croaked after several minutes of her working him over, trying to keep his voice down. Trying… and failing. “Fuck!”

With a soft pop, Emma released him and stood.

“Apologies, love,” he whispered in a desperate tone. “Please. Don’t stop.”

“I have no intentions of stopping,” she assured him. “But you clearly need help staying quiet.”

If he had a retort to her statement, it must have been forgotten when she lifted her shirt over her head and then removed her bra. Killian’s tongue slowly dragged across his lips, his eyes intently focused on her as she shimmied out of her own jeans and panties. Her black lace panties that matched her bra; a set, like her swimsuit, she had intentionally packed with him in mind.

Black lace panties that she picked up off the floor and let hang off her index finger as she made her way up onto the bed, mounting him dramatically and straddling his hips.

“Are you gonna be a good boy and keep quiet, or…”

She swung her panties once around her finger. His Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes trained on the black fabric until it came to a rest, crooked on her finger once more, before they met hers. Emma could see the gears turning in his mind, trying to decide which he’d prefer.

After a deliciously taut moment, he said, “I’ll be good. I promise.”

“Mmmm,” Emma hummed, leaning down so her lips could hover over his. “Good choice.”

She laid her panties on the pillow next to his head as they kissed - just in case. Killian groaned when his tongue ran alongside hers and Emma knew it was because he could taste the brine of his precum still lingering there. When she finally broke off the kiss so she could sit back and position herself over his length, he followed. They both broke the promise of being quiet when he slipped inside her, filling her, stretching her, molding her to him as though they were only ever meant to fit one another.

Rolling her hips, Emma began to move as Killian held her. Murmurs, grunts, staccatoed breaths, sweet nothings, curses, praises, all filled the space between them as their bodies rolled, their hips swiveled, their lips collided, their eyes connected, and their pleasure mounted.

Whenever Emma would arch her back, Killian latched onto her breasts, lavishing them with his tongue and applying sweet torture with his teeth. Torture that reverberated down to her clit, causing it to throb and ache until she couldn’t take it any longer. Pushing Killian back down onto the mattress, she ground down hard against him in an attempt to alleviate the torment. When she felt the damp press of his thumb against her she nearly cried out before remembering herself.

“That’s it, love,” he encouraged, vigorously applying just the right amount of pressure and rhythm to her clit as he shifted beneath her so he could continue to thrust up into her warm, slick center. “Fuck, you feel so good. So tight. So soft. So wet.” His words became breathier and more strained, his exertions unrelenting as his thumb and cock competed to bring her to completion. “Come for me,” he pleaded, though there was a tone of command that grew more prominent as he repeated them.

“Come for me, love. I want you to come. Need you to come. Come for me, Emma. Oh, Emma. Emma, Emma, My Emma. Come!”

And come, she did.

Hard.

Showing her no mercy, Killian kept pounding into her, his ministrations at her clit sending wave after wave of ecstasy and bone-numbing pleasure through her, making it impossible for her to stay upright. Collapsing against him, she felt his rhythm falter for a few brief seconds when he brought up his knees, giving him the necessary leverage to chase after her into the euphoric abyss she was still tumbling down. The sounds of his desperation panted and grunted and moaned in her ear, until his breath hitched and guttural groanings, deeper than words, reverberated through his chest and stuttered over his lips like his hips did against hers.

Emma wasn’t sure how long they laid there, sated and spent and unbearably content as their bodies cooled and their breaths evened out.

“Do you need to move?” Killian asked, his legs stretching back out as his arms kept her held firmly against him.

“I don’t want to,” she mumbled into the side of his neck. “But I probably ought to.”

During their post-coital cuddling, he’d already begun to soften and slip from her, but the emptiness she felt when he fully left her had them both quickly moving through their aftercare routines so they could be back in the other’s arms, nestled beneath the covers, as quickly as possible.

“Does it all still sound good to you, love?” Killian questioned between the soft kisses he was applying to the back of her shoulder.

“The wooing and pursuing and courting, you mean?” she clarified, sleepily.

“Aye.”

“Mmmm, you bet.”

~/~

“Well, I think that’s everything,” Liam said, tying a knot on the last of the trash bags that needed to be taken out. “Elsa is going over the check-out list one last time, but I think we’ve taken care of everything.”

“I don’t see why we even bothered,” David groused. “It’s not like the owner kept up his end of things.”

“And Elsa will make sure her review reflects that,” Liam assured him.

Emma and Killian exchanged amused glances with one another. Other than the heat going out that one night - which Kristoff had managed to fix the next day - she and Killian had been the only ones truly ‘inconvenienced’ by the misleading information in the cabin’s listing.

An inconvenience she was tempted to leave a five star review for.

Sleeps ten, her ass… and her eternal gratitude.

The End

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)

@bluewildcatfanatic @scotchiegirl @jonesfandomfanatic @idristardis @lfh1226-linda

@paradiselady19 @phoenix-untamed @jackieorioncat @tiganasummertree @snowbellewells

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@kday426 @gingerchangeling @winterbaby89

[myfearless-love]

Where the Lightning Strikes - CS one-shot

Relationship: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Characters: Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones

Additional Tags: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, There Was Only One Bed, Trapped by Weather, Touch-Starved, Killian Jones Has Self-Worth Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Soft Emma Swan, Slow Burn, Scars

Summary: In which Killian meets his match in stubbornness for perhaps the hundredth time, and Emma questions his definition of "fine." (Enchanted Forest AU)

READ HERE: AO3

Preview:

Tagging some folks who might be interested:

@anmylica @elfiola @zaharadessert @gingerchangeling @undercaffinatednightmare

@jrob64 @teamhook @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @mie779

@winterbaby89 @tiganasummertree @stahlop @rylieblu @ultraluckycatnd

@eddisfargo @booksteaandtoomuchtv @laianely @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke

@beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainswan-kellie @veryverynotgoodwrites @lfh1226-linda

@snowbellewells @caught-in-the-filter @shady-swan-jones @bluewildcatfanatic @fairytalepetzkle

(Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list)

[donteattheappleshook]

Not Broken at All Chapter 18/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Oh hey! What's up everyone?

I know it's been a while (shocking) but it's Solstice today and the muse decided something needed to be posted for this fic in honour of the fairy orgies XD

This was written super fast and not really re-read because it's already 10pm so I'll probably edit it later but I'm giving it to you all now.

Happy Solstice and I hope you enjoy this chapter! <3

********

Part 18

“Doesn’t look so bad,” Will shrugs when they stand outside the mouth of the cave the next morning. Emma and Wendy roll their eyes at the same time. It does look that bad. For a place called Echo Cave she’d had expected something bigger, something louder. But all she can see as they approach is a narrow tunnel in the rockface, no sound escaping from within. So she jumps when Tiger Lily’s voice suddenly comes from within. 

“You’re late.”

“Apologies,” Killian nods. “The forest has changed a fair bit since I last made the journey - it took us longer than anticipated to find the path.” 

“You have a habit of doing that,” Tiger Lily scoffs. “Misinterpreting time.” 

The reply is so quick, and Killian’s sigh so exhausted, that Emma has to hold back a snort of laughter.

“We came as fast as we could.”

“Come then, let’s not delay any further. The others have gathered.” 

“Who are the others?” Emma asks Hook quietly as they follow.

“The eldest of those who were here before Pan. They were barely more than children when it happened, but They have some memory of how things were.” 

“I thought you said they’d forgotten all their magic.” 

“We did not forget,” Tiger Lily snaps from the entrance. Emma watches as the faint, gold dusting of magic that covers their skin, the only light in the otherwise pitch black cave shimmers and slides over their arm, cascading like water down through their fingers  that they trail along the  rocky wall, leaving flecks of sparking, gold dust in their wake.  “It was taken from us. Through slaughter and cruelty. When the children who were left behind grew enough to become a threat to Pan, we were forced to lock away what little we remembered or meet the same fate.” 

Every time she thinks it can’t get worse, it does. The massacre of Tiger Lily’s people and the destruction of their history, the torture and killing of the Lorelei, the horror of the murder of those boys on the beach. There’s no end it seems to Pan’s cruelty, to his thirst for blood. 

Emma reaches for the shimmering of light that remains along the wall, glittering and moving with the flow of the rough surface. It glows brighter beneath her touch and something swells from deep within her, rushing to meet it, warm and electrifying, before she yanks her hand back and stumbles the rest of the way though. 

The walk is long, this cave buried deep in darkness and stardust. She’s not sure she even hears it at first, a small whisper of a voice from far away, the words too quiet to make out, but repeating. As they continue along and a dim light starts to appear in the distance, they grow louder. It’s a child’s voice, rolling against the walls of the cave - wish I’d never come here… just want to go home. Just want to go home. Just want to go home….

She feels Killian’s hand on the small of her back and realizes she’s stopped walking. “It’s alright, love. It’s just an echo. The last secret that was shared here.” She still hesitates, not wanting to get any closer to the haunting voice. “Whoever they were, they’re not here anymore.”

“His name was Ruffio,” Will says, nearly as quiet as the first echo. “He’s been gone a long time.” He only meets her eye for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing as though he hadn’t said anything. She can’t blame him. She knows by now that nobody in Neverland ever goes home. “Come on - we’ve got secrets to spill.” 

The light ahead grows until finally they emerge into a massive cavern. The stone that surrounds them black onyx - gleaming faintly against the dust that covers the ceiling like a galaxy above them. The space feels boundless, endless like the darkness could go on forever and she’s reminded of their flight here, of the endless sea of stars they’d sailed in on. 

There are four people standing in the center of the chamber on a platform of the same black onyx, all of them with the same sharp, androgynous features as Tiger Lily, all with the same loose-fitting clothes and cropped hair, and all with that same shimmer of living magic glowing faintly in the dark. Tink stands with them, waiting. None of them are any older in appearance than herself, but she knows better by now than to judge age or power by appearance on this island. 

The Constant. 

They follow the rest of the way to the narrow, stone bridge that connects the ledge to the platform on which the others stand. When Emma takes a step to follow Tiger Lily onto the bridge, Killian puts an arm out, halting her in her tracks. Emma watches, heart in her throat as the bridge crumbles after Tiger Lily, stone falling away behind every step until they reach the end and there’s no bridge at all. 

“The Constant keep no secrets,” Killian explains. “The cave can’t compel anything from them. We, on the other hand…” 

“Of course they don’t.” No wonder they wanted to use this place. Easy to make others share their deepest darkest secrets when you’ve got none of your own to divulge and nothing to risk. “What about Tink?” she asks, nodding at the fifth person standing with the Constant.

“The fey have wings.” 

Right. “So how does this work?” 

“From what I remember, you step out onto the edge and call out your secret. If it’s truly your darkest, the cave will echo it back to you.”

“And then we get across?” 

“Aye, easy as that,” Killian attempts a smile, but it comes out as a wince. “I’ll go,” he offers though he looks like he’s dreading this as much as she is. She’s just thankful she doesn’t have to start.  He lets out another sigh, bracing himself and then, “I kissed Emma.” 

Fuck. Her heart drops into her stomach. He’s been a pirate for two hundred years - How the hell can his darkest secret have anything to do with her?

Will smirks. “Kissed? Is that what they’re calling it these days? And I think you’re forgetting that we were all there when she jumped you at Solstice.” His smirk deepens. “And when Emma came back all wet.” If Emma could reach him she’d smack him. 

“I literally walked in on you,” Wendy deadpans.

“I’m not talking about Solstice,” he sighs, not rising to the bait. “It was…” She knows when it was. We’ll keep each other safe, they’d promised. She doesn’t need everyone else to know though. Not when she’s not even sure what any of it meant or what it means now. “It doesn’t matter,” Killian shakes his head. “It was what the kiss - what all of it - exposed.” Fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. “My secret is… I never believed that I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, of my Milah.” He breathes her name like a prayer and a wound. “To believe that I could find someone else.” His eyes lift to hers and it’s only by sheer force of will that she’s able to stop herself from taking a step back, from running away from the way he’s looking at her. Because she needs to hear this. They all do. If she wants to get across this fucking bridge, if she wants to talk to the fucking Constant, if she wants to get her son back - she needs to hear this secret as much as he needs to tell it. “That is, until I met you.”

She doesn’t know what to say or if she’s supposed to say something, can’t bring herself to look at Wendy or Will or look away from his eyes still burning into hers. And then before she even can do anything, Killian’s voice echoes through the cave, ‘until I met you’ called back to them like a ghost. A rumble follows as a section of the fallen bridge rises back from the depths below them, rock by rock, rebuilding itself. 

Killian lets out a humourless laugh. “So, who’d like to go next?” 

“I will.” Wendy stands with her shoulders straight, like she’s ready for a fight rather than a confession. Emma gets a sinking feeling in her stomach from the way she’s making herself look at Killian, with shame and guilt. He doesn’t look surprised - he looks like he expected this to hurt. “Sometimes… Sometimes I wish you’d never found me. Sometimes I wish you had just kept on walking that day when Pan left me to die.” She winces. “I’ll always be grateful to you for saving my life, for taking me in but…” 

Killian nods when she hesitates, her eyes damp with unshed tears. “Go on, it’s alright.”  

“You trapped me here, Hook. You’re the reason I have to live in this neverending nightmare. Forever. You knew what that water would do to me and I know you couldn’t ask but… you didn’t give me a choice. And I think that if I had one now - if I could have had a say in the next hundred years of my life… I’d rather you’d just let me die because this -” she gestures at herself, at everything around them.  “It’s worse than death. And because of you I’ll never leave.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “I can’t even die if I want to. Not unless Pan decides that’s what he wants. You forced this life on me, Killian, you cursed me to live because it made you feel better and I don’t… I’ll never forgive you for that.” 

Tears stain her cheeks now, jaw tight as she refuses to let any more follow and Emma can see the heartbreak on Killian’s face. “Wendy…” but she shakes her head and he stops the step he’d taken towards her. 

“I’m sorry,” she chokes and he shakes his head this time. Her secret echoes around them like a taunt this time - ‘never forgive you for that’ - and another piece of the bridge rebuilds itself. The silence hangs between them, louder than any echo, until Will steps up. 

“I suppose I should go next - while we’re on the topic of never being forgiven.” He takes his own steadying breath. “I’m dying.” 

Wendy’s face falls. “... what?” It comes out cracked and small and frightened. “What do you mean you’re dying?”

The look Will gives her - there’s so much guilt there, so much pain and self-loathing and love. Emma may not know much about it but she can recognize it now in his eyes, in the way he looks at Wendy. “I lied when I told you I didn’t know what Pan did to my heart. I’ve seen him do it before.”

“One hundred years…”

Will nods, a self-deprecating smile falling flat. “I really hoped that I could keep it from you for a little longer. Neverland will slow it down but… he squeezed a hundred years from my heart. I’ll start aging faster - a lot faster - and pretty soon…”

“How long?” He hesitates a beat longer than Emma can handle - and Wendy… gods, she can’t imagine. “How long?”

“I’ll be dead in a few months - three, maybe four depending on how long I would have lived if I’d aged like a normal person but - I’m so sorry, Wen. I didn’t want to tell you, I -”

Whatever he was going to say and whatever she might have answered  is stolen by the cave calling back to them in Will’s voice, ‘dead in a few months’. Nobody looks as the bridge puts itself back together, all of them too focused on the cruel revelation. He did it for her, Emma realises, for all of them but… he’s dying because of her. Wendy’s losing him because of her. Even Killian looks solemn at the news. 

“Your turn, Emma,” Will chokes out with the palest attempt at levity she’s seen him manage since she met him. “Wouldn’t want to be left out of all the fun, would you?”

She looks out towards the chasm between them and the Constant. She doesn’t even know what she expected to confess, or what she’d hear confessed by those with her, and now, with the truth of Will’s fate hanging in the air, nothing feels like it matters in the grand scheme of things. 

What even is her deepest secret? That she gave up Henry? That she had her heart broken by a selfish man who used her and then left her? That she spent a year of her life in jail? That she’s spent her whole life searching for the parents who left her behind? That between Neal and her parents she doesn’t think she could ever trust someone again - could ever let herself love someone again, or let them love her… That she might be anyway? None of it feels like enough; none of it even feels like a secret anymore, not since Henry found her and brought her to Storybrooke. 

And then, like bile and sick, she feels something being forced up from her throat, words clawing their way to the surface and past her lips of their own volition. She can’t stop them. She doesn’t even know what she’s going to say until they come spilling out. 

“I wish Henry had never come to find me. I wish he’d never brought me to Storybrooke.” The confession leaves her gasping, tears in her eyes as though she had been sick. She wants to be, hearing such a horrible truth being spoken out loud. Killian looks at her with sympathy, but she turns away from it. And once it’s started, she can’t stop it. “I never wanted to be a mother. I gave him away because I knew he’d be better off without me - but also because I knew I’d be better off without him. He’s a beautiful, amazing kid and I love him more than anything… but I never asked for this. Every day since he showed up at my door I’ve been terrified - every minute of every day. Those few minutes in the Fae forest when I couldn’t remember him were the most peaceful I’ve felt in months and when it all came flooding back it just reminded me of how much simpler my life was before I had to be anything to anyone. I don’t want to lose him. But I never wanted to find him either.” 

The bridge rebuilds itself, completing the path across as the worst thing she’s ever said, ‘never wanted to find him’,  is echoed back to her cruelly. She feels drained, numb, and she wonders if the others are feeling this horrible emptiness too. She looks out at where the Constant wait. If this is their idea of having them prove their allegiance, they better be ready to give theirs in return.

“Come on, Swan,” Killian tells her, leading her across the bridge. None of them say a word, Will and Killian both casting glances at Wendy who won’t look up from her feet, and the silence follows them the whole way across. 

“That sounded rough,” Tink comments when they reach the platform, the five Constant talking in harsh whispers in a language she doesn’t recognize. 

“How lucky of you to have missed it then,” Will snips. He must be feeling worse than Emma realized.

There’s an argument starting, still in that foreign language, but she can tell just the same. Every few words there’s a glimpse of something that feels familiar, a syllable from another language she’s heard, a word that could be French or Spanish, a glimpse of English, not one language but many - like every language spoken at once.

“This meeting has been a topic of some controversy,” Killian whispers. “But I think Tiger Lily might be on our side.” 

“You can understand them?” 

He shrugs. “One picks up a few things after two centuries.”

There’s a small scoff from Tink. “Yeah, all that pillow talk was really educational.”

Killian ignores the quip. “They’re the keepers of the last of the forgotten history of the old Neverland.” He nods at each as he names them. “That’s Philodendron, Halcyon, Alder, Jacaranda, and you know Tiger Lily.

“Tiger Lily is one of them?” 

“Tiger Lily was the oldest Constant to survive the massacre. They were just shy of a century when Pan took over.”

“A century?”

“The Constant are eternal, love. A century is nothing.” 

The Constant have gone silent, a tense, begrudging conclusion to their argument that Emma can feel even if she doesn’t know the words. 

Finally, Tiger Lily speaks. “Tinkerbell tells us you wish to unearth the secrets of the island - secrets that were buried to keep us safe.”

“Secrets that could return the island to the way it once was if you ally with us against Pan,” Killian counters. 

“If our knowledge could have defeated the boy,” Alder interjects, “we would have done so a millenia ago when he first laid waste to this island.” 

“Maybe your knowledge alone couldn’t defeat him, but we have the Lorelei on our side, and the fae,” Wendy adds, gesturing at Tink. 

Alder scoffs. “You have one fairy. One who’s been without magic for almost five hundred years, who’s magic was corrupted by the very demon you seek to destroy. Our magic was born from the innocence and dreams of children, the purest light magic there is, and even it was snuffed out by Pan’s darkness. What chance have you with a weakened fairy and the duplicitous sirens?” 

“We have more than that,” Tink interjects, bitterness and insult obvious in the bite of her words. “We have her.” It takes Emma a moment to realize that she’s the one being gestured at and now every set of eyes is on her. 

“Me?” 

“Her?” Wendy frowns. 

“You can’t honestly tell me you haven’t noticed. She practically reeks of magic. It’s spilling out of every pore. I clocked it as soon as she got here.” 

“I don’t have magic.” The Constant continue to stare, questioning, doubting. “I don’t. Don’t you think if I did I’d have used it by now to get Henry back?” 

“Not if you weren’t aware of it, love,” Killian offers gently.

“Okay but I’m not some fairytale character; I’m from Boston - the land without magic. I don’t have any power.” 

“Oh for…” Tink swears under her breath, crossing the room and grabbing Emma’s wrist. Faster than she can stop her, the fairy pulls a small blade from the complicated twist of pins and leather that keeps her mass of blonde hair piled on top of her head, ivory handle embellished with gold runes, and slashes it across Emma’s palm. 

“Ow! What the hell!” Emma shouts, yanking her hand away. That fucking hurt. Tinkerbelle doesn’t resist, the rest of their small crew moving to intervene, but all at once, they freeze. Emma follows their gazes to her hand, clutched tightly in a fist to her chest and her breath catches. There’s light seeping through the cracks in her fingers, golden and swirling like smoke, shimmering like the magic that flows over the Constant’s skin. 

Jacaranda reaches a hand out to her, palm upturned in a request and Emma looks to the others before carefully placing her hand in theirs. Carefully, the Constant unfurls her fingers, examining the light that shines from her wound with a careful touch. Their eyes go wide. “This is our magic,” they say, voice soft and tinged with awe. “Ours and… something else.” 

“May I?” Philodendron asks, extending their own hand. Emma nods, even as the urge to refuse shouts at her. You don’t have magic. You’re not magic. You’re a goddamn bail bonds person from Boston, not a fairytale character. Philodendron looks at her after taking a moment to examine the wound themselves. “This is light magic,” they confirm. “It’s raw and untapped but powerful, more powerful than anything I’ve seen since before Pan’s time.” They twist her hand a bit, trying to look closer, to read something in whatever they see that Emma can’t. “But this isn’t born of belief and dreams as ours is, it's the product of something else… of -”

“True love,” Emma breathes out, so low she doesn’t mean for anyone to hear it. Henry had said that hadn’t he? That she was supposed to be the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, that she was supposed to be the Saviour. 

“Yes, that’s it,” Philodendron nods slowly. “You were right, Tinkerbelle. This is more powerful magic than we anticipated.” 

“Can you use it?” Emma asks, still not believing it really, but if it means they’ll help her get her kid back, she doesn’t care what she has to do. 

“That depends,” Halcyon takes a step forward. “Can you wield it?” 

“No, I…” she doesn’t even know how this is possible. 

“I can.” They all turn to Tink, Emma cradling her hand to her chest once more. “If you tell me what we need to do, I can guide her. But you’ll have to let me.” The last bit is directed at her and she hesitates… Tink hasn’t exactly made a secret of the fact that she’s not a fan of hers, and she just slashed her damn hand open… Trust already isn’t her strong suit to begin with. “I’m not going to steal it,” Tink snaps and looks genuinely offended and Emma remembers that she knows what it is to have her power taken from her. 

“I know you won’t. I just… what if it doesn’t work?” How powerful could this magic be? She’s not anything special, she never has been. Why would this be any different? 

“Then I guess you don’t get your kid back.” 

“Tink,” Killian warns but Emma can’t help but appreciate the fairy’s bluntness. 

“What do we need to do?” 

“This cavern, ” TigerLily starts, taking a knee and placing a hand reverently on the stone, “used to be a sacred place. It held all of the secrets of Neverland, and the dreams of children who visited - the purest and most honest of truths of all - fueled the island as it did our magic. This was its source - the source of everything. 

“But then Pan tainted this cave with his twisted version of secrets as power, as something to be wielded, and forced us to sacrifice the last of the light magic that still breathed life into Neverland, the cavern shielded itself from his darkness. Now it echoes truths rather than accept ones taken maliciously. This place… has seen nothing but darkness for centuries. It has not been sleeping, but fighting, the last of the resistance against Pan right under his nose, keeping the darkness at bay and it has hardened. We need to remind it what the light looks like.” 

“It can have mine. Whatever this is. If it can help and if this place can defeat Pan it can have all of it.” 

Tiger Lily smiles kindly. “Not all of it. It would never snuff out your light. But even the slightest kindling can spark an inferno and with it you can breathe magic back into the island.” 

“How?” 

They nod to Tink who retrieves her knife again, slashing her own palm this time, the light that glows from her wound a shimmering green, and holds her hand out to Emma. Heat burns across her skin when she takes Tink’s offered hand, the light between them growing, shining and mixing. Tink places her other hand on Tiger Lily’s shoulder and the Constant flattens both their palms against the stone beneath them. After a moment, they look to Emma and she knows she’s doing it wrong. She’s not doing anything but she’s doing it wrong. 

“I’m sorry.”

Tiger Lily shakes their head, their smile not malicious, but understanding. 

“I have met so many lost boys and girls on this island. So many broken, hardened children lead here by fear and hurt and neglect, so afraid to trust, to love, to admit or even accept what they want, what they desire more than anything - what has been robbed of them. This place is born of dreams and truths and you, dear Swan, strong Swan, brave Swan… frightened Swan, have locked yourself away from both.” 

“But I already told this place my darkest secret.” But she doesn’t need Tiger Lily to tell her - this place echoes darkness, resists darkness. That secret was Pan’s magic - not Neverland’s. 

“What do you dream of, Emma? What truths do you keep from yourself?” Emma opens her mouth to speak but Tiger Lily holds up a hand. “Do not tell them to me. Tell them to the lost girl. Unburden her.” 

What does she dream of? Things she can’t have, things she’s never had, things that were taken away. She wants to find her parents, that’s no secret though, she’s always known that. She wants them to have never given her up in the first place. She wanted a family, the one she could have had with Henry and Neal if he hadn’t turned out to be the vile person he was, the life that she’d had just a glimpse of after one missed period, before everything went to shit. She doesn’t want that anymore. She hasn’t let herself want any of it since then, not love, not family, not hope… 

Her skin begins to warm, something flaring beneath the surface. Liar. She doesn’t know if it’s the cave or herself or her magic but it echoes through her like her secret against the walls. Tiger Lily accused her of locking herself away from her dreams, from her truths, but can they even still be truths if they’ve been silenced and stomped down for decades? 

She thinks of the lost girl she was, abandoned, a runaway on the street, burning the last of her childhood, of stupid fairytales and stories to keep warm in a world that was only ever cold. What had that girl wanted? Powerless, lost, alone. That girl who felt like nothing, who meant nothing to anyone, who had never mattered and never would, who had only herself to take care of her. She wanted to matter - to someone, to herself, she wanted people to matter to her, to be able to let them. She didn’t want to be alone anymore. Even as she pushed away every foster parent, every friend, every lover as she grew older, she didn’t want - she doesn’t want - to have to do it alone. 

That’s what she dreams of, what she refuses to admit that she dreams of. That for all of her rightly earned distrust of everyone, for all of her caution and her fear of abandonment, of love and hope, she wants to be able to let them in, let them matter. She wants to believe that she could have that happily ever after that she’s scorned all her life. 

Images flash in her mind as the heat builds, her body tingling, a faint glimmer of light shining against her shut eyelids. Henry smiling in her doorway in Boston, Mary Margaret offering her a home, Killian bringing her to Neverland, Wendy helping her hide from Pan, Will sacrificing himself for her, Killian nearly sacrificing Milah’s name - sacrificing his memories, all of them banding together to help her save her kid, even Tink now, helping her to wield magic she doesn’t understand. 

She’s not alone. She’s not in this alone. For the first time in her life she has people she can count on. People she can trust. She thinks of the smile Henry gave her when she let him know she wasn’t going to leave Storybrooke even though she could, of Mary Margaret’s pep talks, of shared hot chocolate and drinks and advice in their apartment, of Killian in that dank brig after one of the worst hours of her life - perhaps I would - of his words whispered in the quiet darkness of his cabin - I’m here. You don’t have to ask - of his confession echoing around them - until I met you. She does matter to people. She’s not nothing. She was never nothing. She matters and she has people who matter to her. 

Her whole body alights, the blood in her veins not blood anymore but something else, something powerful and she can feel it surging beneath her skin, pulled by a force as it rushes through her and towards that opening in her palm. The white of her light overtakes the green and Tink’s body jerks like the surge of magic is as jarring to her as it is for Emma. Tiger Lily gasps, the ground beneath them starting to glow, tendrils of golden light snaking towards them across the stone like rivulets. Their body starts to shimmer, the dusting of gold shining brighter until their skin is swallowed by it completely. 

Emma can feel sweat beading on her skin, the salt mixing with the tears she hadn’t realized she’d been crying. She doesn’t know how much longer she can keep this up, the power coursing through her overwhelming. Tink’s hand is shaking in hers, both their palms damp and slippery and white knuckled and she can’t imagine how much more effort the fairy is putting in as the one actually channeling all of this. 

“There’s so much,” Tiger Lily says in awe. “We’ve forgotten so much.” Their eyes are glowing with the same gold that covers their skin, their mouth pulling into a smile even as tears roll down their cheeks. 

“I can’t -” Tink starts, but doesn’t let Emma release her hand when she tries to stop.

There’s another moment, the light engulfing the Constant almost completely, so bright Emma has to look away, before finally, suddenly, it stops. The three of them slump against the ground with a gasp of exhaustion. Emma doesn’t even turn when she feels hands on her shoulders, helping her to sit up, she knows it’s him. Wendy is at Tink’s side helping to support her as well as the Constant circle around Tiger Lily, all of them holding one another in a moment that feels beautiful and private as joy and heartbreak play over their faces. 

“Can you. Stop him?” Tink pants out. 

“I… I think so. There’s just - there’s so much. I need time to sort through it all.” 

“We don’t. Have. Time.”

“All of the secrets of Neverland, millennia’s worth, have just been poured into my mind. It will take me more than a few minutes to understand it all and find what will help us.” 

“How much time?” Emma asks. Henry’s already been here too long - too long without knowing that she’s here, that she’s coming for him. 

“I don’t… give me a few nights at least. Come back in three days. That should give me time to make sense of what is needed at least.” Their eyes are far away, like they’re not seeing the cavern around them but something far bigger and far more extraordinary.  

Emma nods. “Three days?” 

“Three days. And then we’ll rid this island of its false king forever.”

***********

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[jrob64]

Slipping Into Your Heart

A Captain Swan New Year's Story

Happy New Year, everyone! This one-shot was written as part of the Captain Swan Winter Bingo event and checks off the box 'slipping on the ice' on my card.

@kmomof4 pointed out that my last posted story Drummer Boys, Reindeer and Romance actually checked off TWO boxes - reindeer and cuddling by the fire. I'll take it!

Special thanks to @hookedmom for her beta work all year.

Story Summary: After three terrible New Year's Eve dates in a row, Emma Swan decides to spend this one at home by herself. But when the handsome, blue-eyed Grubhub driver who delivers her dinner slips and falls on her icy sidewalk, she feels compelled to take care of him.

Rating: T

Words (Ch. 1/1): 6065

Can also be found on Ao3 and ffn

*********

“Don’t worry about me, Mary Margaret,” Emma Swan said into the phone, as she entered her bedroom to grab her purse. “I just ordered Grubhub. It should be here any minute.”

“I wish you had come over to eat with us tonight,” her friend responded a bit forlornly.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m looking forward to an evening all to myself,” Emma said. She was a little surprised to realize she was being completely honest. “I’m already in my comfy clothes and I plan on watching the new season of The Great British Baking Show with some hot cocoa and popcorn, later.”

“I hate to think of you being alone on New Year’s Eve.”

“I would rather be alone than with any of the guys I had as dates for the last three New Year’s Eves. Those dates were unmitigated disasters, as you well know.”

“Jefferson wasn’t so bad,” Mary Margaret commented.

“Are you kidding? He was crazy as a loon! He showed up wearing a top hat, for crying out loud.”

Mary Margaret sighed. “Well, don’t give up on dating, Emma. One of these days, the right guy will come along.”

“That’s what you keep saying. At least one of us has hope.” Just then, the doorbell rang. “I have to go; my food is here. I hope you and David have a great time tonight. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Enjoy your evening, Emma. Happy New Year!”

After ending the call, Emma hurried out to the living room and opened the front door. Standing on her porch was the Grubhub delivery man.

Emma had food delivered on a semi-regular basis and met many delivery people, but most she didn’t really remember after she closed the door. However, this particular delivery person she had never seen before, because if she had, she was quite certain she would have remembered him.

The man standing in front of her was attractively dressed in dark jeans, a button down shirt and black leather jacket. He was about six feet tall and obviously in very good shape. After taking all of this in, her eyes moved to his face. That’s when her breath caught in her throat, because he was, quite literally, breathtaking.

The bluest eyes she had ever seen sparkled beneath long lashes and expressive brows. Attractive sideburns faded into neatly-trimmed scruff on his strong jawline and chin, and his dark hair curled around his adorable, slightly pointed ears. His other perfectly proportioned facial features completed his handsome face.

Emma realized he was smirking and wondered how long she had been staring at him. Giving herself a mental shake, she cleared her throat. “Uh, hi, I, um…I guess you have some food for me?”

“Aye, lass. I have your order right here,” he said, holding up a large plastic bag.

An accent. He had a fucking British accent.

Once again, she had to remind herself to speak. “Thank you. I, uh…oh, hang on a second. Let me get you a tip.”

She took the bag from him and set it on the floor beside her. Digging inside her purse, she pulled out her wallet. “I should give you extra for coming out on New Year’s Eve.”

“That’s not necessary, madam.”

Riffling through her wallet, she pulled out a five dollar bill and two singles. “Then I’ll pay you extra to never call me that name again.”

He laughed as he took the offered bills. “Thanks very much. I hope you have a lovely evening, E.S.,” he said, referring to her initials from the order information.

“You, too,” she answered, picking up the food.

He gave her a grin, then turned and went down the porch steps. Instead of closing the door right away, she watched him walking down the sidewalk to his car. Just as she began to swing the door shut, she heard him let out a yelp and looked out to see his feet fly out from under him. His arms flailed as he attempted to keep his balance, but it didn’t help. He fell hard on his back, his head thankfully missing the concrete and landing in her snow-covered yard.

“Oh my gosh!” Emma exclaimed, dropping the bag of food, flying out the door, and rushing quickly but carefully to where he lay moaning. “Are you alright?”

He sat up slowly, brushing the snow out of his hair with one hand, while the other rubbed the small of his back. “I think so?” he answered unconvincingly.

“I’m so sorry! I shoveled the snow so the sidewalk would be clear for you, but didn’t notice the ice underneath.”

“It’s okay, lass,” he said, though the grimace on his face told a different story.

“Here, let me help you up.” She offered him her hand and began tugging. He had just gotten his feet under him, when she slipped and fell on top of him.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned.

“I am very, very sorry,” Emma apologized, then dropped her head to his sternum and burst into laughter. She was relieved to hear his answering chuckle.

When she got herself under control, she managed to get to her feet and looked down at him. He lay there smiling up at her. “I better give you a bigger tip to help cover your medical bills,” she quipped.

He rolled over and got to his knees, then cautiously pushed himself to his feet. Standing in the snow beside the slick sidewalk, he tilted his head from side to side, both hands on his back. “That won’t be necessary, Love. I appear to be in one piece.”

“At least let me get you an ice pack to put on your back while you drive to your next delivery.”

“You don’t need to go to that trouble, either. You are my last stop of the night.”

“I hope you’re not too sore for your New Year’s plans tonight .”

He scratched behind his ear. “That’s not a problem. I don’t have any.”

“You’re kidding!” Emma blurted out before thinking.

He gave her a quizzical look. “Why does that surprise you?”

“I just…you…honestly, you don’t look like someone who would have trouble finding a date.”

“Neither do you, lass.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly realizing she wasn’t wearing a coat. “Look, I feel really bad for causing you to fall. Won’t you please come in so I can get you an ice pack and ibuprofen?”

He hesitated, his hands moving to his lower back again. “Perhaps that would be a good idea, if you truly don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t make the offer if I did. Come on in.” She turned and led the way through the snow to her house, picking up the bag of food once she was inside the door.

The delivery man entered behind her, closed the door, stomped his boots off on the mat, and stood there a bit awkwardly.

Emma set the bag on the coffee table and turned to look at him. “I haven’t even told you my name yet. I’m Emma Swan.”

“Killian Jones,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand.

“I’ll be right back,” Emma said. She went into the kitchen, took an ice pack out of the freezer, and wrapped it in a tea towel. Then she got a bottle of water out of the fridge and grabbed the ibuprofen off of the counter. That’s when she had second thoughts about her decision to ask him in. Sure, he was incredibly handsome and seemed very nice, but criminals could be handsome and deceptively nice, too.

Peeking around the corner of the door frame, she saw that he was still standing on the small rug in the entryway, shifting from foot to foot. Surely, if he were inclined to commit some sort of crime, he would have taken advantage of her being out of sight.

She walked back into the living room. “You can take off your coat and sit down, if you like.”

“I don’t want to drip water across your floor.”

Emma pointed to the shoes on her feet. “If I didn’t worry about it, you shouldn’t either. But if it makes you feel better, you can take off your boots and leave them on the rug.”

He toed them off, then unzipped his coat and removed it.

She set the water bottle and ibuprofen on the table beside the sack of food and sat down on the couch, gesturing for him to sit on the other end. Once he did, he shook out a couple of pills from the bottle and took a swig of water. Then she handed him the ice, which he placed on his lower back.

After sitting in silence for several moments, she leaned forward and pulled the food towards herself. “I ordered enough food for several people because I was feeling self-indulgent. Are you hungry?”

“I couldn’t possibly ask you to…”

“You didn’t ask me, I offered. I’ll go get a couple of plates.”

As they ate, they made small talk about mundane subjects.

“Is the ice helping your back?” she asked.

“Aye, a bit. I think I just twisted it when I fell.”

“I’m very glad you didn’t hit your head on the concrete.”

“Me, too.”

“If the ice pack isn’t cold anymore, I’ll get you another one. I have plenty. I have to keep a lot on hand because of my job.”

“Are you a professional kickboxer or something?”

She laughed. “No, but close. I’m a bail bondsperson who doubles as a bounty hunter, when necessary.”

He whistled lowly. “You must be a tough lass. How did you get into that particular profession?”

“It’s a long story.”

“My schedule is pretty clear, but if you aren’t comfortable talking about it with a total stranger…”

“You stopped being a total stranger when you told me your name,” she pointed out.

He grinned and she felt her insides melting at how it made his already handsome face even more gorgeous.

“I’ll tell you on one condition - that you promise not to pity me.”

“Ah, so it’s a story of tragedy.”

She shrugged. “I guess you could say that.”

“In that case, I promise not to pity you. However, if you want, I can reciprocate by sharing my own tragic story.”

“What better way to spend New Year’s Eve than depressing the person we just met?”

“Indeed,” he said, grinning again.

Emma took a deep breath and began telling her story. “I grew up without a family. I don’t know why my parents gave me up at birth, but they did. I was placed in foster care as an infant and stayed with one family for three years. Just as they were initiating adoption proceedings, they found out they were having a baby of ‘their own’.” She framed the last two words with air quotes. “So they decided they didn’t need to adopt me. I was put back into the system and by the time I was seven, I was labeled emotionally troubled.”

“It’s no wonder, after being taken from the only home you ever knew,” Killian commented.

“I know, right? Anyway, I was moved to different foster homes pretty frequently and was never considered for adoption again. I ran away from my last placement when I was sixteen and got caught shoplifting a couple of months later. They sent me to a juvenile detention center that specialized in vocational training. When I took one of those assessments that’s supposed to match your interests to a career, it said I was most suited for a job in law enforcement, which I thought was absolutely ridiculous.”

She paused to take a drink of her soda. “Then this really tough counselor named Cleo took an interest in me and told me I was wasting my potential by being angry at the world. She trained me to be a bail bondsperson and bounty hunter because I flat out refused to go to the police academy.”

“Do you like the job?” he asked.

“It pays the bills. Most of the time, it’s pretty boring, but once in a while I have to do a stakeout or set a honey trap.”

“Honey trap?”

“Set up a fake date with a skip and dress sexy. Once I gain their trust, or their lust, I cuff them and take them in.”

“Ah, I see.”

She dug her fork into the container of pork lo mein and put it in her mouth. After chewing and swallowing, she continued. “Sometimes I wish I went to the academy, instead of being so damn stubborn.”

“It’s not too late,” Killian observed. “Perhaps you could look into it.”

“Yeah, maybe. I’ve been thinking about it more often lately.” After taking another swig of pop, she asked, “So what’s your tragic backstory?”

“I moved to America with my mother and brother nine years ago, when I was seventeen. Mum was battling cancer and we found a treatment center that seemed more promising than any place in England.”

“Did the treatment work?”

“In a manner of speaking. It gave us more time with her than we would have had, if we hadn’t moved. Her prognosis was less than two years in England. She outlived that by nearly seven years. We had to be sponsored by her cousin in New Hampshire, since her medical visa expired.”

“Did she pass away recently?”

“Aye. Five months ago.”

Emma reached over to place her hand on top of his. “I’m sorry, Killian.”

He sighed, then tried to force a smile onto his face. “Thank you. My brother, Liam, stayed here for a couple of months after her passing, but then he moved back to England. I remained behind because there are still some things I need to do to settle Mum’s affairs.”

“Will you go back home after you do that?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’m not sure I think of England as home anymore. Liam is there, but he has a girlfriend, Elsa, whom he met online three years ago. They’ve visited back and forth with each other several times. They’re very serious and are discussing moving in together, so even if I move back, I’ll have to find a flat and a job. I already have a place to live here. We’ve been renting a house in the suburbs since we came over. The landlord is a very kind man who is like family now.”

“Do you have a job? Besides driving for Grubhub, I mean?”

“I work down at the docks, helping to maintain the piers.”

“Do you like it?”

“Aye. I’ve always loved being around the water.”

They both continued eating, before Emma asked another question. “You, um…you didn’t mention a father.”

“He’s not worth mentioning. I was six when he left, so I don’t remember much about him or what happened. Liam was ten and he is pretty sure Da left Mum for someone else. He never sent us any money or attempted to see us.”

“Oh, wow. So your mom had to raise you by herself?”

“Aye, she did, but she never complained or spoke even one harsh word against our father. She said she couldn’t be angry or bitter toward him because he gave her the two greatest treasures of her life.”

“She sounds like a wonderful person.”

“That she was. She deserved so much better.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, thinking about everything they just shared with each other as they finished eating.

Finally, Killian broke the silence. “So tell me, lass. How does it happen that you are home by yourself on New Year’s Eve?”

“I’ve had horrible dates the last three years and I didn’t want to increase the streak to four.”

“Do you mind me asking what made them so horrible?”

She laughed humorlessly. “Three years ago, I was with a guy I had been dating for several months. I thought things were going well all that time. Just before midnight, he proceeded to break up with me, saying he wasn’t happy and felt trapped in our relationship. So while everyone was kissing once the new year arrived, I was by myself, crying in a corner of the room.”

“What a complete arse,” Killian commented, an angry edge to his voice.

“Yeah, he really was. I didn’t date again for nearly a year, until my friend Mary Margaret set me up with the owner of a furniture store where she bought a bedroom set. New Year’s Eve was our third date. He was polite, easy to talk to, and wasn’t aggressive. He never even tried to hold my hand or give me a kiss on our dates.”

“Sounds like a perfect gentleman who was letting you set the pace.”

“That’s what I thought, too.”

“What happened?”

“About halfway through the night, he disappeared. We were all at our friend Regina’s house, and when I started asking people if they had seen him, everyone said they hadn’t. It was a pretty big party with close to forty people, so it took me a while to finally realize he wasn’t anywhere to be found downstairs. That’s when I decided to check the bedrooms upstairs.”

“Oh, no. Don’t tell me you found him with another woman.”

“Well, I did find him…but not with another woman.”

“Who was he…” Killian began, then realization set in. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope, not kidding. That explained why he wasn’t in any hurry to show me any kind of affection.”

“Wow,” he commented simply. “I wonder why he agreed to go out with a woman in the first place, if that was his inclination.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t stick around to find out. I still haven’t let Mary Margaret hear the end of it, and if she even hints that she wants to set me up with someone…”

“I’m sure you shut that down very quickly.”

“Yep. Which brings us to last year.”

“I can’t imagine it being much worse than the previous two.”

“It wasn’t, but it was still bad. This time, my friend Ruby set me up with a guy she knew. I should have known better, because Ruby is a bit off-the-wall. I mean, I love her, but she is very quirky. Anyway, this guy shows up wearing an orange top hat.”

Killian started laughing. “Did he have the matching tuxedo? Perhaps he was a big fan of Dumb and Dumber.”

Emma joined in the laughter. “No orange tux, but he definitely would have fit right into that movie. We were at Regina’s again and he found out she had a sewing machine and a basket full of material. He spent a couple of hours sewing the scraps together to make this sort of shawl thing. Then he brought it out to the party and performed some sort of dance with it, waving it around like he was a bullfighter. It was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“I take it you won’t let Ruby try to set you up, either?”

“You got that right.”

“I can certainly understand your reluctance to have another New Year’s date.”

“Which is why I’m home by myself, indulging in copious amounts of Chinese food and binge watching The Great British Baking Show.”

“Is the new season out?” he asked with a note of excitement.

“Yeah, it’s been out for a couple of months but I don’t like to watch it one episode at a time. I hate having to wait a whole week.”

“I can understand that.”

“You like that show, too, I take it?”

“Aye. It was one of Mum’s favorites and we always watched it together. I won’t get to see it this year, though. I’ve been canceling some subscriptions, and Netflix was one of them.”

Emma opened her mouth to tell him he could stay and watch it with her, but before the words came out, she had second thoughts. She didn’t want to give him the idea that she was coming on to him.

As she watched him putting another spoonful of fried rice on his plate, she began debating with herself. The poor guy hurt his back because of her negligence, but he didn’t have any hard feelings. Having him for company was better than spending the entire evening alone, and she was truly enjoying their conversation. Plus, she told him she would be watching one of his favorite shows, so not inviting him to stay and watch it with her would be rude. Wouldn’t it?

“Swan?” His voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh, uh…I was thinking that you could, um…that is, if you want to, you could watch the show with me.”

“I wasn’t fishing for an invitation…”

“I know, and please don’t feel pressured to accept. I just wanted you to know that you’re welcome to stay.”

“That’s very kind of you, Emma, but I don’t want to infringe on your evening.”

“I was looking forward to having a relaxing evening at home instead of dressing up and going out, but I’m okay with you being here. As long as you don’t mind seeing me in my oldest, comfiest sweats.”

“You still look quite fetching,” he grinned. “In all honesty, I was dreading spending the evening by myself, especially since it’s my first New Year’s Eve without Mum. Perhaps slipping on the ice was a fortunate turn of events.”

“Your back may not agree,” she quipped. Plucking the remote from the coffee table, she powered on the television and brought up Netflix. “Make yourself comfortable. My plan was to watch the first three episodes, then make popcorn and hot chocolate. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect,” he said, following her lead and propping his feet on the coffee table.

“Oh, wait. Before we start, I’ll get you a fresh ice pack,” she said, hopping up and holding out her hand for the melted one.

When she came back, he took the new one from her, commenting, “You’re a very good caregiver, Swan.”

“Thanks, Jones,” she replied with a smirk.

“Apologies. I’m used to referring to my coworkers by their last names.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I have no issue with being called by my last name.”

“It fits you.”

“Thanks. I picked it myself.”

He scrutinized her with a raised brow. “Truly?”

“Yeah. After I ran away, I didn’t want to be tracked down by my last name, so I started calling myself Emma Swan. I had it changed officially once I was older and had enough money to pay for it.”

“How did you come up with Swan?”

“From the Ugly Duckling. I always liked that story and could relate to that poor little duck nobody wanted.”

 “But it transforms into a lovely swan, just like you did.”

“I don’t know about that, but I’m happy I didn’t have to keep the name CPS came up with for me. It never felt right to me.” While she was talking, she was flipping through the options on Netflix to find The Great British Baking Show. Clicking on it, she said, “I haven’t missed a single season of this show. The contestants always astound me with the stuff they bake.”

“Aye, me as well. Are you a baker yourself, Swan?”

“Pfft, far from it. I tried to make a cake once and failed miserably. And it was from a box! Apparently it’s important to read the directions. Who knew?”

Killian laughed. “Perhaps you’ll try again someday.”

“Maybe. In the meantime, I’m going to watch twelve people do amazing things and then get kicked off one by one because what they spent hours baking wasn’t perfect.”

“Do you ever choose a favorite contestant?”

“Every time.”

“Is it ever the eventual champion?”

“Never.”

He laughed again. “Same with me. Mum, on the other hand, had a knack for selecting the person who either won it or at least got into the top three.”

“She must have known a lot about baking.”

“Not really. I think she was just lucky.”

Emma clicked on the episode and they settled in to watch, laughing at the co-hosts and making bets on who would be Star Baker and who would be the first to leave the tent. When Killian was right on both counts, he thrust his arms up in the air, exclaiming, “Yes!”

“You must have inherited your mother’s knack,” Emma observed.

“Perhaps she was whispering in my ear,” he said, a slightly sad smile on his face.

She reached over to pat him on the knee. “She probably was.”

Before they started the next episode, Killian asked, “Would you please direct me to your bathroom?”

“Sure.” She turned in her seat and pointed behind them. “Down the hall, first door on the left.”

“Thank you,” he said, standing and stretching.

As he twisted at the waist, Emma asked, “How does your back feel?”

“Not bad. I think the ice packs and ibuprofen helped.”

“Good.”

She watched him leave the room, then took the ice pack to return it to the freezer. After that, she cleared off the coffee table, putting the leftover food in the refrigerator and the dirty dishes into the dishwasher.

When she returned, Killian was once again sitting on the sofa, looking at his phone. He didn’t seem to notice that she re-entered the room, so she took a few moments to study him. Now that she had a chance to get to know him a little, she found him even more attractive, because she now knew there was more to him than just a pretty face.

Finally resuming her seat, she picked up the remote again. “Ready for the next episode?”

“Uh, give me a second. I just got a message from Liam. It’s already past midnight there and he’s wishing me a Happy New Year.”

“You can call him if you like. I don’t mind waiting.”

He turned his startling blue eyes on her. “Thanks, I think I will.”

Standing from the couch, she said, “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Oh, there’s no need. I don’t mind if you overhear our conversation. Actually, I think I’ll Facetime him instead. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen his ugly mug.”

She giggled. “Spoken like a true brother.”

Grinning, he put the call through. While he was greeting his brother, Emma busied herself with checking her own phone, responding to messages from Mary Margaret and Ruby, received while she was watching the show.

“Say hi to my brother, Swan.”

Glancing up, she was surprised to see him holding his phone up to her. A man with similar facial features as Killian, but with lighter, curly hair was on the screen, smiling at her. “Hello, lass.”

“Oh, uh…hi. Happy New Year,” she responded.

“The same to you. I’m sorry you have to spend it with my git of a brother.”

“Hey!” Killian protested.

Emma laughed. “Inviting him to watch The Great British Baking Show with me was the least I could do after he fell on the ice on my sidewalk. He was delivering my dinner.”

“He said he fell and you took pity on him. I figured it was because of his own clumsiness.”

A female voice came through the phone. “Liam, stop teasing Killian. He was sweet enough to call and you’re being mean.”

The face of the woman speaking came into view on the screen. Emma saw she was beautiful, with almost white-blonde hair and large, expressive eyes. “Hello. You must be Elsa.”

“Yes, that’s me. Forgive me, but I didn’t catch your name.”

“I’m Emma Swan. It’s very nice meeting you, and you too, Liam.”

“The pleasure is ours, lass,” Liam said. “All kidding aside, we’re very happy Killian isn’t alone this evening. I was afraid he was sitting around the house moping.”

“He’s been very good company,” she assured him.

Killian scooted closer to her so they could both be on the screen. “We should let you get back to your party,” he said.

“Yes, I’m sure Anna will come looking for us soon,” Elsa said.

“Thank you for calling, little brother,” Liam added. “We miss you.”

“I miss you, too, but I do not miss being called little brother. I’m younger.”

“And two inches shorter, so technically you’re little, also.”

Before Killian could reply, Elsa cut in, “That’s enough, boys. Emma will think all the two of you ever do is argue.”

Emma laughed as Killian said, “Happy New Year, you two. I’ll talk to you again soon. Love you.”

“We love you, too. I hope this new year will be a better one for both of us,” Liam responded.

Killian glanced at Emma. “I think it’s getting off to a pretty good start.”

She listened to them finish their goodbyes, a little surprised that his statement didn’t make her uncomfortable. In fact, she felt the exact same way.

*********

They were halfway through the sixth episode when Killian checked the time on his phone. “It’s eleven fifty seven,” he announced.

“Oh!” Emma said, pushing her empty mug and popcorn bowl out of the way to find the remote. “Would you like to watch the ball drop?”

“Sure.”

She quickly exited Netflix and searched for a channel covering the party in Times Square. As they watched the raucous scene, she commented, “I would hate to be in that crowd.”

“Aye, me too. I much prefer being in a quiet place.”

The ball began to drop. When it reached ten seconds to go, the two of them counted along with the mob of people on screen. It hit zero, lighting up the year ‘2024’, then it switched to another camera showing people in the crowd sharing kisses.

Emma glanced at Killian out of the corner of her eye. At the same time, he took his eyes off the television and looked at her. “Happy New Year, Emma,” he said quietly.

“Happy New Year, Killian.” Her eyes flicked down to his lips, lingering for a second before traveling back up again. Then, without conscious thought, she leaned toward him.

The touch of his lips against hers sent a shiver of delight through her. The kiss was brief and left her wanting more, but she pulled back before she could act on that impulse.

Neither of them spoke for several moments. Finally, Killian broke the silence. “Um…perhaps we should finish the episode, then I need to be going.”

“Oh, right,” she said, bringing Netflix back up. They watched the remainder of the show without talking, both preoccupied with thoughts of the kiss they just shared.

As soon as the episode ended, Killian stood up. Emma flicked off the television and stood, too, shifting back and forth on her stockinged feet.

He cleared his throat, scratching behind his ear. “I, um…I thoroughly enjoyed this evening - except for falling on my arse, that is.”

She chuckled. “I apologize again, but I have to say I’m not sorry it led to you keeping me company tonight. It was nice having someone to watch the show with and discuss it.”

“Thank you for inviting me to join you. It brought back good memories of watching it with my mother. I needed that tonight.”

They stood looking at each other for several more moments, then he moved to put on his boots and coat. She walked to the door, ready to open it for him. “Be careful going home. There will probably be some people driving who shouldn’t be on the road.”

He zipped his coat and tugged a blue knit cap out of the pocket, pulling it on over his dark hair. Emma found the addition utterly adorable.

“Well, I guess I’ll be on my way,” he said, stepping toward the door.

“Killian…” she began, then paused. He looked at her expectantly. “I, um, I hate to think that you won’t get to see the rest of the new season. Would you like to come over sometime to watch the rest of the episodes?”

A smile slowly spread across his face. “I would like that very much.”

*********

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out with Mary Margaret and David this evening, Love?” Killian called from the living room.

“I’m sure,” Emma said, coming through the doorway dressed in her oldest sweats, the same ones she wore exactly one year ago. Sitting down beside him on the sofa, she added, “I’m content staying home, doing the same thing I did last year.”

“You mean practically maiming the Grubhub delivery man on your icy sidewalk?”

“Why not? It worked out pretty well for me last year,” she teased, snuggling into his side.

“It’s unfortunate for you I salted the sidewalk, then,” he responded.

“That’s okay. One former delivery driver is more than enough for me.”

“More than enough, huh?” he smirked. “Are you saying I give you more than you can handle, Swan?”

Elbowing him lightly in the side, she said, “Keep it up and when your big brother calls, I’m going to tell him you’re being insufferable.”

“Older brother,” he automatically corrected. “And don’t you dare. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Then behave,” she said, reaching for her phone on the coffee table. “I’m gonna put in our order. Same as last year?

“Works for me, but this time, I call dibs on the pork lo mein.”

She furrowed her brow at him. “Nobody messes with my pork lo mein and lives to tell about it.”

“Have they been teaching you intimidation techniques at the police academy?” he asked, trying to contain his mirth.

She glared at him a few seconds longer, then turned her attention back to her phone, saying, “I’ll put in a double order for it.”

“Grand idea, Love. I’m going to change into my own comfy clothes.”

She watched him leave the room, headed toward their bedroom, then finished placing their food order. While she was waiting for him to come back, she reflected on the past year. It was, by far, the best year of her life. She met Killian, fell in love and eventually asked him to move in with her. For their eight month anniversary, he took her on a trip to England to meet his brother and future sister-in-law. He also encouraged her to pursue her dream of enrolling in the police academy, where she was set to graduate in a little over a month.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Emma blinked and looked up at her love, amazed as always that he was hers.

Grabbing his hand in both of hers, she pulled him down beside her and climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I was just thinking about everything that happened since last New Year’s Eve.”

He tightened his grip on her, running his nose along the slope of her throat. “A lot has happened, all of it good,” he murmured.

“Well, most of it. There was the day I got a flat tire and the time you came down with the flu.”

His low chuckle sounded in her ear, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. “I was able to show you how to change the tire, and you nursed me back to health, so it all turned out good in the end.”

Placing her hands on both sides of his face, she put enough distance between them to be able to look into his brilliant blue eyes. “You made it the best year ever. I love you, Killian.”

“I believe we made it the best year ever, Sweetheart,” he corrected. “I love you, Emma.”

They shared a long, languid kiss that turned into many more, until they were interrupted by the food delivery. As they ate, they began watching the brand new season of The Great British Baking Show, pausing it to call Elsa and Liam at seven o’clock, which was midnight in the UK. Five hours later, they paused it again to ring in the New Year themselves. This time, their kiss wasn’t tentative like the year before, and they continued the celebration in their bedroom.

As they lay together, sated and blissfully happy, Emma whispered, “I wonder what 2025 has in store for us? It surely can’t be better than 2024.”

“I guess we’ll see,” Killian answered, thinking about the contents of a small, black velvet box, hidden in a pair of seldom worn boots, tucked away in the back corner of the closet.

*********

Thank you for reading, leaving comments, liking and reblogging, if you're so inclined. Every one is very much appreciated!

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[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "Dreams That You Wish Will Come True"

Since it is Sunday, I thought this little self-promo would be aptly posted today because I am finally - yes, FINALLY - ready to post Part Two, which will follow tomorrow. I am truly sorry that it has taken so long, but I hope to write lots this summer and to finish this one up in short order with Part Three.

Originally, this was written as a birthday gift for Krystal ( @kmomof4 ) and it is still here present first and foremost. She has been incredibly patient with my slow writing rate lately. I do hope the rest of you will enjoy this take on a reverse Cinderella AU however, and refresh your memory for the new addition if needed.

Also available on AO3 if that is your preference...

by: @snowbellewells

Chapter One

“But Liam,” a breathless young Killian Jones argued stubbornly, “why are you dragging me to the galley? You know all I have to get done before the Captain returns…” Swiping the shaggy dark hair back from where it hung in his eyes, long past needing a trim, the young man cringed at the sound of his own wheedling tone. Gritting his teeth and flexing his hands in frustration, Killian chided himself for questioning his elder brother’s direction and sounding like the bloody nuisance he knew he must be to Liam - strong and wise and nearly grown now. At barely seventeen, and with little experience beyond that of an indentured deckhand on a ramshackle pirate ship, what right or knowledge did he have to be so stubborn, especially not with Liam, who had only ever looked out for his best interests?

Sure enough, exasperated, Liam shook his head before responding with a huff, “Can you not just do what I say, Little Brother? For once? You’ll see in a moment.”

By this time, they had traversed the length of the ship below deck, and they stood outside the galley. They paused briefly, with Killian biting down on his tongue to prevent asking again if Liam was sure about what they were doing. To his wide-eyed astonishment, Liam raised a hand to rap his knuckles in a specific rhythm on the door that separated Cook’s domain from the dimly-lit hall. His brother gave him a bit of a wink, more mischief in it than his serious elder sibling, burdened with far too much responsibility for his years, usually showed. Curious now, Killian waited wordlessly with him until footsteps could be heard drawing nearer on the other side.

When the door was opened to them, Killian was perplexed over again as he and Liam were beckoned inward and the door closed behind them once more. Within the room, illuminated softly by a hanging lantern and a few candles scattered throughout, he saw that, not only Cook, but several of the crewmen of the Merry Rogue, had gathered in the small, already overwarm, and easily crowded room in which they took their meals. Killian was usually on his feet serving. Silver would allow nothing less from his “kitchen maid” as he often tauntingly dubbed Killian, hoping to stoke the fiery temper the young lad tried to check so he could then see him lashed for insubordination. It was only well after the others had cleared off that he and Cook could sit and take their own repast. However, those gathered now had secretive smiles and anxiously pleased looks on their faces. Killian noted easily that none of the more hateful crew members were present; neither those who ordered him about loftily, mocking him and sending him scurrying back and forth for items they didn’t really need throughout the meal, nor the cruel bosun who would stick a foot out to trip him, then cuff him for spilling and wasting food. Instead, gathered before him were the softer hearted men - perhaps misfits on the ship themselves at some earlier time before he and Liam were indentured to the vessel - who had often shown him bits of kindness and understanding when they could manage.

In spite of his earlier misgivings, he was intrigued and couldn’t help asking Cook this time, though Liam was still nearby. “What is going on here?”

The older man merely smiled kindly, motioning Killian further into the room, until he stood near its center. “You’ll soon see, lad,” Cook coaxed gently, turning to riffle through a burlap sack laid out on the galley table before offering his prize to Killian. “We’ve something to give you for the evening’s festivities.”

“Wh- what are you on about?” Killian’s brow puckered in confusion as he looked at what appeared to be a pile of folded cloth in his older friend’s hands, and at the eagerly expectant faces gathered around to watch. “Festivities? Me? I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about…”

He was shaking his head as words failed him, not sure how to deal with the puzzle before him, when he sensed Liam at his back, solid and strong. His elder brother placed a comforting hand on Killian’s shoulder and leaned in to murmur quietly in his ear. “Come now, Killy, you have to have seen the banners posted all over port for the gala at the castle, in honor of the Princess Emma’s birthday. It’s tonight.”

Killian sputtered indignantly as Liam nudged him in the side and nodded toward the stack of fine material Cook was still holding out to him. “Aye, of course I have, but - but what does that have to do with me?”

Liam responded with an even more brilliant smile, bowling Killian over with his quip, “Simple, Little Brother! If you would get a move on, we mean for you to attend that ball!”

Those words did not truly make the situation much clearer to Killian’s mind, but at Liam’s urging - knowing his sibling would never encourage something that would do him harm - he took the bundle from Cook and moved forward to lay the offering on the long, wooden table for a better view. He could see now that it was a fine coat, made of soft, midnight blue, expertly tailored and brand new, certainly the finest piece of clothing he’d ever held in his own two hands. There was also a dress shirt, a mere shade lighter, clearly meant to be worn beneath the jacket, and breeches of a soft, dove gray - all quite the ensemble and much finer than any mere deckhand or cabin boy would ever have use for. Despite that, all three items seemed to be in his particular size, and the pleased smiles on the small circle of weathered faces around him clearly meant for him to have the articles.

“This is very kind,” Killian began, trying a different tack since protesting that they must be mistaken had done no good. “These clothes are the most handsome I’ve seen, but surely no sailor, and one barely part of the crew at that, would be invited to such an event. Mayhap someone else could…”

“Perhaps I can explain,” an airy, musical voice spoke up, floating on the air like a tinkling of chimes as sparkles of light and swirls of colorful breeze seemed to catch the eyes of all those gathered in the small ship’s kitchen. Gliding gently toward him from above, a small creature - a miniature woman, a fairy!, he realized -  came to to hover before him, a sweetly bemused smile on her delicate face.

More questions flooded Killian’s brain than had already lingered; however, he was now too overwhelmed and in awe to speak any of them aloud. A fairy? Here? Where pirates cooked and swabbed the deck and ate their grub? That he would ever see such a mystical being had never entered his mind, much less the idea that he would encounter one aboard a ship which had seen much more glorious days many years ago. He was sailor enough - a superstitious lot, one and all - to believe that magic existed, fairies among the more familiar imagery of sirens and selkies, but a vague belief in theory was much different from seeing one shimmering before his own eyes, gazing on him with a benevolent smile upon her face.

Seeing that the beguiling young man before her was currently incapable of answering, the silvery-winged fairy’s laughter tinkled on the air like the pleasant ringing of tiny bells, the riotous pile of ringleted brown curls interespersed with morning glory blossoms shook with her gentle mirth before she spoke again, hastening to explain and hopefully to dispel the poor youth’s doubt and confusion. “You are Killian Jones, yes?” she queried, already certain, but awaiting his confirmation nonetheless.

Killian did manage an affirmative nod, and his lips formed a soft “aye”, though it sounded as barely more than a whisper.

“Well then, Killian Jones, it is a pleasure to meet you at long last. I have watched you from afar all your life, after all. I am Nova, your fairy godmother.”

The handsome young man’s bright blue eyes popped wide open at her pronouncement, stunning in their crystal clarity and nearly making Nova’s sweet soul cry at the hope laid bare in his expression, hope which he tried equally to rein in, clearly having already learned such lovely things were not meant for him and waiting to hear the catch. She was the most tender-hearted of all her sisters, and it had been painful for her to look on and do nothing as this mischievous, brilliant little boy had been forced into manhood far too soon. His mother’s death, his father’s abandonment, the privation and shame of unwilling servitude, the cruelty of mistreatment, and the harsh life at sea had all changed the bonny child who had boarded this ship with his father and brother years ago into the solemn young man before her, who had never truly been allowed to leave. She had chafed over and over again at being held back and kept from doing something to help her appointed charge - anything to better his lot, even slightly. Their fairy laws were fickle, and yet exacting; even as Nova honored and revered their ways and her elders, she could not claim to understand why it had taken so long to finally be deemed “the right time”.

She could tell by the furrow of his dark brow that young Killian Jones must be pondering at least some of those same questions. Where had she been these last years of backbreaking toil, pilfered rations, and vicious taunts about a father so desperate to be rid of him he had sold him away? Where had she been the first time the lash had scored his back and left bloodied stripes in its wake? She had been right there beside him, unseen, constrained from taking any action, but he had no way of knowing that.

“I - I have a fairy godmother?” he finally sputtered in stark disbelief.

Nova nodded kindly, having the good grace to look more than a little abashed. “Of course you do! Everyone does. It breaks my heart to think you’ve felt so forgotten.” She squared her shoulders and blinked rapidly, trying not to become emotional as she attempted to explain. “Unfortunately, we fairies follow a very strict code. We are forbidden to make ourselves known before the appointed time. And I kept being told it was not yet that moment…”

Killian’s mind whirled with all the new information - and with a bit of indignance at the idea that all he and Liam had been through since being abandoned and left in Silver’s dubious oversight had not been considered serious enough to merit aid. His mouth opened, and even he himself was not sure if it was a question or a retort on the tip of his tongue - but his immediate awe was finally overcome - when his diminutive magical guest clearly sensed she needed to finish her explanation, and fast. 

“My superior, the Blue Fairy, or Blue as she’s often called, is stricter about maintaining our distance and secrecy than most.” Nova shrugged her shoulders in obvious contrition as she waved her hands and a wand appeared within her grasp. “I’ve never really understood why, but that’s neither here nor there. It is finally time to grant your heart’s wish… to do something to make you life better, just as I’ve been waiting to do!”

Killian’s mouth snapped shut again at that, puzzled by her words and disarmed at the excitement bursting from her tiny frame. He had never met this Nova before, but he could hardly doubt her eager sincerity. “My wish?” he repeated uncertainly, feeling that he was trailing considerably further behind in the conversation that he ought to be. “I can’t honestly remember even making one.”

Even as he spoke those words, however, Killian knew in his heart they were not entirely true. It might not have been the focused drive of a wish upon a star, or anything that direct, but he had often thought on where he would go if he were free, what he and Liam could do if they were their own men, left to their own devices, able to seek an adventure of their choosing, honor and glory for the name of Jones which their father had sullied. Had those hopes and dreams been heard all this time, when he had felt so forgotten and ignored? It must be true, though it was hard to reconcile with his previous experiences.

Almost as if she could read his thoughts broadcast across his face, Nova nodded enthusiastically, affirming his realization. “That’s right,” she pronounced clearly, gesturing to the clothing his brother and shipmates had procured for him. The fairy -his fairy godmother! - then effortlessly waved her wand once more, causing one of the flyers ever-present about this kingdom to appear before him from out of thin air. “This ball is only the beginning for you. You have big dreams, Killian Jones, and a calling to fulfill, but you are also the only one who can see them come true. I may be giving you a bit of a boost, but you are more than enough for the task. Your heart is strong, and I have no doubt it will see you through. You only need a little belief.”

“And what exactly does a fancy royal ball have to do with anything?” he questioned. His shock was wearing off as he grew more comfortable speaking to Nova, but he wasn’t seeing why he would be needed at a princess’ birthday celebration. All the same, he scooped all the formal wear up in his arms to go and change - whether it made sense to him or not.

Nova’s entire small fae being practically twinkled at him with the playful wink she gave before answering, “Not all things are as simple as they might first appear, young sir.” With that, she lightly tapped the end of her wand on the top of his head, causing a pleasantly warm tingling to spread through Killian’s body, all the way out to his fingers and toes.

A mere moment later, amid astonished exclamations from Liam, Cook, and the others, he realized that his arms were empty; the new clothes he had been holding already magicked onto his lanky frame, along with shining new shoes upon his feet and a smart queue tied off with ribbon matching his fine shirt and a fresh, neat trim to his dark hair too. It was indeed enough to make him feel a whole new person - one who might not stand out horribly, even at the palace of Misthaven.

“There now,” Nova approved with gentle tone, a fond smile gracing her lips as she took in the full effect upon her charge. “You look quite the young gentleman.”

“Aye, you do at that!” Cook echoed with his rough but friendly voice as he clapped Killian on the shoulder heartily. “Even in our heyday, Cap’n Silver himself rarely looked so sharp!”

“I’d not let him hear you say so,” the old shipwright Ned called over jovially.

“Too right!” Cook chuckled.

The other crew members present laughed as well and began to talk amongst themselves, drifting away now that the excitement was past. Soon, only Liam stood beside him, the two brothers both looking to their benefactress where she hovered before them. Even Cook headed off for his cabin, saying his old bones were ready for his bunk, even if the night was still young.

“You look just like a fine young lieutenant,” Liam affirmed, eyes wide as he took in his younger sibling and needlessly brushed some nonexistent speck from the shoulder of Killian’s jacket. Then, bracing both of his larger hands on Killian’s upper arms, he held him out to gaze into his face seriously before offering in a choked voice, “This sort of adventure should have always been your lot.” Liam pulled Killian in abruptly and hugged him tight for several seconds, startling Killian before he held onto his brother with equal fervency.

“Thank you,” Killian finally managed when Liam released him. “I don’t know how you managed all this,” he gestured around the room, “but I am sure it began with you.”

Liam flushed slightly, looking down with a sheepish smile. “My idea, aye, but I had lots of help. And it wouldn’t have turned out nearly so well if your honest-to-goodness fairy godmother hadn’t turned up!”

Nova’s ringing laughter once again tickled their ears, her eyes crinkling up prettily as well with her good humor. “It really was my pleasure,” she rejoined. But then she added more seriously, “This is your night, Killian. There is much for you to see and to do, and I bid you enjoy every moment to its fullest. I’ve readied a carriage which will take you to the palace, and Liam can ride along with you as far as the gates. Just remember - the ride and the clothes, the gifts you’ve been granted, will vanish at midnight. It’s simply how the magic works. Make sure you are headed back by then.”

Killian nodded, promising he would do as she said; it was far longer than he could imagine needing, if the truth were told. He wasn’t at all sure what he would do there in any case. And though he wished Liam could venture inside with him, he would gladly take the ride to gather more advice and draw strength from his sibling’s company.

After that, it seemed very little time passed before - head still spinning at the sheer impossibility of it all - Killian was disembarking from a fine horsedrawn carriage at the palace gates. Looking back to grin crookedly at Liam, his brother urged once more “Have fun!” and reassured him that all would be well. Turning, Killian bravely put first one foot, and then the other, forward, until he stepped into the castle of Misthaven, a guest at a royal ball. 

He slipped his hand into his pocket to run his fingers over the ring on an old chain which had once belonged to their mother (Liam had bid him carry it this once for luck) and pulled in a deep, steadying breath as he gained his bearings. He was already dazzled beyond belief, but determined to make a good showing and bring “honor to the Jones brothers” as he murmured under his breath. Whatever he was meant to find, he would do his best.

At that, he raised his eyes, catching sight of the magnificent winding staircase trailing down from the upper floors into the main hall. Halfway down the steps, paused with one foot poised in descent, was a stunningly beautiful, golden-haired vision in sky blue and silver. Killian could scarcely take in the tiara resting upon her head or the clear resemblance she bore to her likeness on all the recent announcements for her birthday. Laying eyes on her in life had struck him motionless, frozen in place. ‘Bloody hell,’  his mind fumbled inelegantly, ‘It’s Princess Emma herself.’

So completely entranced was he, in fact, that Killian failed to realize the princess was just as stunned - equally taken in and unable to move. Their eyes met and held across the distance between them, and one more shining burst of magic was ignited then and there.

Tagging a few who might enjoy revisiting: @searchingwardrobes @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @xarandomdreamx @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight

@stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @eastwesthomeisbest @bluewildcatfanatic @jonesfandomfanatic

@belovedcreation @goforlaunchcee @laianely @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl

@myfearless-love @undercaffinatednightmare @caught-in-the-filter @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm

@gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @resident-of-storybrooke

@teamhook @revanmeetra87 @jennjenn615 @grimmswan @ultraluckycatnd

@4getfulimaginator2022 @ohmakemeahercules @everything-person @kday426 @jennjenn615

[teamhook]

Savage Heart~ CS AU

Beta’ed by @ilovemesomekillianjones

Chapter 1: The Wedding

~~EPOV

Emma stares at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She looks at the image she makes today, dressed in the most modest white wedding dress she has ever seen. It's plain and simple, nothing exquisite or extravagant about it, nothing like the dress that she had always dreamt of when she was a young girl.

Once upon a time, the day she'd been promised a betrothal to August, she'd envisioned such a dress. Unfortunately, she will not be marrying August, the man she loves, as she must protect him and her family's honor.

This is my duty, is all she keeps telling herself. She knows it is crazy, but she still longs for August, even though he chose another. Tears slowly fall and it makes her more determined to conclude this transaction because essentially, that is all it is - a business deal.

A soft knock raps lightly at the door and Mother Superior's voice sounds softly. "Emma, it is time. They are ready for you."

Emma slowly walks to open the door and closes her eyes desperately hoping for a sign that she doesn't need to go through with it, alas nothing happens. She has no choice, so she slowly covers her face with the sheer material her veil is made of. This is her final moment of freedom.

She can faintly hear the wedding march playing on the other side of the tall twin doors. Suddenly the doors open and she starts her walk down the aisle. She holds her head high and the voices fade into the back of her mind by the time she reaches the altar.

The priest starts reciting the exchange of vows consent.

"Emma and Killian, have you come here freely and without reservation, to give yourselves to each other in marriage?" They both answer in unison, "Yes." The priest continues, "Will you honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?" They answer, "Yes." "Will you accept children lovingly from God, and bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?" The answer is prompt, "Yes."

"Since it is your intention to enter into marriage, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church." They heed the priest's words. Killian looks at Emma and says his vows.

"I, Killian, take you, Emma, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life. "

Emma takes a breath and starts her vows in reply. "I, Emma, take you, Killian, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life."

They follow the traditional vows with the Blessing of Rings and a kiss that seals their union. Although this is not their first kiss, Emma has never experienced a kiss like this one before, a kiss tinged with the promise of something more. Quickly composing herself, Emma puts that thought in the back of her mind. Suddenly everything is a whirlwind around her and the next thing she remembers is finding herself in a carriage with her husband, headed to an unknown destination.

Not long ago she was ready to make vows of a different variety. Losing her love had broken her heart. She couldn't bare living under the same roof as the happy couple. She tried not to let it show that she was hopelessly in love with her cousin's husband. She knew love would never find her, so the only choice was the convent.

But now, so many changes have happened so fast. This marriage is the only choice she's decided for herself, no one can take this from her. Never again will Emma find herself at the mercy of others.

That lovely chapel in the convent had been her haven for a short time, but now a new endeavor is upon her. Emma looks at her husband and hopes that God will forgive them for a marriage that was not entered in the name of love. They had lied through their teeth to the priest.

She had felt the guilt right away, but the alternative is not an option.

~~KPOV

Killian Jones always considered himself a patient man, but right now that ability to wait is nowhere to be seen. He feels powerless and he hates that feeling. Killian looks toward the doors, willing his bride-to-be to finally show herself. For a few seconds, he fears Emma has betrayed him.

He looks around the chapel. There are no loved ones here to show support on either side, just some novices and a few of the older nuns. He has no family in town left alive, only a longtime friend that refused to show because he does not agree with this marriage.

When he finally hears the music begin to play, Killian takes a breath and tries to form a smile. He looks to the opening doors and finds himself entranced by the woman slowly making her way to him. He is not a blind man, she is beautiful, but sadly she is not the woman deeply embedded in his heart. But he will have his happy ending and it does not matter what needs to be done or how long it takes for him to get it.

The priest starts reciting the exchange of vows consent.

"Emma and Killian, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?" They both answer in unison, "Yes." the priest continues, "Will you honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?" They answer, "Yes." "Will you accept children lovingly from God, and bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?" The answer is prompt, "Yes."

"Since it is your intention to enter into marriage, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church." They heed the priest's words. Killian looks at Emma and says his vows.

"I, Killian, take you, Emma, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life. "

Emma takes a breath and starts her vows in reply. "I, Emma, take you, Killian, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life."

They follow the traditional vows with the Blessing of Rings and a hope-filled kiss that seals their union. It is a first kiss that holds so much promise for both Killian and Emma, they are unknowingly courting danger as neither suspects true love could soon be in the cards for them.

Not long after the ceremony, the newlyweds find themselves in a carriage headed home.

Killian can see the guilt all over his wife's face. He didn't know how it was possible to be able to see her truly. Yes, he knows his way around women, but with Emma, it is something entirely different.

"Darling, we will arrive soon to our new home," Killian says, and their eyes meet and time stands still for a brief second.

Tagging:

@hookedonapirate @kmomof4​ @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @killianjonesownsmyheart1 @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke  @superchocovian  @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89

[cosette141]

You, Me, and Who You Used to Be | CS Fic (CSSS 2024 Gift for BelovedCreation)

Merry Christmas!!

I'm your Santa this year!! :) 🎄🎄

Using your prompts of pining, Enchanted Forest, and angst with a happy ending, I give you:

Summary: (CS movie divergence) After getting her parents back on track, Emma’s magic returns. But before she can conjure a portal home, Killian is abducted. Alone in a world she knows nothing about and with no idea how to find Killian, Emma enlists the only person—or rather, pirate—who would be as motivated to save Killian as she is. However… Killian’s past may just be what destroys the future. CS

AO3

Words (so far): 5k+

NOTE: This is currently only the first chapter of this fic - long story short, the fic I spent weeks on just was not coming together, so I last minute changed to this one. It was an idea I had written the beginning of years ago that I remembered when I was trying to find something to align with the prompts you gave me :D so I knew it would be perfect to write for your gift!! I spent the past week working super hard on this trying to get it finished for you in time, but it was getting so rushed and you do not deserve a rushed gift!! So I decided to give you the first 5k words now, and I'll be updating it with the rest over the coming weeks! :)

Chapter One (under the cut!)

A/N: Story context: This is a canon divergence of the CS movie, which begins right after Emma gets the wand from Rumplestiltskin. (He does not send him to his vault of do-not-touch things in this version tho. We’ll pretend Elsa gets to Storybrooke some other way lol. I’ll also be ignoring Marian, which, the show pretty much did when it just ended up being Zelena anyway lol. 

Emma smiled at the faintly glowing wand in her fingers, feeling the warmth of the return of her magic, lighting a glow in the vast dining room of Rumplestiltskin’s castle. 

Everything was back on track.

Including herself.

Perhaps she had been trying to take the easy way out, blocking her magic from returning so she could go back to New York with no ties left behind. 

But more than anything, it was Killian’s smile now that made the warmth inside her grow even more, and if it wasn’t her imagination, made the wand spark a little brighter.

“It works,” whispered Emma, staring at the wand in awe, eyes snapping to Killian. “My magic is back!”

“I knew you could do it, love.” said Killian softly, a relief in his eyes, like it was for both the possibility of getting back home, and for the fact that he still blamed himself for her powers being taken in the first place. 

“Ah, the Savior, of course,” murmured Rumplestiltskin from his perch on the edge of his dining table. “I should have known you would have magic of your own.”

Emma suddenly realized just how much Rumplestiltskin knew. “Is it a problem that you know…?”

“It would be,” he agreed, but lifted his hand, where a potion bottle materialized. “However, I have spent the past few hours mixing myself a Forgetting Potion.”

Emma smiled. “Good. Well, let’s do this, then.” She then lifted the wand, about to attempt to bring forth the time portal.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Rumplestiltskin, jumping down and pushing her hand with the wand down. “Not in here. You might bring any number of my possessions with you.”

Emma winced, eyes finding the myriad of scary-looking things in the castle, wondering just how catastrophic that could be. 

She looked from Killian’s raised eyebrow to Rumplestiltskin. “So where do we—“

But not a second later, Rumplestiltskin’s castle was gone, and suddenly they were outside. Trees, greenery and blue sky replaced the walls of the Dark One’s abode. They weren’t too far from the town below, and not far off was the sea. But they were in an empty enough area of the forest that no one should see anything, and nothing should come with them.

 “Well,” said Killian, giving her another smile, “ready, there, Swan?”

Emma nodded. She lifted the wand again, concentrating on her magic, on the emotion in her chest, bright and raw. The tiny flicker of a portal, like a zipper drawn in the very fabric of the air, appeared before them. 

Killian grinned. “That’s it, lo—” 

He was cut off with a grunt, and Emma’s eyes snapped to him, her concentration broken and the tiny beginnings of the portal fizzled back out of existence. 

Emma’s heart stopped. 

They were no longer alone. 

A burly, muscled man had his arm around Killian’s neck in a chokehold, his other arm pinning Killian’s left arm to his side. Killian let out an angry, surprised snarl, jerking hard against the grip. 

“Hook!” cried Emma, jamming the wand in her back pocket to hide it and running toward him, only skidding to a stop when three other thugs suddenly flanked the first.

“Sw—“ began Killian, his right hand scrabbling at the hold around his neck, but his airway was quickly cut off. Red rushed to his face, and Emma’s heart froze.

“Sorry, darlin’,” said the man’s raspy voice. “We got direct orders to bring Captain Hook in. He stole from us last night, and now he gon’ pay. Pretty stupid to show yer face in the open like this, without yer crew, no less.” A dark chuckle. “Shoulda sailed away when he had the chance.” To someone behind him, he shouted, “Lucky catch, men!”

Killian struggled against them, something angry and feral, landing a blow to the man's gut. The man growled and stumbled, and Killian reared back to hit him again until the man snapped, “Stop fightin’ or the wench dies!” That made Killian freeze, staring at her with icy horror. 

For a moment, Emma and Killian stared at each other, and it felt like time stood still.

Panic rushed through Emma's chest.

Magic.

Magic.

But she had no idea how to use her magic.

And if she took even a step forward, she'd get a sword through her in seconds.

Killian grunted as a second thug grabbed him on his other side, ripping Killian's sword from his sheath.

Panic rose even sharper in Emma's chest.

Killian swallowed, eyes locked onto her. “Go—home,” Killian managed, his eyes pleading and broken, with something in them that looked like goodbye, only making Emma’s eyes burn. 

“Hook—!” breathed Emma, running for him, but froze when three swords pointed in her direction, so close to her it made her stumble back, falling to the ground.

And by the time she made it back to her feet, they were gone.

-.-.-.

Dark had fallen.

The air had chilled. 

But none of it gave her the cold dread inside her chest. 

She’d searched for hours.

But those men obviously knew this forest better than she did, and it was easy to get lost in it. 

Too easy.

She let them take him.

Emma kicked herself.

She should have done something.

She should have done something.

She should have been spending all the time back in Storybrooke learning magic instead of shoving it away.

Because now Killian was gone, and it was all her fault.

She got them stuck in the past.

She was the reason Killian stopped trying to free himself from those bastards.

She was the reason that they may never see each other again.

Emma couldn’t stop seeing his eyes. 

The resignation.

The defeat. 

The horrible, utter sadness.

She was now alone, and she’d never felt this alone in her entire life. 

It was one thing to grow up being alone. 

And it was another thing entirely to find people, to fall for people, and to have them ripped from you.

It was an entirely different thing to know what it felt like to not be alone.

And ever since meeting Killian, more or less after he decided to become a part of something , he’d been practically glued to her side. He’d voluntarily gone back to the land he hated more than anywhere, he’d given up his revenge, he’d found her in freaking New York City —an endeavor Emma still didn’t know how he managed to do—and how he managed to find her in a world he knew hardly anything about?

Emma stopped on the path, feeling the chill of the air. 

Even the air felt different in the Enchanted Forest. It felt… unearthly, which, wasn’t exactly off point. The magic in the land seemed to crackle like a charged atmosphere. The animal sounds, the nightly coos and caws were different, and all this different was unsettling and…

She really, really didn’t want to admit she was scared. 

But Emma didn’t have Mary Margaret with her this time. She didn’t have a princess squad to help her through. And, she didn’t have Hook.

Killian, who was god knew where. 

He might even already be—

No , said a firm voice in her head, trying to quell the hair that raised on the back of her neck at the thought. They wouldn’t have kidnapped him if they were going to be quick about it. 

The idea of him suffering at all…

Emma swallowed, hard, trying to shove down the rush of panic that shook her fingers.

How the hell was she supposed to find him?

She was a complete outsider. 

She not only wasn’t from this town, she wasn’t from this world , and she wasn’t from this time, not by a long shot. 

She was trapped thirty years in the past, and Killian could be anywhere. 

“Go home.”

Emma shut her eyes at Killian’s echo.

Go home.

He wanted her to go home.

He wanted her to leave him here, conjure the portal, and go home.

The very fact that he thought she would made her chest hurt, because how could he think she’d leave him here?

But…

“You really thought I’d let you drown?”

“Given our history, can you blame me for being uncertain? ”

Here she was thinking how he could possibly think she didn’t care about him, when…

“Do you even care about them? Or anyone in this town?”

He said anyone.

He meant me.

And replaying it all, how could she think he’d know she did?

All she’s done since he saved her in New York, was walk away from him.

But she did care.

She more than cared.

And now, she may never —

No.

Emma opened her eyes, ignoring the burn in them.

Determination set into her face, Emma made up her mind without hesitation. 

There was no way she was leaving here without Killian.

The thought of returning to life without him, living without him…

It felt wrong. 

Something about him in her life just made sense. Even now, she felt like something was missing, and suddenly she was wondering how she ever considered leaving her family, leaving him, to go back to New York. 

“Go home.”

She couldn’t go home when he already became her home.

But… 

How on earth—or, how in the Enchanted Forest—was she supposed to find him?

And before they did something terrible and irreversible to him?

“He stole from us last night. Now he’s gon' pay.”

Emma blinked. 

Killian didn’t steal anything from anyone; she knew he hadn’t. He’d been too concerned with messing up the time continuum.

He hadn’t stolen.

But Emma had a pretty good feeling who had.

And Killian was currently paying for his crime. 

Emma smiled grimly, a plan unfolding in her head. 

She started walking, faster this time.

She just hoped the Jolly Roger was still in port. 

-.-.-.

Emma clung to the shadows when she entered the town. 

Thanks to Rumplestiltskin returning her clothes, she was no longer wearing the ragged dress and cloak that they had stolen, and was back in her jeans and leather jacket. Something that, Killian’s voice reminded her, hasn’t come into vogue, ever. So… she had to be careful. They just fixed the timeline; they cannot ruin it all over again.

But Killian was worth that risk.

As she clung to the dark areas of town, Emma was reminded of a younger her, living on the streets, dodging shadowy corners to pitch black alleyways. It was evening, the sky blackening with an array of stars, but the town still bustled with life, mostly around the taverns. 

Emma passed the tavern she and Killian had found his past-self in, and Emma risked a look inside, but he wasn’t there. 

Her heart quickening, Emma suddenly worried he wasn’t even in town.

She picked up her pace, following the path past-Hook had led her down when he’d been her inebriated guide. 

Emma emerged from the cover of an alley, looking up to see the sea, and ships of all sizes moored at the docks. And among them—

Emma felt relief flood her. 

The Jolly Roger. 

She smiled despite herself, picking up her pace. As she got closer, she could see the crew retracting the anchor—

They were leaving. 

Her heart pounding, Emma began to sprint. 

With grunts of heaving, two members of the Jolly’s crew were lifting the gangplank.

It was halfway up when Emma got to it, flinging herself off the dock and onto it, barely making the jump. She slid down the wood, landing in a heap on the deck. 

“What in the blazes—?!”

The two men nearly dropped the gangplank, but managed to finish shutting it, faster, as if worrying that someone else was going to attempt Emma’s jump. 

Her entire body throbbing from the mistreatment, Emma slowly picked herself up from the deck. She quickly noticed at least a dozen pirates were staring at her in shock. 

But a voice broke through the din, and Emma would recognize it anywhere. 

“Well, you don’t bloody see something like that every day.”

-.-.-.

Despite her protests, Emma had been manhandled by two of the crew members and dragged into the Captain’s Quarters a moment after she’d seen him. He’d witnessed her reckless jump onto his ship, but hadn’t said a word to her yet. 

She was currently in the chair opposite his desk, two burly hands on her shoulders keeping her pinned down, and Hook was in his chair behind the desk, staring at her in silence. 

“What are you doing aboard my ship?” he said finally. 

Emma flicked her eyes to the pirate holding her down, then back to Hook. “I’ll tell you, but only you.”

Hook sighed, then flicked his eyes to the man behind her, giving a minute nod and a slight roll of his eyes. Then, when the door clicked shut, he gave her a pointed look.

Emma let out a breath, her heart beating in a frenzy. This Hook was not half as drunk as he was when they last met. His gaze on her was cold and measured and there was no trace of the softness Killian had now. It unnerved her, this air of danger he held, sitting before her. Waiting. 

But Emma swallowed, trying to remember, this is still Killian. Just… buried under two hundred years of pain and resentment. 

It didn’t make her feel better. 

“I need your help.” said Emma at last, holding his gaze. 

His brow lifted, like that was the last thing he’d expected her to say. “My help?” he echoed, lips twisting a little in amusement. “I’m a pirate captain, lass. You’ve mistaken me for someone who gives. Pirates take.”

Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the irony that all he’s done the past two years was give. 

Worry fluttered in her stomach, suddenly wondering if her Killian was all right.

And when did he start being ‘her’ Killian?

Emma let out another breath. “Yeah, that’s actually what brings me here. All I need to know,” said Emma slowly, “is who you stole from last night.” 

She’d thought it through; if she could just get the name or the place of the person who he’d stolen from, she could go find Killian without Hook ever needing to know she was from the future. 

Hook paused. 

Suspicion suddenly gleamed in his eyes. 

He stood, and rounded his desk until he was standing before her. 

The suspicion only deepened in his eyes.

Emma could feel the danger radiate off him like a cologne. 

She was trying not to shrink under his intense gaze when he leaned even closer, his face inches from hers. He searched her eyes.

“You,” he whispered. “I remember you.”

Emma’s heart skipped. “You do?” she breathed. 

She should have known it was irrational to think he meant he remembered knowing her. 

Because his eyes narrowed, coldness in the blue. “You owe me a nightcap, love.”

Emma froze. “Oh,” she said, biting her lip. “Didn’t blame the rum, huh?”

He leaned back slightly, but looked no less predatory. “I’m guessing this is from you as well,” he said, brushing the metal of his hook to his cheek where Killian had hit him. 

Emma winced. “Not exactly—“

He was suddenly in her face again, eyes narrowed, colder than ice. “You were trying to get me drunk. To get on my ship,” he muttered. “Why?”

Oops.

Emma tried to think fast. 

She did not like a version of Killian that scared her, and this one did exactly that. 

As if to prove the point, he raised his hook, tracing her jaw until the tip was underneath her chin, forcing her head up. Emma gasped reflexively, suddenly realizing how bad of an idea this had been. “Tell me,” he hissed, “or this will be rather unpleasant.”

Emma swallowed, trying to stem the rush of fear. To hell with the timeline. “I’m from the future.”

His brow rose sharply, surprise and a little confusion slipping into that cold expression. Clearly time travel was not one of the things he’d expected her to say. 

It was the second time she’d surprised him, and Emma knew he wasn’t an easily surprised man.

Before he could interrupt, she went on, wincing as the sharp tip of his hook stung. “I’m telling you the truth,” she said quickly, fear sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m from… about thirty years in the future. I think. It’s really hard to keep track with all the curses," she finished, which even to her ears sounded like she was crazy.

“Time travel is unheard of.” said Hook, dismissing her whole story.

"You spend two hundred years on an island where time doesn't even exist and this is too crazy for you to imagine?" snapped Emma exasperatedly.

He ignored her. “Now, what are you really doing on my ship? Clearly if you’d gotten what you wanted, you wouldn’t have been daft enough to return.” His eyes looked her up and down, his brow lifting when his eyes reached hers, and Emma glared at him. “And if I had gotten what I wanted, that night would not have ended with you injuring me.” A cold smile. “Well, not in the traditional way, anyway.”

Emma huffed out a breath, almost forgetting just how innuendo-clad he once was. “Look, I’m telling the truth . I need your help to—“ She gasped, the tip of his hook digging slightly deeper. 

“You will tell me what I want to know,” said Hook quietly. He removed his namesake, and Emma winced. “I’ll give you the night to think it over. Lie to me again," his voice lowering, dipping into the personification of danger as his gaze bored into hers, and she tried not to shrink under it, "you’ll be walking the plank in the morning.” He moved away from her, and Emma realized she'd forgotten how to breathe.

“Hook—“ began Emma, but Hook simply barked, “Jenkins!”

The door opened, and one of the men who had dragged her down here walked inside. 

“Take her to the brig.”

Emma’s heart pounded. “No— Hook,” she said quickly as he sat nonchalantly back at his desk. “I need—“

Emma was grabbed from behind and forced out. 

He didn’t look up as they took her. 

But when he thought she was out of sight, she saw him briefly touch his fingers to his lips, something unreadable stirring in his eyes.

-.-.-.-.

Emma waited until she was left alone, and the ship had quieted down enough to suggest the crew was asleep.

They’d bound her hands in front of her, which was their first mistake. 

Feeling a sense of deja vu, Emma felt along the ground until she found something useful. Finding something sharp and thin enough to work, she quickly got to work on the lock to the cage. 

The trouble was opening the door without it creaking, which took her plenty of precious minutes. 

Once free, she left the brig, and quietly made her way to the armory.

It was good that she was familiar with the ship after Neverland. Plenty of hours on the water had her nervous energy getting the better of herself and she’d done some extensive exploring. She’d paced the ship enough to know where its creaky boards were, so she was inside the armory in silence quickly. 

Emma grabbed the first blade she could find—a knife—and freed her hands, then took the gag from her mouth. 

Gripping the knife in her shaking hands, Emma left the armory, walking down the hallway to the door at the very end. 

The Captain’s Quarters. 

Feeling plenty of uncertainty, but needing to know where Killian was, Emma slowly reached for the door handle, glad the ridiculously loud chorus of snoring from the crew covered much of the noise she made. 

Slowly and without breathing, she opened his door. 

Emma shut it just as quietly, and the noise of the snoring was muted. 

Emma turned. 

The cabin was dark. 

And there, lying on his bed, was Hook. Asleep.

She could see him breathe beneath the blanket. 

Carefully, and avoiding every creak in the floor she knew of, Emma crept up to his bed. 

Then, she held the knife an inch from his throat, opening her mouth to wake him.

“Do I need to explain what a nightcap is to you?”

Emma jumped a mile in her skin.

Hook’s eyes were open, and he looked from the knife at his throat to Emma. A raised brow, he deadpanned, “You escaped.”

“You underestimated me.” she countered. He lifted his brow as Emma continued firmly, “I need you to help me.”

“Help me?” he echoed. His eyes flicked from the knife to her eyes. “You’re taking your life in your hands threatening me, lass.” he said dangerously.

“I’m trying to save your life!” snapped Emma.

His brow hitched higher, again flicking his eyes pointedly to the blade, then back at her. 

Emma sighed, removing the knife from his throat. 

He still didn’t move, eyeing her still suspiciously. “How is it you think you’re saving me?” he asked. 

Emma sighed shortly. “Look. I told you I was from the future. I am. I’m from your future. And I didn’t get sent to the past alone.” She took a breath, hoping telling him wouldn’t implode the timeline. But she was scared, she was alone, and without his information, she would never be able to find Killian. She could only hope that after she saved Killian, he’d still exist when they returned to their time. 

Emma sighed. “When I got sent here, you came with me.” she said finally.

Confusion kneaded his brows with honest puzzlement, and for the first time he looked almost like her Killian. “I… what?” he managed.

Emma sighed shortly. “You— future you,” clarified Emma. “You’re here, in the past, too.”

Hook looked lost in thought for a second. Then— “That was bloody real?”

“What was?” asked Emma.

He sat up, regarding her with both suspicion and shock. “The dream I thought I had of you, up until you foolishly returned.” Emma glared at him flatly as he went on, “I saw…”

“Yourself,” finished Emma impatiently. “Yeah. You punched yourself.” At his very perplexed expression, she went on, “I told him—you—it was a bad idea. So, blame yourself.” He blinked in utter confusion. But, at least, he seemed to believe her story. “Look,” said Emma, “we were on our way back to the future when some huge guys kidnapped him because they said he stole something and he needed to ‘pay for it’.” she finished in a bad facsimile of Killian’s abductor’s voice. Her eyes burning into Hook’s, she said, “What did you steal? Who are they and where did they take him?”

“You’re telling me,” said Hook slowly, “that there is a future version of me out here?”

“Yes,” said Emma through gritted teeth. “Now what did you—“

“Tell me, love,” said Hook casually enough, though the coldness in his words was back. “What is my future?”

“I can’t tell you that,” she said exasperatedly. “Already I need to get you a Forgetting Potion to make sure you get to that future.”

He stared at her for a long moment, a million things happening behind guarded eyes. But finally, his brow lifted a fraction. “And I’m just supposed to believe this?" 

Emma groaned. “What proof do you want?” she said impatiently. “Your father abandoned you and Liam; you used to be in the Royal Navy; you became a pirate after what happened to Liam in Neverland; you’re currently on a suicidal mission to kill Rumplestiltskin for taking your hand and Mila—“

“Stop!” 

Emma froze, having been angrily ticking off the trivia on her fingers, to see Hook’s eyes with more emotion than she’s seen from this version of him yet. 

“How do you know all that?” he breathed. For once, his voice lost Hook’s edge, and he sounded like Killian. The danger evaporated from him in seconds, replaced with something almost... lost. “It’s—it's been centuries since—"

“You told me.” said Emma simply. 

“I… told you,” repeated Hook flatly, words rolling off his tongue like something foreign. The edge in his voice swiftly returned as he demanded angrily, “And why the bloody hell would I do that?” 

“How should I know?” snapped Emma, her anxiety getting to her and sharpening her own tone.

He rose to his feet, and Emma did not like the feeling that he was attempting to use his height over hers to intimidate her. He leveled a look at her, with something different in his eyes, something dangerous in a new way. “Tell me one thing, lass," he began, voice casual-sounding, but underlined with something that sent a shiver down her spine, "and maybe I help you.”

“Why wouldn’t you help me?” exclaimed Emma, standing her ground. “You’d be helping you!”

“That remains to be seen.” He stepped toward her, and damn it he didn’t even need the hook to be imposing. “Tell me, lass.” Another step, and Emma felt her back hit the wall, not even realizing she’d been retreating. His gaze bored into hers. “Do I get my revenge?”

Emma swallowed, suddenly feeling a familiar sense of dread as to when the past version of Rumplestiltskin had asked about whether or not he found Neal.

When the silence spread a little too long, she whispered, “Hook—”

“Do I, or not?” he demanded, voice clipped. Cold.

Dangerous.

Emma felt paralyzed.

The Hook—the Killian —standing before her was completely hellbent on getting his revenge. He’s been at it for centuries, and the anger and pain in his eyes overpowered the blue in them, so much so it was hard to remember that Killian and Hook were the same person.

And here, Hook was his vengeance right now.

There was hardly a spark of him.

If she told him the truth, that he not only doesn’t kill his crocodile, but chooses to live peacefully in the same town as the monster? Gives up not only his quest for vengeance, but turns into a hero?

And worse yet, that he lets go of Milah?

For her?

From the amount of anger she’s eliciting from him right now, she doubted he’d be happy to know that information in particular.

So, she decided to tell him the truth.

Or…

Part of it.

“No,” she said finally, watching his brow shift dangerously. “Not yet.”

He searched her eyes, his face like stone. “Not yet?” he repeated, voice low, almost threatening.

Emma swallowed the fear slipping down her spine, hoping she was still as good of a liar as she once was. “Not yet,” she confirmed, which, still, wasn’t a complete lie. She took a breath, holding his gaze, preparing herself. 

And she lied.

“I’m helping you get your revenge in the future,” she said smoothly. “The Dark One is currently living in a realm without magic. He’s vulnerable. I’m helping you get there.” She swallowed, her entire body rigid. Hook was pin-silent as Emma finished, “We accidentally got sent to the past on our way there. That’s why I need you to help me. If you don’t, you will never get your revenge.”

Emma fell quiet, holding her head high, clinging onto confidence she didn’t feel in the slightest.

Killian could read her like an open book.

If this version of him was as perceptive as he comes to be…

If he found her lying to him…

Again …

Emma tried to ignore the fear prickling in her veins.

He held her gaze, pinning her to the spot with his eyes alone. Watching her eyes carefully, his narrowed. 

Finally, he said, “Why are you helping me?”

Emma tried not to flinch at the obvious distaste in his voice. She thought fast, and found something that held nothing but truth. “Because,” she said, “you did me a favor. I’m repaying a debt.”

His brow lifted. “Quite the debt.”

Emma felt something stir in her chest, thinking of all that Killian has done for her. “It was quite the favor,” she said quietly.

His brows kneaded with question, like he wasn’t sure why he would bother to do her a favor.

Emma was quickly becoming irritated with this version of Hook.

“How are you helping me?” he asked then, gaze boring into hers, almost as if he was trying to poke holes into her story to see if it would leak. “Why do I need you?”

It was spoken so carelessly.

And it hurt.

Emma was surprised at the sudden burn behind her eyes.

She’d brushed off Killian’s affections, his obvious devotion to her, more times than she could count. 

And here he was, looking at her like he couldn’t have cared about her less.

How could she have wasted all the time she had with him?

Getting him back now was the longest of long shots, for—and it made sharp fear race down her spine— he could already be dead.

Blinking away the emotion, Emma huffed out a breath, trying not to appear as hurt by his words as she was. “I’ve got Light Magic,” she snapped, making surprise lift his brow. “You’re trying to kill the Dark One. Do the math.”

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes narrowed, danger rolling off him in waves.

Finally, he spoke.

“I help you, and, him,” he muttered, uneasily over what to call his future self, “get back to your time,” he said slowly, “and then I will get what I want most?”

Emma felt the ghost of a smile touch her lips, for she didn’t have to lie for this one. “Yes.” 

He most definitely will. 

-.-.-.-. TBC

@belovedcreation-kitr-headcanon @cssecretsanta2020 @belovedcreation

[searchingwardrobes]

Scarborough Fair 9/?

Yes, it's true. You aren't dreaming. I am finally updating this long-neglected fic! Not only that, but I will be finishing it. As a matter of fact, you will have an update every day this week. If anyone still cares, that is, lol. I know the fandom isn't what it once was. However, I suddenly got inspired again to finish this. So whether or not anyone reads it, it's getting the resolution it deserves. Why did I neglect it for so long? Writer's block. I just haven't written hardly a thing in at least a year, probably longer. So when I laid awake, unable to sleep because I was finishing this fic in my head, I was ecstatic. That's why I'm finishing it whether anyone reads it or not. Of course, if you are still reading it, may I politely suggest commenting? It definitely feeds the muse!

Rest assured, there will be an update tomorrow. I don't have much going on tomorrow, and I actually planned more in this chapter originally. So be looking out for that!

Much thanks to the two biggest fans of this fic, Krystal @kmomof4 and Marta @snowbellewells - re-reading your reblogs of this fic helped kick me back into high gear!

And as an extra treat, here is a picture of Emma's wedding dress in this chapter:

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Emma Swan has had a charmed life, despite being a foster child. She has a wonderful family who loves her, and the best friends in the world. The only thing that mars her idyllic existence is her birth mother: a homeless woman who mutters nonsensical rhymes and claims to be Snow White. One fateful night, however, Emma’s world is shattered. Perhaps her mother’s rhymes aren’t nonsense after all.

Rated: M for date rape, dubious consent, teen pregnancy, and sexy times (the good kind!)

Words: Over 1k in this chapter

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight

Also on Ao3

Tagging:  (let me know if you wish to be removed or added):  @snowbellewells @teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @xhookswenchx-reads-blog @thisonesatellite @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @ohmakemeahercules @tiganasummertree @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare @onceratheart18 @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressay

Liam and Ingrid, unsurprisingly, had concerns when they came home to Emma and Killian announcing their engagement. Anna, unsurprisingly, was bouncing up and down with joy. 

“Are you sure you’re proposing for the right reasons?” Was their main question for Killian.

“Well, the main reason is I love her,” he told them with conviction, “but it’s also the timing. She needs me. I know deep in my bones I was always meant to be her husband, so if she needs me now, why wait?”

“Are you sure you aren’t just accepting out of fear? Because it’s safe?” Was their main question for Emma.

Emma’s answer was delivered with just as much conviction. “It isn’t just that I feel safe with Killian; I love him. Shouldn’t love feel safe, anyway? And I feel the same way he does. If we waited five more years, or ten, or twenty, nothing would change. We’re meant to be together.”

Liam and Ingrid couldn’t pretend to be surprised. Both of them had noticed a soulmate type of connection between Emma and Killian for a long time. They also couldn’t deny the logic of the decision when it came to Emma’s security and the baby’s. There was only one other concern.

“What about school?”

“I can finish high school married just as well as I can single,” Emma told them with a shrug, and Killian vowed he wouldn’t get in the way of her education. 

“But Boston College, Killian?”

He squared his shoulders and looked his brother dead in the eyes. “I won’t be returning. I’ve already told my boss he can count on me full time with the construction company. He’s promoting me to a foreman position, so I can easily support Emma. When the baby’s a little older, I can enroll at Red Oak and get my degree there.” 

Liam wanted to argue, but there really wasn’t anything wrong with Killian’s plan. Lots of people worked a year or two, or longer, before getting a degree. He wanted to say that Boston College was a lot more prestigious than Red Oak, but he knew full well it was a pretty weak argument. Killian would save a lot of money by transferring to Red Oak, not to mention gaining job experience. He let out a long breath and shared a meaningful look with his wife. 

“Well okay, then,” she said, her signature grin filling her face, “let’s plan a wedding!”

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

A date was set for mid-August, giving Emma two weeks between the wedding and the first day of her senior year. Unfortunately, Elsa wouldn’t be back from her study abroad program in time for the ceremony. It also gave them only three weeks to throw a wedding together. Thankfully, neither Emma nor Killian were big on grand ceremonies. 

The first item on Ingrid’s checklist was the venue. The bride and groom solved that easily: their own living room. Anna and Ingrid - and Elsa via Zoom - tried to protest that it was too small, but Emma just shrugged them off. 

“We can just pull out all the furniture and line up folding chairs. It’s not like we’re inviting that many people.”

Ingrid was concerned that the second item, the dress, would be impossible. Fate, however, seemed to be in their favor. Emma found a vintage dress that suited her personality perfectly at a thrift store downtown. She hadn’t even been dress shopping that day. Ingrid had taken her for ice cream after one of her prenatal appointments, and they had decided to stroll around the square with their ice cream cones. They were simply walking along the sidewalk, licking scoops of chocolate ice cream, and suddenly, there it was, displayed in a window. 

Emma wasn’t even sure it was meant to be a wedding dress, but it didn’t really matter. It was a cream colored, empire-wasted, sleeveless dress with one tier on the bottom of the long skirt. The fabric had a delicate floral pattern in light gold that shimmered when Emma moved. The top was a halter, which flattered Emma’s fuller bust due to her pregnancy. The empire waist also masked her growing baby bump and provided plenty of room in case she gained more in the next few weeks. When she tried it on, Ingrid started to cry. 

An employee stopped to admire Emma. “We just got that in yesterday,” she told her. “A woman told us it was her mother’s prom dress in 1976.”

Emma’s mouth fell open as she locked eyes with Ingrid. Her foster mother pressed her hands to her mouth and let out a happy squeak. 

“It’s fate, Emma,” she told her, and the two embraced. 

They left the store with the dress lovingly wrapped in its original box, having paid a whopping thirty-five dollars and seventy-five cents. 

 Every single item on Ingrid’s list was checked off with simple solutions by the bride and groom:

Killian’s tux? Well, if Emma was wearing a 70s prom dress from a thrift shop, Killian would find a thrift store suit, too.

The food? A potluck lunch would do just fine. 

The cake? The ones at the grocery store would do. As George Banks said in Father of the Bride, a cake is just flour, eggs, and sugar, right? Or something. 

The only thing Killian was concerned about was a place to live. Sure, he knew his brother and Ingrid would never kick them out, and there was at least a modicum of privacy in his attic suite. Still, it would be a little awkward, for one. More than that, however, was Killian’s pride. If he was really providing for Emma and the baby, he should be able to put a roof over their heads. 

His pride wouldn’t even allow him to go to his own brother with his concerns. Yet, Liam somehow knew anyway. Which was why he greeted Killian at the door one evening, a week and a half before the wedding, with a huge grin on his face and a slip of paper in his hand with an address on it. 

After hearing what Liam had to say, Killian raced eagerly up the stairs to Emma’s room with the good news. He came to a sudden stop in Emma’s open doorway, the smile falling from his face. She was sitting atop her bed, hugging a pillow, hastily wiping tears from her cheeks. Her mother’s journal rested atop the quilt beside her. 

“Hey,” Killian said softly as he entered the room, “what’s wrong?”

Emma slid over to make space for him on the bed, still trying to wipe the traces of tears from her cheeks. Killian picked up her mother’s journal as he made himself comfortable against the throw pillows along the headboard. Emma lifted his arm, put it around her shoulders, and tucked herself against him. 

“Is it the curse?”

She shook her head. “It’s my mom,” she told him softly.

He waited, rubbing her arm gently, and pressing his lips to the top of her head. Emma let out a shaky sigh before continuing.

“I wish I knew where she was. I’m getting married, and she doesn’t even know.”

Killian nodded but said nothing. Emma lifted her head just enough to look up at him. 

“Is it crazy that I wish she could be there?”

“Of course not. She’s your mother.”

“My insane, homeless, unpredictable mother who threw glass bottles at my head.”

Killian chuckled lightly. “True,” he tapped the green, cloth-covered notebook resting on the bedspread, “but I think reading her journal has given you a glimpse of the woman she was before. I think it’s made you realize, maybe for the first time, what you’ve lost.”

“That makes sense. I think I’m also worried that we haven’t heard from her in so long.”

Killian didn’t know what to say to ease her worries, so he cupped her face in his hand, tipped her chin up, and covered her lips with his. The kiss started gentle, intended simply to comfort, but then she responded so fervently and eagerly, that he lost himself. He shifted so she was beneath him, which caused a mewling sound to pass her lips that drove him wild. Emma slid her hand beneath his t-shirt, sending shivers up his spine as her fingers caressed his lower back. His hand grasped her waist, and his thumb slipped beneath the hem of her shirt. At the simple contact, Emma arched into him, and he began to trail kisses along her jawline. With one hand still on his back, her other hand threaded through his hair. She gasped when his lips trailed to the sensitive skin behind her ear, and something about the sound snapped him out of his haze of desire.

Killian pulled away abruptly and sat up, putting some distance between them. Emma still lay there on the bed, her face flushed, her hair splayed out on the pillows beneath her, a look of confusion marring her brow. 

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said thickly, fixing his own mussed hair with shaking hands. 

“What for?” Emma asked indignantly, sitting up beside him. “We’re engaged.”

He turned to her and took her face gently in both hands. “I know. I love you, Emma, and I plan to cherish you. You deserve that. After everything you’ve been through, I’m not going to take you like this, hurried and frantic, thinking in the back of our minds that someone could interrupt us at any moment.”

Emma glanced sheepishly at the still open door and giggled. “Then close the door next time.”

He laughed with her and pulled her to him, holding her gently. He ran his fingers through her slightly tangled hair. 

“I want to make love to you. Slowly. Thoroughly.”

Emma shivered in his arms. “Are you trying to torture me on purpose?”

He laughed again. “I feel a bit tortured, myself, truth be told. But we only have a week and a half. Then we’ll have the time and the privacy we deserve.”

“Time maybe. But privacy?”

Killian pulled the forgotten slip of paper from his pocket. “Yes, privacy.”

Emma snatched it from his hand, looking at it curiously as she settled in the middle of the bed with her legs crossed. “An address?”

“Our address,” he told her, grinning broadly.

“For real?” Emma’s eyes widened.

“For real.”

Emma squealed and threw her arms around his neck. He laughed as she peppered kisses all over his face. 

“How?” she finally asked. 

“There’s a professor of archaeology taking a sabbatical to do a dig in Greece. He told Liam he was looking for someone to take care of his house while he’s gone. So it’s ours. For free.”

“For free?”

Killian shrugged. “Well, there are also some maintenance things on the house I’m agreeing to do for him free of charge, but basically.”

Emma gazed in shock and happiness at the paper in her hands. “It’s too good to be true.”

“It’s fate.”

Emma’s eyes shone with happy tears as she looked back up at him. “It really is.”

Killian was ready to throw caution to the wind and press Emma back down into the pillows when Ingrid appeared in the doorway. He was worried what she would say, seeing him on Emma’s bed, but Ingrid seemed too ecstatic to notice. 

“We’ve found her!” she told them. 

“Who?” Emma asked. 

“Your mom!”

[cstveamaryllis]

CSOW : DAY 6 & 7 : FAVORITE CHARACTER + LA FEMME ROUGE : OFFICIAL CARMEN SANDIEGO SEASON 5 BOOK COVER

version 1

version 2

i didn’t know what to do for these days, but it hit me! The CSV official book cover release 👀 There was actually supposed to be an animation for the two days but I cut off the idea due to it taking quite a while. I’ll still post it though!

[everything-person]

Summary: Killian, along with his brother, lived deep under the sea being raised by his grandfather King Triton in King Posideons court. Emma lived high on land in the Enchanted Forest being raised by her parents Queen Snow White and King "James" in the Misthaven court. Their worlds so close yet so far. What happens when they meet and their curiosity gets the best of them?

A/N: This story is based on one of the first fanfics I ever read, Castles in the Sand by alleycat22 on fanfic.net. It was unfortunately never finished so this fic is an ode to that story. I am not trying to plagiarize anyones work there will be similarities because one fic inspired another.

Prologue

The mist of the sea sprayed against her skin as the wind whipped her golden hair. The wood bit into her palms as she gripped the railing of the ship leaning back enjoying the sea air; listening to the waves crash against the ship beneath them.

“Isn’t this great?” She turns her head upwards to see her father standing just behind her, a smile gracing his features.

“The salty sea air, the wind blowing in your face,” He inhales deeply before letting out a sigh, “Perfect day to be at sea.”

Finally looking down at her she smiles back at him.

“A fine strong wind and a following sea,” the gruff voice of a sailor near them caught her ear, “King Triton and Poseidon must be in a fine mood.”

“King Triton?”

“Why ruler of the merpeople your highness,” another sailor answered.

“Merpeople?”

“Yes! Mermaids and mermen, half fish half human, swimming about below this very vessel.”

The young girl’s eyes went wide as she leaned forward, feeling her father’s hands come to rest on either side of her waist, bent in half staring at the water below them, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature the sailor spoke of.

“And King Triton rules over them with a mighty hand. ”

She absorbed every word the sailors said. Her imagination running wild with all this new information. Then she paused, standing up straight once more she turned her attention to the sailors.

“Who's Poseidon?”

“Poseidon is his brother. He rules all the sea and the creatures that live there. Each brother can control the tides and the storms too, so when the sea is restless you know something is a miss in their kingdom.”

Almost as if to prove the sailors point a strong waves rocked the ship, nearly causing the young princess to tumble over if it wasn't for her father hands still griping her sides.

She turned to her father, “Do you think it's true, Papa?”

Her father shrugged, “I’m not sure, Emma. I’ve never seen a merperson.”

“I have.”

They turned to see the lady of the ship finally on deck. Emma raced over to the woman looking up at her, eyes slightly widened, mouth agape.

“Really, Mama?”

Her mother knelt down, gently brushing her daughter's wind swept her from her face. “Really. She was beautiful and very kind and very curious.”

“How come I’ve never heard this story?” Her father asked behind her.

Her mother shrugged looking up at her husband, “You never asked.”

“Will you tell me?”

She looked down at her daughter, “I’d love to.”

Emma's face lit up with her excited smile.

“But another time. You have some studying to do,” the twinkle in her daughter's eyes quickly faded as her mouth turned down into a pout, “Just because we are traveling doesn’t mean you get out of your studies. I promise when we are done I will tell you all about my friend Ariel.”

Her mother stood, grabbing her hand to lead her below deck. Emma dragged her feet but followed her mother, though the pout never left her face until a question came to mind.

“Mama,” she said, catching the woman's attention, “Do you think I could meet a mermaid?”

“Maybe.” The woman thought about her words carefully, not wishing to deject her daughter, “It is rare to see a mermaid, let alone meet one, like I did, but anything is possible.”

They passed by a sailor who had just pulled up a fishing net, detangling their catch. He pulled out one that was slightly too big for his hand, so when it started the squirm as the ship was rocked again, it slipped from his grasp, falling back down to the sea. It swam deeper and farther trying to get away from its captors. It swam right past a young boy.

Following the trail the fish left, the boy saw it lead to the surface. His curiosity got the better of him so he swam up, seeing the hull of the ship cutting through the water. The closer he got the more his curiosity grew, and he reached out his hand towards the ship.

“Killian!”

He turned to see his brother's scowl, “What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?”

“I was just-”

“First, you are late! Grandfather has everyone looking everywhere for you! And I find you chasing after a human's ship!”

“I-”

His brother grabbed his hand, beginning to drag him the opposite way of the ship towards their home. “You could’ve been seen! You could’ve been caught in one of their nets! You could’ve been harpooned! You could’ve been killed! Is that what you want? Huh? To be dragged out of the water and hung up to dry in the sun? Is it, little brother?”

“Younger brother,” Killian muttered.

“What?” His brother turned to face him again.

“Nothing happened, just relax.”

“This time! Nothing happened this time. You need to be more careful. You’ll be lucky if I don’t tell Grandfather about this.” Never letting go of Killian’s wrist, his older brother began swimming again.

They swam for a while before reaching an iridescent glowing city. Continuing through until they reach a glittering palace, that currently had many merfolk anxiously swimming around its grounds.

“King Triton, he's found!” a guard called into the palace, as the two boys swam into view.

In an instant the boys found themselves in front of the king himself, relief washed over the grand king's face as he spotted the two boys.

“Killian, thank the seas you're alright,” The older man embarrassed the smaller boy.

The once anxious waters calmed with the king, as merfolk stopped their search and went back to their duties.

“Liam, where did you find him?”

“Um, well.”

At the older boy's hesitation, the king pulled away from the younger, holding him by the shoulders, fixing both of them with a look. “Where did you find him?”

KIllian’s hand found its way to the spot behind his ear, “I was just exploring.”

“Exploring where?” The man's eyes shifted between the two boys as both were seemingly more interested in their tails than in giving him an answer.

With a sigh Liam spoke up, “I found him chasing a human ship.”

“HUMANS!”

Killian flinched, “I was just curious.”

“Killian, how many times must we go over this?! The surface and humans are dangerous!”

“I was being careful. Nothing happened.”

“THIS TIME! You could’ve been seen by one of those barbarians! I’ve already lost two daughters to them! Do you think I wish to lose one of my grandsons as well?! I am never NEVER to hear about you and humans again, is that clear!” The king’s voice boomed with authority off the palace walls.

Killian’s head bowed deeper as Liam gave a quiet “yes sir.”

The king sighed, “What am I going to do with you boys?”

Silence hung in the water between the three of them before the king spoke up again. “You are both to go to your room for the rest of the day. I will have supper sent to you. Neither of you are permitted to leave this palace until I say so. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir,” the boys answered.

As soon as they did, the king waved them off and they swam to their room.

“I don’t know why he’s so mad,” Killian started, “It wasn’t like I was seen.”

“He’s not mad, Killian. He’s scared. As was I.”

Killian continued as if his brother had never spoken, “And I don’t know why he talks about Ariel as if she's dead. She isn’t.”

“But Mother is.” Liam said pointedly.

Killian turned away at his brother's remark.

“Humans aren't to be taken lightly, little brother. They are dangerous and can be cruel.”

“Younger brother,” Killian muttered. 

They stayed in silence. It was only when they reached their room that Killian spoke up. “I’m not afraid of humans. I could fight.”

Liam chuckled “Oh yeah?”

He nudged his brother who pushed back. Their pushing turned to shoves, which turned to grappling, which turned into an all out wrestling match. They wrestled until Liam pinned him. 

“You were saying, little brother?"

“Younger brother.” Killian stated defiantly as he shoved Liam off him. “Do you think I’ll ever meet a human?”

“For your sake, I hope not,” Liam said just as Killian grabbed onto his shoulder and began round two of their wrestling match.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AND Thats all she wrote. I hope it was worth the read.

[grimmswan]

Boys' Games vs Men's Games

Once Upon A Time AU

Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Neal decides to play games and show up late for his date with Emma. Luckily, she has a sexy neighbor who knows a better game to play with her.

“I’m going to be running late. Maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour? I don’t know. My buddy just got a new video game and I want to see how it is before purchasing it for myself.”

Emma was confused. Neal had asked her on a date. Had arranged the day and time. And now he was telling her the date might be later? Because of something that wasn’t an emergency?

That was totally his choice?

It was suspicious.

But Emma decided not to get angry or annoyed.

“That’s alright. That actually helps me. My sexy neighbor is home. And now I have time for a good roll in the sheets with him.”

Emma then ended the call. Immediately, the phone rang, Neal’s name on the display. Instead of answering it, or even rejecting the call, Emma set it on her coffee table and walked away.

She refused to play games with foolish boys masquerading as men.

If Neal was trying to test her in some way, then she was not going to waste her time on him.

What she had told him was true, she did have a sexy neighbor. And she was hoping to have sex with him.

Emma had said yes to a date with Neal before she had met Killian.

Killian was certainly sexier than Neal, and he seemed a lot more interesting, but Emma had felt it was rude to entertain Killian’s flirting when she had promised a date with Neal.

Now that Neal had shown he was one of those simps who tried to manipulate situations to see what they could get away with. Those fools who purposely mistreated girls just to see how much they could get away with. Emma no longer felt she needed to keep her distance from Killian.

She got out of the modest black dress she had intended to wear for her date and changed the simple plain bra and panty set to something much racier. Wedge heels were exchanged for stilettos.

Lips painted a darker red, Emma walked across the hall and knocked on Killian’s door.

Inwardly, she sighed in relief to see him barefoot in a pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt; showing that he didn’t have company and he wasn’t planning on going out.

“Bloody hell, Swan! Not that you don’t look stunning, but what’s this about? I thought you had a date?”

Emma shrugged. “He said he didn’t know when he would be around. That he would rather play games. I’m not interested in playing childish games.”

With a knowing smirk, Killian took Emma by the hand and pulled her into his apartment.

“Well, love, if you’re interested, I have some very adult games that I would love to play with you?”

Fifteen minutes later, Neal, out of breath from running down the hall, knocked loudly and repeatedly on Emma’s door. Not getting an answer, he went to Killian’s.

“Emma! Come on! I was just joking! Can’t you take a joke?!”

At the moment, Emma was more interested in taking Killian’s cock.

The new lovers ignored the noise in the hall and focused on the noise they were making in the bedroom.

Neal continued to pound on the door as hard as he could and shouted out Emma’s name at the top of his lungs.

An elderly woman came out of a nearby apartment and threatened to call the police.

“She’s obviously not interested in you, young man. I suggest you go home.”

Neal turned to the woman. “The guy who lives in this apartment, what’s he like?”

“Sex on legs. If the woman you are looking for is with him, you are never getting her attention again.”

Neal refused to give up. He decided it was best to wait a few days. By then Emma would have gotten her neighbor out of her system. Then he would have another chance with her.

It was one week later when he sent her several messages saying he was sorry. That he made a mistake and that he would love a chance to make things right.

The messages were always left on read.

Emma thought about blocking Neal’s number all together, but Killian advised her not to.

He obviously has the maturity of a child, love. And children need to be taught right from wrong. Let’s make the boy understand fully the consequences of his actions.”

Killian felt that anyone who intentionally broke promises and hurt feelings deserved to pay a high price.

And Neal was certainly learning the hard way that he never should have tried playing games and manipulating Emma. That he had made the biggest mistake of his life and given an opening to the wrong man.

And it was way too late to fix his mistake.

That was made clear to him when he called Emma’s phone and instead of being sent to voicemail, it was answered.

“You have reached Emma’s phone. She can’t talk right now because she is currently coming on my cock.”

The next sound Neal heard was Emma shouting.

“Killian! Yes! Yes, Killian!”

Neal was too paralyzed with shock to hang up.

He would do nothing but stand there and listen to the moans of two people engaged in intense passion.

By the sounds of it, Killian was very passionate about Emma.

Ever since Emma had shown up at his door, Killian had barely let her come up for air. He had made it his mission to supply her with an endless amount of orgasms.

Every moment they were together, Killian showed Emma that he was a real man. Not some boy who was interested in playing games and manipulating a relationship with her.

When she had collapsed in a euphoric state, Killian ended the call and blocked Neal's number.

He decided the point had been made. Neal’s loss had become Killian’s gain.

It was a few weeks later when Neal saw for himself just how different he and Killian Jones were.

It was at a pub. Neal had just grabbed his beer when he spotted Emma at the pool table. 

Directly behind her was a man Neal assumed was Killian Jones.

 Even he had to admit that guy was incredibly good looking.

But it was the way Jones interacted with Emma that really made an impression.

Helping her line up her shot, he whispered something in her ear that had her smiling wide. Then he slowly moved his hand along her arm and slowly down her side.

Her shot was made, but neither one of them seemed all of that interested in the effect the shot had.

Then Neal heard a man shout, “Little brother, do you think you could give your girlfriend some breathing room?”

“Now why would I want to do something foolish like that?

Neal could hardly believe it was possible, but Emma and Killian got even closer together.

Killian had no intention of letting Emma believe for one second that he wasn’t completely obsessed with her. And the only games he was interested in playing with her were the games that left her in a blissful state afterwards.

Emma could see Neal watching. Deciding to be a little mischievous, she rolled her hips into Killian. “I really don’t need much air. Take me home and I’ll show you I can breathe even with a large obstruction in my mouth.”

“Bloody hell, Swan. You always come up with the best ideas.”

Neal could do nothing but stand there with  his mouth hanging open as Emma and Killian walked out of the pub.

A woman with long dark hair said to the man who was Killian’s brother, “They’re probably going to go play their favorite game, how many orgasms can Killian give Emma before she passes out. And the way Emma tells it, Killian is always beating his previous record.”

Neal developed a strong hatred for the word “Game”

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Sleeps Ten, My Ass (1/2)

Summary: It's become tradition for Emma Swan to spend the holidays with her brother, their cousins, and their families. This Christmas was no different. The group booked a four night stay at a cozy mountain cabin to celebrate. The listing said it sleeps ten, but upon arrival they discover a small issue. The listing was wrong and now Emma and Killian Jones, the only two single people within their group, have to spend the next four nights sharing a bed. Fortunately... they've shared a bed before.

A/N: @eastwesthomeisbest it is I, your CS Secret Santa! Thank you for being so patient and understanding! I'm sorry I couldn't post this sooner, but between the normal busyness of the holidays and my entire family coming down with Covid, finding time to write was a struggle. I hope you find this worth the wait. It was lovely hearing about your traditions and I hope you had a fantastic holiday!

Thanks to @kmomof4 for looking this over for me and to the @cssecretsanta2020 for once again hosting a fantastic event. Side note, this fic also completes my Only One Bed: Holiday Edition CS Winter Bingo square!

Rated eventual E / Also available on ao3 / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!

Part One

She was late. Super late. Incredibly late. Late enough that she was certain her brother had already called the cops to report her missing. Late enough that it was already pitch black on the back mountain road, forcing her to drive at a creeping speed so she didn’t careen off the side of a cliff, which was making her even more late.

In her defense, they should all have expected that she’d be late. She was always late. Every dinner, every holiday get together, every vacation, every celebration, Emma Swan was always notoriously late.

Not because she didn’t want to spend time with her family. Far from. She just… wasn’t always in control over her own schedule. Bail bonds and bounty hunting wasn’t exactly a 9 to 5 gig, and when a mark finally crawled out of whatever hole in which he (it was more often than not a he) had hid himself away through some dumbass attempt to avoid the consequences of his own dumbass actions, well… many times it meant a change in her plans.

Was it annoying? Yes.

Did she make sure to take out that frustration on the perp? Also, yes.

Was it even worse for the offender when he made her late for the Christmas get-together her cousin Elsa had planned for them all - a four night stay at a picturesque mountain cabin big enough to sleep three married couples and two singles with amenities that would keep them cozy and content over the holiday? Oh, yes.

Big. Fat. Yes.

To go with the big fat payout she needed in order to pay her portion of said holiday getaway.

Rounding another winding corner, the soft glow of the illuminated cabin stirred a strange mix of sensations in her chest; a swirl of relief at nearly being there and panic over what was awaiting her inside. Parking her bug next to the vehicles that signalled she was indeed the last to arrive, Emma fortified herself for a moment before exiting the vehicle, grabbing her bag, and marching up to the cabin as though she were about to face a firing squad.

David, her brother, and Liam, Elsa’s husband, would likely scold her with their hands firmly planted on their hips or their arms crossed tightly over their chests. The rebukes would be drowned out by David’s wife, Mary Margaret, and Elsa’ sister, Anna, who would both rush at Emma and force her into claustrophobic hugs while they expressed their worry and relief, offering Emma a blanket, a place by the fire, a plate of food, a cup of tea, all without taking a breath between them as Anna’s husband, Kristoff, tried to tell the women to let Emma breathe and get settled.

The only one who would not be making a fuss would likely already have a drink ready for her, a knowing smirk teasing his lips as he tried to stifle an eye roll at the group’s overreaction.

Killian Jones. Liam’s brother and the only other single member of their group.

Hand on the doorknob, Emma took a deep breath and opened the door to the expected chaos. And chaos there was, but… none of it seemed to be about her and her tardiness.

Elsa and David were in the kitchen. One of their phones, clearly on speaker, was held between them as they argued with whoever was on the other end of the line. Liam and Kristoff were seated at the dining table with a laptop open, the elder Jones frantically typing and clicking as Kristoff scrolled on his phone with a furrowed brow.

“There’s nothing up here that could be used as an extra one,” Anna called out from the top of the stairs. “Mary Margaret and I have looked through all the closets and checked all the furniture.”

None of them had noticed her presence yet, and she was about to say something when heavy boot falls sounded from the porch behind her.

“Ah, Swan. You arrived in one piece then?” Killian said cheekily with an arm full of firewood.

“Uh, yeah,” she replied, setting her bag down so she could help with the load he was carrying. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No worries,” he assured her, making his way to the fireplace and stacking their logs beside the hearth. “You missed the initial excitement, but you’ve made it in time to witness the spiral everyone has since descended into.” Emma glanced around the cabin at the said spiral, wondering what had set everyone off as Killian added a couple of logs to the fire, then grabbed the poker so he could stoke it. “I told them I’d make do on the couch, or even a pallet on the floor, but--”

“Sleeps ten, my ass!” Elsa shouted as she angrily hung up the call. “They swapped out the couch and forgot to update the listing!”

“What?” Emma said, but no one other than Killian seemed to have heard her, or even realized she was there.

“That’s ridiculous!” Liam bellowed. “What do they plan to do about it?”

“Can they bring an air mattress or cot?” Kristoff asked, still scrolling through his phone. “Because none of the local stores seem to have one, and even if they did, they’d be closed by the time we got back to town.”

Killian stepped away from the fire he’d coaxed back to life and into the metaphorical one building at the kitchen island where the rest of their group - save for Emma - had gathered.

“I already told you, the couch will be fine.”

“Don’t be silly, Killian,” Anna replied. “Have you seen that couch? It’s far too narrow and your feet are gonna dangle off the end.”

“Then the floor will suit me--”

“For the amount of money we spent renting this place, you are not sleeping on the floor,” Elsa declared. “I cannot believe this! How could they make a mistake like that?”

“What did the owner say?” Mary Margaret asked, setting out a platter of food she’d removed from the fridge and encouraging everyone to eat something… as though snacking would somehow fix the issue. An issue Emma still wasn’t sure was the cause of everyone’s upset.

“He won’t do anything,” Elsa snapped. “He said they had to replace the couch, which had been a sleeper, and apparently forgot to update the listing, but didn’t see the problem since we only have eight people, not ten, and there are four king size beds.”

“Didn’t you explain that there weren’t four couples, though?”

“Oh, she did,” David interjected. “But the man didn’t seem to care about anything other than getting back to his tropical Christmas vacation.”

“So what do we do?” Anna asked. “Where is Killian gonna sleep?”

“He and I can just share the bed.”

Seven heads collectively snapped in her direction, a mixture of shock and surprise being directed her way as her family, for the first time, realized she was there and then computed her words.

Words she would later blame on the fact that although no one seemed bothered by the fact she was late, she still felt the need to make up for it and therefore was compelled to offer a solution to the problem, even if said solution meant sharing a bed with a man she absolutely did not have feelings for and no one would convince her otherwise, not even her own treacherous heart, and thereby torturing herself for the next several days.

“Are you sure, love?” Killian asked, his eyes scrutinizing her, looking for any hint that she might be regretting the offer and wished to back out. “I wouldn’t want you to do anything you weren’t completely comfortable with.”

“Are you planning to make it uncomfortable for her?” David asked in his overly protective, brotherly tone. “Because I’m warning you--”

“Warning him?” Liam braced his hands against the top of the island and leaned over it, staring David down as he asked, “Are you insinuating my brother is some sort of cad who would take advantage of--”

“We all know Killian’s reputation.”

“Okay,” Emma interjected before things could escalate further. “I think you’re all forgetting that I have a reputation, too. Of being able to take care of myself. Besides, I trust Killian. We’re both adults. There’s no reason for either of us to sleep on a couch or the floor when there is a perfectly good bed, big enough for us to share. So…” She marched back over to where she’d dropped her bag and collected it as she continued on, “If you don’t mind. I’ve had a long day and all I want right now is a shower and some sleep.” Directing her gaze to Killian she asked, “Where’s your stuff?”

“It’s uh…” he began, scratching behind his ear as he furtively cast a glance towards David. “It’s on the landing.”

“Great,” she said, turning towards the stairs. “Grab it on your way up so you can settle in while I shower.”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret called out. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat or--”

“I’m fine,” Emma answered back halfway up the stairs. “I’ll see you all in the morning.” Looking over her shoulder, she saw Killian hesitate at the bottom step. “Are you coming?”

“Aye,” he answered, following after her two steps at a time and grabbing his duffle before slipping into the room behind her.

Tossing his bag onto the bed, he glanced around the room and inquired one last time, “You’re certain you’re okay with this, Swan?”

“Yes, Jones,” Emma replied in an exasperated tone she hoped masked the nerves currently coursing through her. After gathering up her toiletry items, she straightened and faced him, a thought suddenly occurring to her. “Unless… You are uncomfortable with it and would rather--”

“No, no,” he insisted, his shoulders relaxing and his usual cocky demeanor coming forward. “It’s not that,” he said in a cheeky and slightly taunting tone.

“What is it then?” Emma asked, trying hard to not be taken in by his charm as he swaggered towards her.

“Well, I seem to remember you saying something about it being a one time thing the last time we shared a bed,” he crooned, twisting a section of her hair around his finger. “Seems you’ll have to eat those words now.”

Emma wet her lips and tried to squash the delighted feeling surging through her at the way his eyes dropped to follow the motion. “Bad form bringing up our… what did you call it?” she asked in a mocking tone as she cocked her head to one side. “Our dalliance?” He winced at her terrible attempt to mimic his accent and they both chortled as she reminded him, “I thought we agreed to never speak of that night again.”

“You’re right, Swan. Bad form indeed,” he conceded in a soft timbre. “My apologies, love.”

He backed away and retreated to the other side of the room where he made himself busy unpacking his duffle. “Go ahead and shower, Swan,” he said. “I’ll hop in after you.”

“Thanks,” she threw out over her shoulder as she shut herself in the bathroom, suddenly very eager to have a bit of separation from him. From him and the memory of that night. The night they had shared a bed - and a whole lot more - with one another after copious amounts of alcohol and hours on a dance floor somewhere in the Caribbean during the cruise they’d all taken together earlier that year to celebrate Liam and Elsa’s wedding.

A memory that stubbornly refused to be cast aside, making for a very long shower - a fitful, highly inappropriate shower - especially considering the man she’d been fixated on was in the next room, waiting on her to finish so he could get naked and wet and…

Dear God, Emma. Get a grip!

Emerging from the bathroom, adorned in her pajamas with her wet hair wrapped in a towel, Emma hoped the red in her cheeks would be chalked up to the heat of the shower and not because her fantasies had gotten away from her.

“All yours,” she said, pulling her hair dryer out of her bag and plugging it into the wall at the makeshift vanity.

She combed through the wet strands as Killian hovered at the doorway to the bathroom. Pausing her actions, she stared up at him expectantly, trying not to remember what he looked like shirtless.

“About before,” he said, his voice deep with an edge of concern. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by bringing up that night, I just…” He left out a heavy breath and ran his hand through his hair. “I was just trying to bring a bit of levity to an otherwise tense situa--”

“Killian,” she said, waving him off. “It’s fine. Really. You didn’t upset me by bringing it up.” Shrugging, she tried to give off a sense of nonchalance about the whole thing. “It happened. We’ve both moved on from it. No big deal.”

“Right,” he said with a bit of a drawl. “Well… I’ll try not to take too long, so as to not keep you up.” Glancing towards the bed, he said, “I hope it’s okay that I took that side. I didn’t know if you had one you preferred.”

Emma turned to see which side he’d taken. Not that it mattered.

“Honestly,” she answered, “I don’t really have one. It’s not like I share my bed often enough with anyone to develop a preference.”

“Aye. Same,” he replied with that adorable lopsided smile of his.

Emma’s heart fluttered for several seconds after he disappeared into the bathroom. He didn’t often share his bed? Really? Like David had said earlier, Killian had a bit of a reputation as a ladies’ man. It was one of the reasons she’d pulled back after their night together; she’d hated being just another notch on his bedpost.

How many notches had he added since her, she wondered.

She had plenty of time to contemplate that question. It wasn’t until well after she’d dried her hair, set her alarm, and settled under the covers that Killian emerged from the bathroom. The last drowsy thought Emma had was whether he’d taken advantage of the memory of them together to help let off some steam whilst he was in the shower like she had. She didn’t get a chance to dwell on the thought, though. The tiring day had caught up to her and sleep took over the moment she felt the bed dip beside her.

~/~

“Morning, Emma! Sleep well?”

Anna’s voice was far too perky for the current early morning hour, causing Emma to grimace as she shuffled past the red headed woman on her way to the kitchen.

“Oh, sorry,” Anna whispered, tiptoeing behind her. “Coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”

“Please,” Emma grumbled, slumping down onto one of the barstools at the island. “A fresh pot? How early did you get up?”

“Mary Margaret and I got up with the guys,” she said, pouring Emma a cup, then placing it and a tray of fixings on the counter top in front of her. “We wanted to make sure they got a good meal and some coffee before they headed out.”

Emma nodded her understanding, adding enough sugar to her cup that it would have earned her a disgusted look from Killian had he been there and not out traipsing through the woods with an axe. It was an annual tradition at this point. For the past five years - ever since the Jones brothers had entered their lives through Liam and Elsa’s courtship - the guys went out on Christmas Eve morning and cut down a tree for them to decorate. While they were out finding the perfect specimen, Mary Margaret would lead - or in Emma’s case, berate - the girls in making the decorations. The guys would join in once they got back and set up the tree, and the day would be spent stringing popcorn or dried oranges or cranberries for garland as well as attempting to avoid tiny cuts from the origami-esque construction of paper or cardboard ornaments.

There were also snacks and cocktails, the occasional break from crafting to watch a Christmas movie or play a game. Of course, every year, Emma and Killian would insist they watch Die Hard, which Mary Margaret would dismiss as not being a Christmas movie and an argument would ensue - mostly because it gave both Emma and Killian a perverse sense of pleasure to rile up Mary Margaret. Not that they didn’t love the movie or wholeheartedly believe that it was, in fact, a Christmas movie.

“Oh, Emma! You’re up!” Mary Margaret set down a stack of boxes on the island, the contents of which held various crafting supplies no doubt. “Did you get some breakfast?”

Emma shook her head and waved off the woman’s attempt to feed her. “Not yet,” she said. “I’ll get something after I’m sufficiently caffeinated.”

“Well drink up,” Mary Margaret ordered as she began to retreat back into the room she and David were using. “We need to get going on these decorations.”

A moment later she returned with several sacks and with Anna’s help, began organizing the supplies. Emma took that as her cue to find another place to enjoy her coffee.

Glancing out the French doors that led to the back deck she caught sight of a platinum blonde braid. Emma grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders before joining Elsa in the peace and quiet of the mountain morning.

“Hey,” she said, pulling Elsa’s attention away from the view. “Mind if I join you?”

“Please do,” Elsa replied, making room on the bench. “Do you want me to turn on the heater?”

It shouldn’t have surprised Emma that her cousin hadn’t already started the propane heater. The cold had never seemed to bother her like it did Emma.

“No, I’ve got it.” Emma cranked up the heat then sat down, snuggling into the blanket she’d brought out with her.

“Sleep okay?” Elsa asked. “Any problems with the room?”

“No,” Emma answered, taking a sip of her coffee before adding, “The room’s great. Very comfortable.”

“Good,” Elsa said, turning her attention back towards the snowy mountain view. “And sharing with Killian? That, uh… Did that go okay?”

Emma rolled her eyes and hid her knowing smirk behind her mug. “It was fine,” she replied.

“I mean, I’m sure Killian was a gentleman, I just hate that the two of you have to endure this awkwardness when I did my best to--”

“Elsa,” Emma interrupted. “It isn’t your fault, and we will make do. It’s fine. Really.”

The icy blonde’s shoulders relaxed and a puff of exhaled air lingered at her lips for a moment before she said, “Good. I’m glad.” With a furtive glance in Emma’s direction she muttered, “Let’s just hope David thinks it's all fine.”

“I’m a big girl,” Emma reminded her cousin. “David will get over it.”

“I don’t know,” Elsa replied in a sing-song tone. “He was looking pretty hostile this morning when Killian sauntered down the stairs with a whistle on his lips. I’m pretty sure Liam made sure to be the one who took the axe when they left.”

The two women shared a chuckle, both of them knowing full well there was no danger of the men resorting to violence, even if they did bluster a bit.

“I’m sure Killian is reveling in the opportunity to needle David, but I trust Liam to make sure cooler heads prevail.”

“And his needling wouldn’t have any elements of truth in it, right?” Elsa inquired, not so subtly.

Emma sighed exasperatedly. “No,” she stated adamantly. “Nothing happened, and nothing is going to happen.”

She shifted uncomfortably under Elsa’s scrutiny, her piercing blue eyes cutting through her assertions as she hummed a dubious sound.

“If you say so.”

Emma was about to double down on her words, but was cut off by Anna’s sudden appearance.

“Everything is ready! Come make decorations with us!”

Emma and Elsa shared a resigned look then followed Anna back into the cabin, after shutting off the heater, of course. The ladies then spent the next hour or so making handmade decorations whilst also prepping food items for the upcoming meals.

When the guys returned, Emma stayed out of the way. She’d learned from years past to just let David, Liam, Mary Margaret, and Elsa duke it out on the best way to set up the tree. While the four of them conferenced in the living room, she joined Anna in the kitchen, who was busy making everyone a hot cocoa.

“Need a hand?”

“Yes, please!”

The two women filled and garnished mugs of hot cocoa while every so often peeking outside to watch Kristoff and Killian clean up the tree. Once it was suitable for indoors - and they’d gotten the final word of where to set it up - the men brought it inside and secured it in the stand. Everyone stood back to admire the magnificent find as Emma and Anna handed out the beverages.

“Jones,” Emma said, offering him a hot cup as she came to stand beside him.

“Thank you, love,” he replied, slightly out of breath. A half-smile pulled at his lips and crinkled at the corner of his eyes when he noticed she’d adorned his in the same manner as hers - with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. It was how she’d always taken her cocoa and slowly but surely she was converting the rest of their group to do the same.

“It’s a great looking tree,” she commented, sipping her hot chocolate nonchalantly so he wouldn’t read too much into her compliment.

“Aye,” he said, taking another long look at the fruit of his and the other men’s labor. A fruit that was quickly filling the living room with a pungent pine scent that tickled Emma’s sinuses. “And what of your efforts?” he asked, turning his attention onto her. “Care to show me what you lasses have been working on and how I might assist?”

Emma rolled her eyes and led him to the dining table where he prompted her to give him a demonstration of the crafting. Soon, the others joined them and the day went on just as Emma knew it would: completing the decorations, stringing lights and garlands, decorating the tree, gorging themselves on a big meal, partaking in snacks, then some drinks, then some more drinks, and arguing over then watching several Christmas themed movies and shows. Unfortunately, no Die Hard.

“You know, Swan,” Killian whispered in her ear as everyone began to disperse from the living room to turn in for the night. “We have a TV with streaming services in our room…”

The feel of his breath against the shell of her ear, as well as the way he said ‘our room’ sent a thrill up her spine.

Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice.

Was it fortunate?

“Your point?” she said, her voice a little too breathy, but maybe he’d think it was because they’d just climbed the steep steps to the second floor.

“My point,” he continued, following her into their - THE - room, “is once we’ve showered and readied ourselves, we can watch Die Hard in bed and celebrate the season properly.”

“Sounds like a plan, Jones,” she replied, even as her heart skipped a few beats at the reminder they’d both be taking turns getting naked and wet with only a flimsy door that did not lock between them.

Ever the gentleman, Killian let her go first. While he took his turn, she busied herself with getting ready for bed, queuing up the movie, and adding an extra blanket to the stack of covers. In no time, they were settled on their respective sides of the bed, enjoying watching John McClane run around Nakatomi Plaza barefoot whilst being a ‘fly in the ointment’ to Hans Gruber.

They both barely remained conscious, but somehow got to the credits before crashing. The constant recitation of dialogue probably helped.

At some point in the night, a rustling sound in the corner of the room stirred Emma. Instinctively, she reached over to feel for Killian, only to find his side of the bed empty.

“Killian?” she croaked out, his name heavy on her tongue from sleep. “What are you--”

“The heat went out,” he told her, making her aware of her own shivering and the frigid air of the room. “Elsa is having kittens over it,” he went on to explain. “Giving the owner a right earful as we speak.”

A low hum and soft glow began to fill the room. Killian stood and visibly shook himself before heading back to bed.

“What’s that?” Emma asked, shifting in bed and moving closer to the middle.

“Space heater,” Killian answered, still shivering from the cold. “The owner relented and gave us the code to the storage closet. There were a few of these in there.”

Emma hummed in response, her mind weighing whether to bring up the idea of--

“Swan?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if we… that is,” he hedged, clearing his throat. “Until the heater manages to raise the temperature, would you be okay if we…”

“Sure,” she said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically as she scooted closer to him.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, his chest already plastered against her back and his face buried in the crook of her neck.

Emma moaned in relief, the heat of his body already warming her and staying the chills that had made her tense. In an effort to find a comfortable position for her legs - without entangling them with his - she rocked her hips back into his and felt…

“Bloody hell,” Killian grumbled in an embarrassed tone as he pulled away. “Apologies, Swan. I didn’t intend--”

“Killian,” she laughed, rolling over to face him. “It’s fine. It happens. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I just don’t want you to think I have ulterior motives for suggesting--”

“I don’t,” she assured him. “I know guys can’t always control… that.”

“Well, I am usually much more in control of such things, I assure you.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said in an appeasing tone, earning her a side-eyed glare. “Seriously, though,” she continued, trying to coax him back to her. “Your morning wood doesn’t offend me, so will you please come back here.”

He relented after some not so gentle tugging, and a moment later they were once again entwined in the other’s arms.

“Mmmm,” Emma hummed, nestling a bit further into his chest. “How are you always so warm? I feel like I’m always cold.”

As Emma drifted off to sleep she was certain she heard him say, “I know, love. But I’ll always be here for you when you need to keep warm.”

Part Two

[myfearless-love]

Down the Primrose Path (Chapter 4/? - "memento audere")

Chapters: 4/? — "memento audere"

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Relationship: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Characters: Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Geppetto | Marco (Once Upon a Time), Alice Jones | Tilly, Elsa (Once Upon a Time)

Additional Tags: Captain Swan - Freeform, Captain Swan Regency, There Was Only One Bed. Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Duke Killian Jones, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Scarred Killian Jones, Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Emma Swan

Summary:

Desperate times demand bold actions, and Emma Swan is about to pull off the ultimate gamble: faking an engagement to the elusive Duke of Hookshire to rescue her family from financial ruin. Her plan seems foolproof—until Killian Jones, London's most reclusive and mysterious nobleman, learns of his sudden engagement.

Once a celebrated figure of society, a tragedy drove Killian into self-imposed exile. Now, intrigued by the daring woman claiming to be his fiancée, he steps back into the spotlight, determined to turn the tables.

In a game where hearts are on the line, can a fabricated love affair turn real, or will the truth shatter more than just their reputations?

READ HERE: AO3

Preview:

As always, a huge thanks to my wonderful beta, @xarandomdreamx, for correcting my mistakes and encouraging me with her thoughtful comments ❤️

Tagging some folks who might be interested:

@anmylica @elfiola @zaharadessert @gingerchangeling @undercaffinatednightmare

@jrob64 @teamhook @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @mie779

@winterbaby89 @tiganasummertree @stahlop @rylieblu @ultraluckycatnd

@eddisfargo @booksteaandtoomuchtv @laianely @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke

@beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainswan-kellie @veryverynotgoodwrites @lfh1226-linda

@snowbellewells @caught-in-the-filter @shady-swan-jones @bluewildcatfanatic @fairytalepetzkle

(Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list)

[kmomof4]

Self-Promo Sunday

In honor of Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day yesterday, I thought I’d promote my WWII fic, In the Viper’s Den, for this week’s Self-Promo Sunday. Originally written for the @cshistfic event back in ‘21, it was inspired by the ‘92 movie Shining Through, starring Melanie Griffith, Michael Douglas, and Liam Neeson. I can’t promote the fic without also promo-ing @spartanguard for her manips of Emma, Killian, and Walsh I used in the artwork above and @suwya for her manip of Emma and Killian into the original 1992 movie poster below!! I am STILL - all these years later - so IN AWE of their work!!! Thank you so much, ladies!!! If you haven’t read the fic before, I hope you do and let me know what you think of one of my personal favorites, and if you have, maybe it’s time for a reread!

Summary: Emma Nolan, age 22, goes to work for attorney Killian Jones in the fall of 1940. Over the next year, she comes to believe her boss is a spy, only to have her suspicions confirmed when the Japanese bomb Pearl Harbor. When a German spy working for Killian turns up dead, Emma kisses her lover goodbye and attempts to continue his work of finding and stopping the development of a flying bomb that could spell disaster for the Allied forces.

Words: 23,5k

Rating: M for smut

On ao3 here.

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615

@donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells  @djlbg

@lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica

@laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter

@ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie

@soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic

@elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779 @kymbersmith-90

@suwya @veryverynotgoodwrites @myfearless-love 

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS24 ONe Shot: "On Wings of Storm"

This canon divergent AU was intended to be a shifter one shot, but I don't know that the character is a shifter in the strictest sense, as there is a curse and magic involved. It is set sometime post Milah's death in Season Two, and then embarks on a different path from there...

I apologize ahead of time for any errors that I might need to come back and fix; I was writing this right up to midnight and didn't have enough time to edit fully. My beta for this year's @cssns @myfearless-love did absolutely brilliant work, catching so many typos and run-ons and confusing phrases. She was invaluable and deserves so much love for all her help! Anything left over is 100% my fault for hurrying to finish.

**I am thrilled to be reposting now with the gorgeous cover artwork created for me by @motherkatereloyshipper! She captured so well the drama and intensity of the ship's danger during the storm and the petrel coming to her aid. I just love it!! Thank you, thank you, thank you SO MUCH @motherkatereloyshipper!**

Please enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think!!

Summary: Killian Jones has lost everything and everyone he ever held dear. All that is left for him is vengeance and pain. None could have expected the strange twist of Fate that would change everything, or the surprising companion that will come to touch his heart in ways he would have no longer thought possible.

“On Wings of Storm” 

By: @snowbellewells

“Attention, you bilge rats!” His angry voice rang out unmistakably over the planks of the majestic ship - carrying clearly despite the buffeting wind and rolling sea beneath. The power in the sharply accented words cracked like a whip, causing every member of his crew to flinch nervously and stand at attention to do their captain’s bidding and avoid his ire. Those who made their home and livelihood upon the Jolly Roger - even the few remaining grizzled veterans who’d once served on her decks when she was the Jewel of the Realm - knew her captain’s temper was perpetually on a knife’s edge. The harshness and cruelty of the lives they all lived, and the loss and betrayal Captain Jones had weathered, would bow and break many. It was understood not to cross those who had survived and been hardened by it.

Yet, even with that knowledge, the cause of his current tirade was unclear. When the ship had docked at the remote port, some had stayed aboard to handle various duties and keep watch while others went ashore to roam and shop, or to visit inns or brothels, but all had been attending to their assigned duties and nothing was amiss. However, the thunderous look upon their Captain’s dark brow spoke volumes. Something was amiss, and he would see it put to rights. Pity the fool who was found at fault. The cutlass at his hip bounced gently against his leg, and the still awe-inspiring metal appendage which had replaced his left hand mere months ago glinted menacingly in the low moonlight as he paced back and forth, eyeing each man with an intensity that would make anyone tremble.

It was old Mullins who finally dared to put the question to the Captain gingerly when no further explanation or action seemed forthcoming. “What is it that’s angered ye, Cap’n?” he queried respectfully, head bowed in deference as his speech drew Killian Jones’ attention. “We’ve been here aboard the Jolly and at our post since ye left. Did something happen on shore?”

Killian’s attention zeroed intently on the graying Mullins, who quickly gave another bob of his chin in respect or acknowledgement. Not about to contradict their captain, but also not knowing what had upset him, none of them could move to make it right. Those piercing blue eyes, like ice chips in Mullins’ shuddering imagination, beneath the dark, forbidding brows he used to great effect, seemed to be searching his subordinate’s face and sifting his words for any hint of dissension or deception. Finding nothing of the kind, the volatile man’s gaze swept over the rest of the crew assembled around him nervously for some time before offering the explanation in a menacing growl.

“It has come to my attention - and make no mistake, even a scoundrel such as meself has loyal allies - that some of you are dissatisfied with your position aboard this vessel. Let me be crystal clear; a place aboard the Jolly Roger is an honor and a prize - she is a marvel unmatched in speed and quality throughout the realm. However, your presence here is entirely voluntary. I have never, and will never, tolerate the enslavement of any crew member on the Jolly. Such dishonor shall not taint her decks. So, if any of you wish to depart, then by all means, leave now. But be warned; spreading false tales of captivity or coercion, thereby sullying our flag and reputation, will not be tolerated. Such lies will be rooted out and those responsible will face severe consequences.”

He paused, clearly waiting for any who might be bold enough to disembark under his watchful eye and be noted for their decision. None upon the deck moved or spoke, and old Mullins noted sadly that the only sound or hint of motion was the heavy breathing that escaped the Captain’s mouth and the heaving of his chest, evidenced by what had clearly been an angry charge from the town’s center and his impassioned outburst.

As Jones finally seemed to regain control, sending him back to work with a brisk order, Mullins couldn’t help thinking resignedly about how much the Captain had changed, in the past few months especially, but also in the years since his brother’s death. The man Captain Jones had once been - that promising but naive young lieutenant - seemed like a distant memory. Few of the current crew members had served under Jones’ proud and honorable older brother, Liam, who had been tragically struck down in his prime by treachery. Liam’s untimely death had altered the course of all their lives in ways none could have anticipated. Mullins found it painful to remember the wide-eyed, gangly lieutenant Killian had once been. That young man had spoken passionately of glory for the crown and the name of Jones, ready to follow his Captain anywhere. He had believed in righteousness and the power of individuals to shape their own destinies. That idealistic youth had hardened into a bitter and implacable man. The once-noble Killian Jones now sought only vengeance, becoming known and feared across the seas as the dreaded villain, Captain Hook. Mullins sighed and returned to his task; there was naught to be done for it.

Meanwhile, Killian Jones stood at the helm, staring out into the dark night. He sought fruitlessly for the rhythmic comfort of the waves against the hull of his beloved vessel, the solid planks beneath his feet, and the cool night air brushing over his face to ease his inner turmoil. These familiar elements had soothed him many times before, yet his agitation remained as he waited, forcing himself to take steady, regular breaths.

As he stood there, alone amongst his crew, Killian’s gaze drifted towards the gray, evening-darkening horizon. A shape materialized from the gathering twilight, drawing nearer - an unmistakable bird on the wing, yet not the familiar silhouette of gull or pelican often seen at sea. Morbidly curious, Killian watched as the creature approached, strangely silent compared to the trilling calls of most avian species he knew. Its relatively small body rose and fell on the air currents, rather than gliding with ease, weaving unsteadily in its course.

Despite having recently displayed harsh temper and callousness, Killian found himself holding his breath with each flap of wings that sent the bird painstakingly higher in the sky again, inexplicably concerned it might plummet into the rolling waves below.

As if drawn by his thoughts, the bird’s flight began to descend lower and lower. The men diligently working around him on the deck - and avoiding eye contact to steer clear of his ire a second time - seemed completely unaware of the creature’s plight. Killian finally released a tight breath as the dark-feathered bundle nearly landed at his feet. Though it seemed more a collapse than a graceful landing, it had found a resting place. He did not wish to closely examine why it mattered to him whether it had succeeded or not.

Glancing around surreptitiously, Killian stooped to gather the bird into his hand, his hooked arm wrapping around to steady and secure it against his chest. He hoped the dark attire he wore would partially conceal the fragile creature. Rescuing helpless animals contradicted the brash and dangerous pirate persona he had donned irrevocably, which had grown even more dark and forbidding of late. Yet, he simply could not leave the small, fragile bird on the planks, its strength almost spent and plaintively vulnerable.

Seeing that all was as it should be, he slipped below deck without a word, carrying the strange passenger in his arms into his cabin. Closing the door firmly behind him, Killian hurried to place the weakened creature on the table and lit a nearby lantern hanging from the ceiling to inspect its small form for injuries. It appeared fine, simply near the end of its endurance after a clearly long journey.

Just as when the bird was approaching the ship, he could not really understand why it mattered so much to him that the creature was alright. It did though, and so he obeyed his instincts and tried to tend to it as best he knew how. His new compatriot didn’t seem at all troubled by his admittedly anxious dithering and attempts at aid. The bird neither flapped nor made any attempt to flee. After a few full-body shakes to settle its plumage, the bird remained largely still, only moving with its breaths and blinking its dark brown eyes calmly at him, seemingly taking in its new surroundings. The creature exhibited an almost human awareness that it was safe, facing no threat from him.

As Killian watched, enthralled, the bird eventually seemed to settle enough that it tucked its head beneath its wing and appeared to fall asleep. Satisfied that his charge would be fine for a few hours, and needing to rest himself while his crew and ship were in order, Killian extinguished the lantern after preparing for bed. The churning anger and restlessness which had plagued him since boarding his ship was strangely lulled, and for the moment, he was too grateful to question it. Stretching out upon the Captain’s berth, he gave himself over to sleep, for once wrapped up enough in its comfort to be dreamless.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Killian rose with the sun the next morning, habit waking him early enough to see the gray pre-dawn melt into the peach and pinkish glow of a clear new day. He stretched his lanky frame, washed and dressed before moving to the table to check on his unexpected guest. As he neared the makeshift nest he had created, he was surprised to see his small stowaway still appeared to be asleep. Startled by how calm the bird continued to be in such confined surroundings, Killian merely smiled tightly, his hand unconsciously rubbing his chest. He tried not to dwell on why the peaceful sight of a bird resting on the table in one of his old rags lifted his spirits so, as if the whole cabin felt less lonely in its presence.

He had a litany of his usual tasks to attend to, and he knew the rest of his crew would soon be active - if they were not already. Killian exited the cabin swiftly, hoping nothing would disturb the creature until it was restored enough to wake on its own, once the heavy sound of his boots against the wooden planks faded away.

However, he couldn’t avoid one quick stop before heading topside. Killian was pleased to see Turley, the ship’s cook, alone in the kitchen. He ducked beneath the low door frame and cleared his throat to get the grizzled man’s attention amidst the numerous pots and pans bubbling and sizzling on the stovetop.

“Mornin’ Cap’n,” Turley offered, with a gap-toothed smile. “What can I get ye?”

Killian lowered his voice, stepping closer to the aging cook as he explained that the rations he sought were not for himself, but for the seabird he had rescued the evening before. As he pondered why the bird’s fate concerned him, Killian found himself unsure why he felt compelled to hide his anxiety for the small animal. Anyone daring to question or mock him would regret it – if not immediately, soon enough. Was he questioning himself then?

He discarded the thought almost as soon as it entered his mind. Turley seemed pleased with his captain’s request, assuring him they still had some canned herring in their stores which he could fetch after the noon meal. Killian nodded approvingly and thanked Turley before turning to leave. Just as he did, Turley added, “Sounds like you found a storm petrel, Cap’n.”

“Oh, aye?” Killian asked, tilting his head with renewed interest, despite his desire not to seem overeager.

“Indeed, for how you have described it anyways, Sir. They’re quite rare in these parts, or so’s I’ve always heard. They tend to nest much further north, preferrin’ the cold.”

Killian nodded his understanding but remained silent, encouraging Turley’s talkative nature with a patient gaze. He was rewarded when Turley continued without pause.

“There’re many folks who consider ‘em an evil omen, Cap’n. Portents of storms and such like, but they’re such wee buggers, them petrels. I always wondered meself if they weren’t just allowin’ the winds to blow them to safety rather than heraldin’ the blast.”

Killian shook his head with begrudging humor. Even after nearly three years leading a crew of pirates rather than the formal naval sailors they had once been, he was continually surprised by their superstitious beliefs. They claim to be black-hearted, fearless outlaws, yet frightfully unwilling to take a woman aboard (even Milah at the beginning), sail under the red morning sun, or set out on a Friday.. All due to tall tales of downfall and destruction. It was just a bird, wind-rattled and knocked off-course, needing to regain its strength; certainly not some ill stroke of luck.

“I heartily agree with you, mate,” Killian said when Turley’s words trailed off, giving him a clap on the shoulder before leaving the galley. “I appreciate you finding the herring. I’ll be back for it once lunch has been cleared.”

Turley assented readily and turned back to his task, humming idly. The Captain seemed in a better state of mind than he’d been in since losing his hand, and witnessing his love’s death. To Turley it seemed nothing but good luck, and he was simply glad for it.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Feeding the petrel at noon was a more awkward and messier business than Killian had anticipated; first he was struggling to open the sealed tin with just one hand, then handling the pungent small fish and their juices in his attempts to coax the bird to eat. Once it snatched the first bit in its delicate, curved bill, however, no more coddling was necessary. Soon, the petrel was grasping tiny herring right from the can, swallowing chunks as fast as it could manage. It emitted a rough sort of squawk in his direction once it finished its meal. Chuckling, Killian could certainly admit it was no nightingale’s song, but he chose to see it as an enthusiastic thanks all the same.

“I’m afraid that’s all for now, you shameless beggar,” he chided gently while clearing the empty tin away and wiping the table clean. To his surprise, the bird stepped nearer, lightly pecking at his fingers, almost playfully or in gratitude, not at all sharply enough to hurt. Holding his breath, Killian turned his hand open and palm up; the petrel nuzzled against his warm skin. Improbable as it seemed, the gesture could almost be called affectionate.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” the pirate murmured, scratching one finger lightly over the bird’s dark gray cap. He chose to ignore how his voice sounded equally fond.

When he returned that evening, the shadows outside his cabin’s windows were already long, and the sun had long sunk in the west. After its performance at midday, Killian was sure the petrel would be hungry again and eagerly awaiting its dinner. Yet, upon entering his cabin with canned anchovies, hoping they would not prove too salty for his animal guest, he found the bird absent from the center table altogether. Instead, it flitted for one spot to another at the desk in the room’s far corner near the window. It fluttered, then paused to alight upon the various open books strewn over the surface, cooking its tiny head and peering down intently at the pages. Had Killian not known better, he would have thought it was actually reading the words in Liam’s beloved tomes.

By this point, Kilian was charmed by the petrel’s odd antics, his lips stretching into an ill-accustomed smile as he watched before he moved to lay out his offering. The dark cloud that had hung over him before the bird’s arrival had dissipated. Though he couldn’t explain why, Killian welcomed the lighter mood, hoping it signified better days to come.

The petrel let out its brash trill a few more times before fluttering over to feed quickly on the anchovy, as enthusiastically as it had eaten the herring. Upon finishing, however, it did not relax as it had done previously. Instead, it flitted across the room, hovering near the window and making its distinctive call. The bird then fluttered around Killian’s head and shoulders before returning to the window, its desire for freedom as clear as if it had spoken the words aloud.

“Of course, little one,” Killian sighed reluctantly, no longer embarrassed about speaking to it as if it were human. “Naturally you would wish to return to the air.”

As he opened the window pane, the bird uttered a softer note, unlike its previous raucous cries. Killian smiled ruefully as he watched it slip through the opening and fly away. He had never considered refusing to let it go free; still, he missed the petrel’s presence in his cabin almost immediately. It might have been only a lost bird, but for a flicker of time, he felt a connection, a kinship, that had been sorely lacking in his life.

Yet, to Killian’s pleased astonishment, it was far from the last he would see of the storm petrel. While he would have expected the bird to be gone, never to return again, as days and weeks at sea went by, the small bird reappeared often - usually at first light, near the wheel where Killian was often steering, taking the night’s last watch upon himself as captain to be certain all was well when the Jolly was perhaps most vulnerable. After his intriguing initial encounter with his new feathered friend, he had learned that petrels were largely nocturnal and - like pirates and sailors themselves - rarely came ashore unless nesting. Again, that strange sense of kindred closeness swept over him; more than he had known for entirely too long. He had also learned that pairs of storm petrels were largely monogamous, and he could not help but wonder if the small gray co-pilot had lost its mate, leading it to return to the ship and humans where it had been shown kindness, strange as the attachment might seem. At any rate, once “his” petrel had begun to make recurrent appearances, Killian deliberately took the shift which found him at the helm when dawn’s first light crept over the horizon.

Though wise enough not to voice any notice or question him, the more observant and early-rising members of Captain Jones’ crew began to notice the bird’s repeated arrivals at the wheel near their captain. It seemed the small creature came solely to visit Jones and to snag a brief ride perched on the ship’s side, the sea breeze rustling its feathers until it either fluttered below deck to follow Killian at the end of his watch or took to the sky again.. Killian naturally sought to avoid seeming overly fond or doting on the petrel. For the leader of a band of miscreants and outlaws who lived a rough life by their wits and the sweat of their brows, it was dangerous indeed to show any sort of weakness. Any appearance of “going soft” could be a death sentence if his crew began to doubt his capabilities because of it.

All the same, those who worked nearby sometimes saw glimpses of his twinkling eyes or more mischievous smiles from time to time - things that had seemed lost to the past before the bird’s arrival. The cabin boy Killian had taken aboard at a port several months before - to save him from a life of abuse and privation - sometimes thought he heard snatches of the Captain singing or humming shanties under his breath when the petrel was present at Killian’s side. The boy’s loyalty, however, was unassailable and absolute. He’d never dream of breathing a word.

This continued for some time, the petrel’s comings and goings becoming an expected part of the rhythm aboard the Jolly Roger. Its diminutive gray form and rapid flight over the nearby waves became an easily recognizable sight to all who sailed upon the ship. What was more, the bird’s presence was gratefully welcomed - Captain Jones was less volatile and less prone to strike out against those who displeased him.

If the petrel had not yet proven its worth to any sailors reluctant to accept it, then one stormy night it would have silenced any doubts once and for all…

They had not taken an enemy vessel in some time, and the cargo taken in their most recent haul had been offloaded at the last port nearly two days prior. It was a good thing, too, because as shadows began to lengthen in late afternoon, wind whipped up wildly, frothing the waves and rocking the ship violently. The extra weight of a full cargo might have caused them to take on a frightening amount of water as the hull rose and fell. 

At first, the men manned their posts with calm determination. A storm at sea was always serious, easily spelling the difference between life and death in how one met its ravages. They had faced many such squalls, and Jones guided them through with an indefinable but comforting mix of experience and assurance. This gale, however, seemed different, bent on their destruction as the walls of water rose and then dropped the Jolly as though it were a toy in a child’s bathtub. As they dipped, the rising swells threatened to pour over the sides and sink them permanently. The crew gripped their ropes or boards, holding tightly to whatever piece they manned, but more and more fervently sending prayers for mercy to Poseidon, Davy Jones, or the sirens that would greet them below the surface.

Amidst the rolling chaos, the rapid beating of wings swept low over their heads as a dark,  familiarly recognizable form sailed across the deck and landed heavily, talons clinging to the worn leather on Killian’s shoulder. Though it had clearly fought mightily against the drafts, their petrel was claiming its place heedless of the danger.

Hardly able to acknowledge the delicate weight where it roosted at his side, even nearer than usual, Killian quickly raised his hook from the spokes of the wheel, brushing its curve over the bird’s downy underbelly in a single stroke of greeting. The bird trilled and seemed almost to rub its head against his rough cheek in affection. The exchange lasted only a moment, and in their heightened anxiety, few, if any, bore witness. Then, Killian gripped the wheel tightly once more with hand and hook, roaring out orders and encouragement, exhorting the men not to give up the fight, though the storm raged on and endurance flagged.

The petrel, not content to merely watch and ride along, was hardly finished - nor did it perch silently idle. Instead, it took to the air again, if only just, fluttering rapidly about the captain’s head, repeating its sharp, strident call, almost in his ear, and making itself nigh impossible to ignore. At first, Killian instinctively waved his hand to ward off its advances, calling out in consternation at its unusual behavior. However, it quickly became clear the tiny bird’s determined efforts would not falter.

Brow furrowed in thought, Killian squinted in concentration at his companion, finally sensing that it was trying to tell him something. Swiping the driving rain from his vision, Killian gave in and murmured low under his breath, “Alright, little one, I understand. What is it you wish to show me?”

Again, reacting as if it understood his every word, the petrel chirruped a sort of agreement and took flight again. It had to dip and bob against the lashing wind and rain in order to stay aloft, but it flapped madly, its wings battling back against the heaves of the storm. Valiantly, it hovered within sight, just ahead of the ship’s bow and almost seemed to look back expectantly, as if asking whether or not he meant to follow its lead.

Despite the tension in his shoulders, the worry and responsibility weighing upon him as the storm attempting to break them apart and bear the pieces to the depths, Killian couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter at the bird’s assumed insistence. “Aye, we’re with you,” he uttered aloud, turning the wheel just slightly to accommodate the direction in which the petrel led, shaking his head in disbelief even as he did so. It seemed a mite crazy, true enough, and yet birds survived the wild, its brutal conditions and weather, all the time. And what other chance of survival did they have at this point if the tempest didn’t slake soon? He could not see the way before them clearly enough to navigate by any of his normal methods. At the end of the day, they were all at the whim of Mother Nature, whatever their skill or experience, so the chance or fate that had brought this small creature to him and the feeling in his gut that urged him on seemed as good a course to follow as any.

Some few further agonizing minutes followed, as they still rose and fell in the grip of rolling waves. The entire crew seemed to hold their breath as the ship bobbed and soared, up and down, over and again, eyes riveted on the dark clouds and forks of lightning ahead of them and straining to glimpse in time the jagged rocks that lurked portending their doom.

Slowly, and yet more and more certainly as they persisted, the wild rocking, the careening to and fro, lessened, as though the churning water itself had begun to loosen its massive grip. They were moving into miraculously calmer waters, Killian noted with a breath of relief. The storm still howled around them, but in a bright flash of lightning, he saw that the ship had entered the sheltered lea of a hidden cove. The tall rock faces rising on either side as the Jolly sailed into their cover lessened the buffeting of the waves and allowed the ship to maintain its ballance once again. He would not have seen the entrance with the elements obscuring vision as they’d been - not without the petrel. It had led them to safety.

As if on cue, the bird came to rest atop the wheel, perching on the curve of wood between the two spokes where his hand and hook were placed. Blinking placidly, it seemed to look at him with a bit of pride before cooing softly and burrowing hits head and beak under its wing to snatch a moment’s well-earned rest.

Nodding and allowing himself a look around to take stock, Killian saw the reassurance on his crew’s faces as all realized they had made it through. Killian called out a few orders to check various parts of the sip for any damages and make certain the ship would stay in place until the storm blew itself out. This petrel with its almost sentient ability to sense when it was needed, come to his aid, and raise his spirits, would always have a safe place to rest with them on the Jolly Roger.

~~*~~*~~

Until the day it didn’t return.

The storm petrel had taken to arriving regularly every two or three days, wherever they might be sailing or how much distance they had covered, but then one evening it failed to appear. It didn’t come that night, or the next. Soon a week had passed, and still it didn’t come back to the Jolly, worrying Killian more than he dared let on.

He could not simply drop anchor and wait, nor could he leave his post, his men, and his ship, to search for his tiny companion - far dearer than even a pet could ever be. He had no way to call the bird; it had always come to him of its own accord and in its own time… but it had never stayed away for so long.

His men noticed as well, whispering amongst themselves when the Captain began taking his evening meals alone at night rather than joining them in the galley, when the door to his cabin slammed with such heavy finality that all knew it was a barrier not to be crossed until the Captain emerged again. They shook their heads in dismay when orders were bellowed more harshly or conversations were more clipped and terse. Killian Jones was too diligent a man to shirk his duties or lead them astray, yet all felt his unease and knew its cause. Many of them were aware enough to know the petrel had saved them from the storm, just as Killian did, and had grown to enjoy its visits and watch for it in their own ways. Its absence had stretched on long enough that it seemed clear something must have happened to the poor bird - not that any would say such to the Captain.

Turley and the cabin boy were the only ones genuinely close enough to ask Killian about it, and the youngster only dared question hesitantly one night as he brought the Captain his dinner tray if he had seen his gray bird lately. The dulled acceptance in his expected denial bowed the boy’s head and forestalled any further inquiry.

But that night, as young Billy left, Killian heard a light rapping sound at the small window above his bunk. Even knowing better, his heart leapt with a small flicker of hope. It was the portal by which his petrel had entered and left his cabin so many times. Scuffling and scratching followed, so weak and soft as to have gone unheard if he hadn’t been sitting alone and quiet at his desk. Hustling to the window, Killian unlatched it and carefully opened the glass pane.

To his astonishment and joy, quickly followed by rapid alarm, the storm petrel toppled from its weary perch on the windowsill and landed on the ledge just inside the room. Its tiny frail quivered, its little feathered breast rising and falling rapidly. It wasn’t a large bird to begin with; Turley’s familiar voice echoed in Killian’s head at the thought, needlessly rambling about petrels being some of the widest ranging seabirds known to man, despite being naught bigger than swallows. ‘Hardy little critters, they are,’ Killian could still hear the cook yammering internally until he finally shook his head clear. What he needed to do now was ascertain what the bird needed and what he could do to help.

Having been small already, the petrel looked terribly frail on the dusty, cushioned ledge amidst heavy tomes, navigation tools, and the other detritus of several years. It was obvious the poor creature had not been eating and was wasting away half-starved as a result. Along with that, it was soaked, its feathers in bedraggled disarray and missing in places. The bird lay still for so long without uttering any sound or even trying to right itself of explore the space that Killian feared for a horrible moment that it must be near death.

Peering closer with careful, gentle movements, he saw that the petrel was injured as well as weakened. Not immediately apparent because of how ruffled in was in general, Killian noted that its wing was bent at an awkward angle along its side rather than folded up properly in repose.

The bird hardly lifted its head as Killian stroked one finger down its back, hoping to soothe and offer even the tiniest bit of comfort. Striding urgently across the room, he swung the cabin door open, calling urgently down the hall for Whale, the ship’s doctor, to come on the double; he was needed in the Captain’s quarters.

Whirling to re-enter the room, Killian’s eyes quickly passed over the space, noting the crust of his bread left from supper and the seeds which had been baked atop it still littering the plate. He brought it quickly to his patient, then poured some water for the pitched by his washstand into the empty saucer which had held soup, hoping he might coax the petrel to eat even a morsel and gain some nourishment.

Next, he grasped a plush cotton dressing gown, hanging untouched on the door of his closest, purposefully out of easy sight. It had been Milah’s favorite to wrap up in after the rare luxury of a bath, and the sight of it or the feel of its material beneath his fingers had wrung his heart until now, bringing the hot, raging need for vengeance back to the fore. He was suddenly glad he had not parted with it though. He didn’t dare jostle the injured bird overmuch for fear of hurting it further. But while he couldn’t rub it down to dry it fully, he could tuck the robe’s downy layers around it and warm its shivering frame.

“There now, little one,” he crooned gently. “Take a bit of food and catch your breath. You’re safe now…” his voice caught and he swallowed before adding, “We’ll put you back to rights, don’t fret.”

Killian didn’t actually know if a ship’s surgeon could set a bird’s wing as he would a human man’s broken arm, but he could hear Whale’s footsteps pounding down the hall toward his cabin, and knew he would find out soon. Before Whale - or anyone else - could arrive to see him, Killian bent to carefully lean over the bird’s small form, not sure what possessed him, but following the instinct before he could question it. As delicately as possible for someone who’d had no cause for gentility in longer than he could remember, for just one breath, one single heartbeat, he brought his lips to the bird’s tiny head. Maybe it was brought on by some long-buried memory of his own mother, lost to his mind’s eye other than a voice whose soothing singing sometimes echoed in his sleep, but the kiss seemed an offering to ease fever pain and fear with hope and good wishes.

It was the barest brush contact - a mere moment’s touch - but the air in the room abruptly changed. Something seemed to shrink and then expand; the atmosphere held its breath. Glittering rainbow hues flashed in front of his eyes, and Killian jerked backwards in alarm. The petrel’s shape went a bit hazy as Killian strained to understand what was happening right before his eyes, and then his small friend began to grow and change, forcing him to take a few more stunned steps backward and wonder if he had somehow hit his head and addled his brain. His accustomed companion was transforming even as he watched.

He heard a shout as Whale - and probably a few curious others too - came to a halt behind him. Exclamations of awe and surprise were heard but left unacknowledged over his shoulder. Killian blinked, trying be sure he could trust his vision and to reconcile what shouldn’t be possible, but sat before him.

Where the storm petrel had lay near death just seconds ago, stood a blushing, beautiful young woman. She was equally soaked to the skin, long blonde hair plastered to her head and shoulders. Her lithe, slender frame trembled where she stood clutching the dressing gown around her tightly. Still, there was something about her eyes as she stared back at him silently; something that he knew deep within despite never having seen her before.

She cocked her head curiously, as if she too was trying to understand where she was and what had happened. With that motion, Killian knew without a shadow of a doubt. This young woman had been his petrel; his long lost avian friend was this lovely woman. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he was absolutely certain. And he was drawn to her just as he had been to her former guise. She took a cautious step toward him, and he held out a hand to draw her near and hold her close. Whatever had brought them together, whatever magic was at work, she was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.

~~*~~*~~

By the time rays of morning sunlight came slanting down the walls inside Killian’s cabin, he and his soulmate - he knew that now - had talked the whole night through. She was no longer a storm petrel but a princess what had been cursed to take on avian form, and his act of True Love - aware of it or not - had set her free. The jealous witch who’d cast the spell had falsely believed the princess was luring her chosen partner away rather than accept that he had a roving eye. Petrels were a migratory species, keeping her far from all she knew and loved - and of course, unable to speak or gain help for her affliction. For hours they sat side-by-side on his bunk, hands clasped tightly as this woman - Emma, her name was Emma - told him what she’d experience ever since the curse took hold, shifting her very reality to something unfathomable. Tears pooled in her eyes, glistening on her lashes, both while recounting her own trials, and then again while listening to the betrayal and loss that had shaken Killian’s world to its foundations as well.

The connection between them from Emma’s first appearance on his ship drew them ever closer as they talked, and touched, and inevitably joined in another kiss. This time it was two souls meeting on equal footing, and they drank deeply of the perfection that shook them each to the core. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way; the two of them bound to meet long before they ever knew. Neither could explain the pull, but it also couldn’t be denied.

As they went topside the next morning and Killian began to introduce her to an eagerly enthusiastic crew, he didn’t even try to explain, but simply savored the moment, thrilled that all the heartache and pain had finally brought him there, with Emma at his side. Her smaller frame tucked seamlessly into his side as she beamed at his new ally and charmed them one and all.

When they stood at the wheel - just the two of them again at last - Killian behind her, his arms encircling her as he steered the ship, he felt the same joy he had when she’d kept him company perched on the wheel so many times before, but magnified exponentially now that they could fully communicate and understand one another. With the salt air in their faces and the horizon in view, they set sail - a happy new beginning stretching out ahead of them.

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @anmylica @scientificapricot @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @lenfaz @jonesfandomfanatic

@eastwesthomeisbest @grimmswan @stahlop @belovedcreation @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic

@winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @caught-in-the-filter @resident-of-storybrooke

@the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @goforlaunchcee @mie779 @kday426 @iamstartraveller776

[exhaustedpirate]

call disconnected

my first entry for CS Autumn/Spooky Bingo created by the lovely @hollyethecurious - the prompt was "ghost stories", i got a little carried away and made it into a bit of a crime solving thing! all my love and devotion goes to @belovedcreation for betaing!

rated T | 7849 words

also on AO3

summary: Sheriff Emma Swan gets a call about an accident in the woods, a man begging her for help. An hour later, Killian Jones is on his way to the hospital. Funny thing is, the call for help doesn't match the voice of the victim.

The call arrives just after 2 o’clock, which is lucky because there would be a whole other emergency if someone stopped Emma Swan from getting her grilled cheese. 

Ruby is supposed to be on phone duty but there is an anniversary dinner to plan and she doesn’t want to be responsible for Mulan having an underwhelming night due to her wife’s rushed planning. So Emma is covering the phones when it rings.

“Sheriff Swan speaking.”

Static greets her on the other side of the line, tensing her body unconsciously before a voice rings out. “Help, I-I fell-” It’s a strange panicked voice she’s never heard before, an accent not common to their small town of Storybrooke, Maine. She feels a tingle in her spine all the way to her hands. “The cliff gave out. Can you hear me?”

“Uh, yes, yes, I can hear you, sir,” Emma takes a deep steadying breath. “Can you tell me where you fell?”

“I w-was on the Misthaven Trail, I-I think I broke my leg,” His guttural grunt of pain weighs on her chest and she feels like she’s having difficulty breathing. “I can see the bone, I-”

Static plays up again and she feels his panic in her veins. “I can barely hear you, sir,” Her knuckles are white as she tightens her hold on the phone, pressing it harder against her ear as if it will make it easier to hear. “Can you tell me precisely where on the trail?”

“The river, Shepherd River,” His breathing becomes panicked and she knows she should keep him calm, urging him to take shorter breaths but she’d feel like a hypocrite. “I’m bleeding, please, help me, plea-”

The call cuts off and she is left with the sounds of her fast breathing. “Sir? Sir?” 

Emma tries to redial, grateful for the old technology to allow her to do so. An automated voice informs her the number is not in service and she frowns in confusion.

Maybe it was a prank.

Maybe some of the local teenagers were trying to send her on a wild goose chase so they can vandalise another section of their lovely neighbourhood. 

But the panic was real. The fear in that voice was real. The hairs on her arms are still raised as she remembers the voice, as she remembers all the alarms her body gave her.

Graham pokes his head into her office a second after. “Emma?” Her hand hurts from where she’s still holding onto the phone as if her life depends on it. “Are you alright?”

Maybe it is a prank.

The tight feeling on her chest tells her to go check it out nonetheless.

She drops the phone, with maybe too much strength, before she faces her deputy. “Are you up for a hike?”

---

It really is lucky that Graham practically lives in the woods. Emma was made for concrete roads and windows to keep the insects away. She wouldn’t last an hour alone in these woods.

The Toll Bridge crosses through the edge of the forest. The Misthaven Trail parallels the Shepherd River that flows under the bridge. It’s common to see vehicles on the side of the road - hikers leaving the last piece of civilization before venturing into the forest.

Emma parks the cruiser alongside a Chevrolet Chevelle and she’s almost sad to see it left to the whims of nature. But it probably belongs to their injured hiker. She places her hand on the hood of the car. She can still feel some warmth.

“This must be his.” She points the car out to Graham. “It’s probably been like an hour since he left. Call the hospital, ask them to get an ambulance here.”

Graham nods and grabs his phone. She lets his voice become background noise as she inspects the car. The door is unlocked, the hiker probably wasn’t expecting to be long. There’s a satchel in the back seat. She opens the door and looks inside. There’s an ID in the wallet and a buzzing in her ears when she looks at the picture on it. Killian Jones.

“They’re on their way,” Graham breaks through her inspection and everything becomes clearer. “I told them to keep their radio on.”

She nods. “We’re looking for Killian Jones,” Emma turns the ID towards him before tossing it inside the car. “Assuming he’s our hiker.”

Graham has his tracking face on as she closes the door. There’s something on the driver side floor that causes that tugging in her gut that guides her to flare up.

“It’s a good thing it hasn’t rained,” Graham points out from the other side of the car. “There are some recent footprints leading west. They’re probably his.”

“The Misthaven Trail,” Emma nods, any investigating paused in lieu of finding the injured hiker. “Let’s go.”

“Stay behind me.”

“Go get him, Fido.” Emma presses her lips together attempting to hide the smile at her terrible joke, but fails at the sight of his unimpressed look.

They follow the trail in familiar silence. Graham’s experience allows them to travel at a fast speed through the trees. They pay close attention to any sounds out of the ordinary - which is to say, anything that isn’t birds, animals or the rushing river below them.

“Emma.” 

Graham stops and she manages to stop before she runs into him. He gestures to the ground where a blanket is crumpled underneath a tree, still warm. 

“Still warm,” Emma confirms before dropping the blanket. “He must be close. Maybe he fell.”

“After all the warnings the Mayor released, there’s still people who forget to respect the forest.”

“I thought those had only been around for the past year,” Emma frowns, looking around. “I mean, you both gave me an hour-long lecture about it when I started.”

“Everyone in town knows to be cautious of these woods but there was a, uhm,” And it is the first time she’s ever seen Graham sound uncertain, his voice trembling with emotion. He clears his throat before he continues. “There was a death in these woods.”

She sees the way he looks guarded now, in pain. “Oh.”

A flash catches the corner of her eye. With a hand to cover her eyes from the sun, she turns towards it. The sunlight has caught on a metal flask within throwing distance from the blanket, she assumes. Close to it is a pile of rocks. A strange pile, each rock deliberately placed on top of the other. It must have been a while since it’s been built there according to the moss growing on them.

Emma turns towards her deputy to point that to him but sees him a few steps away looking at the ground. “Drag marks,” he points out as if he could feel her eyes on him. “He must have fallen down-”

“Help!” A weak yell cuts him off and they whip their heads to the right. 

“And ended up down by the river,” Emma finishes for him in a quiet voice, her heart beating faster at the sound of pain, as she stands next to the deputy.

Using caution, Emma follows Graham’s lead as he gets them to the river bank following the sounds of pain. Halfway down, they locate the hiker and for the first time, Graham’s confidence falters and so do his steps. A man is slumped on the side of the river, covered in dirt and blood. She can see tendrils of red flowing down the river.

“Don’t move,” Graham orders, recovering quickly, as he stands next to the victim who seems to slump at their arrival, the fight leaving his body in his relief. “We’re here to help.”

Emma kneels on one side of him and is instantly on alert at the sight of the gash in his head and the bone protruding from his leg. She looks up at Graham and he seems to read her thoughts.

“I’ll guide the paramedics here,” Graham says, grabbing the radio from his belt. “Keep him still and awake.”

She nods before he returns to the trail to guide the others to where they are. Emma places her hand on the man’s shoulder, careful to avoid hurting him further. His big blue eyes turn to her, pain and fear side by side with hope and creating a tug in her gut.

She clears her throat. “Are you Killian Jones?”

“Aye, I fell, broke my leg,” he explains in a hoarse voice. She frowns at the sound, a whole other type of tingle running up her spine. “The ground caved under me.”

There’s static in her radio before Graham’s voice rings out. “ETA is three minutes, is he conscious?”

“Yeah, conscious and lucid,” Emma answers through the radio. “Broken leg and head injury.”

“I thought I was going to die here,” Killian groans as she puts away the device. “How did you find me?”

“The Misthaven Trail is long and you weren’t exactly specific.” Emma breathes out a chuckle, her nerves slightly calmed at knowing help is coming. “But we found where you fell down. We would have been here faster but service in this area is crap. I don’t know how you called us in the first place.” She’s babbling. She does that when she’s nervous.

Killian’s eyebrows furrow together, confusion taking over the pain. “I called you?”

“Hmm, yeah, that’s how we knew to come find you.” She answers as if it’s obvious, even as a pull in her gut tries to tell her otherwise.

“I left my phone in the car,” he explains and she feels that tingle up her spine once more. “I didn’t call anyone.”

Careful footsteps and cautious voices approach them and she lets the paramedics do their job as they put Killian Jones in the stretcher and cover his wounds. Their eyes remain locked until the last possible moment before Emma follows behind the stretcher being led by Graham. 

A light flashes in her eyes once more and she looks up at it, the pile of rocks still standing proudly in the forest, a bird perched on the top stone, its deep blue wings fluttering. The hairs at the back of her neck stand in attention and she tries to make sense of what happened. 

They found the hiker exactly where he told her he’d be. His leg was broken, just like the call said - she wouldn’t soon forget the sight of the bone piercing his flesh. The voice was different, Emma noticed it right away, but there were no signs of other hikers in the area.

But if the call wasn’t made by Killian Jones, then who called them for help?

---

Loud laughter rings out from the open kitchen window. An unconscious smile stretches Emma’s lips as she looks out at the dark heads illuminated by the fire pit she borrowed from Graham. Despite being disappointed at the cancelled camping trip, Henry seemed to have forgotten all about it when she reminded him of the comforts of home camping and the awesome backyard that came with their house. 

After the day they had, Emma just couldn’t think of Henry in the woods.

“Emma?” 

Speaking of, her deputy’s voice from the phone in her ear brings her back to the present.

“Yeah, sorry.” She turns her back to the window, leaning on the counter. “I got distracted.”

“I was saying that Mr. Jones should be going into his MRI scan right now and after that, they are preparing him for surgery on his leg. The doctors said that despite the trauma his body has been through, he’s doing really well.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” Emma breathes out in relief. Against her best interests, she hadn’t been able to put this strange rescue away from her mind. There was just something about the call, his voice, his eyes, that just didn’t seem right.

She feels Graham’s patient silence on the other side and she nods to herself to gather up courage. “Doesn’t all of this seem strange to you? The whole situation.”

“Emma-”

“He didn’t call the station, Graham, it was someone else, I swear,” she interrupts, her hackles raised. “He didn’t have a phone on him either, this is all just-”

“Weird,” Graham interrupts this time and he sighs. “I should have told you earlier, but I know Killian Jones, we a- were friends.”

“What?”

“He used to live here until last year. His brother, he-” Emma waits in suspense as Graham takes a deep steadying breath. “He died while on a hike in that trail a year ago, I assume Killian went there to pay his respects. I didn’t even know he was in town until we found him.”

“Y-You didn’t say anything.”

“Well, I didn’t want to believe it was him and then, when we found him, I knew I had to stay focused. I needed to do my job.”

“Right,” Emma scratches her forehead, her brain full of conflicting thoughts. This was a lot to consider. “So who called the station? A ghost?” She asks her question sarcastically to disguise how the possibility doesn’t sound too ridiculous to her.

“All I know is that we had a long day, Emma,” Graham evades, his tone placating and calm. “We should get our rest and look at this whole thing again tomorrow, with fresh eyes.”

“You’re right,” she exhales. “Goodnight, Graham. Keep me updated.”

“Goodnight, Emma.”

Emma ends the call and throws the phone at the dinner table. She’s going to push those doubts away even if she needs to force them away. She’s got some happy campers to focus on. Emma pulls the popcorn from the microwave and picks up the platter she made with the components for s’mores before pushing the back door open carefully.

“Does anyone know any ghost stories?” Ava Zimmer is almost vibrating in her seat as she grabs a handful of chips Emma brought earlier. Camping is not synonymous with healthy food.

“Ghosts? Aren’t we too old for that?” Nicholas Zimmer, on the other hand, is trying to hide his fear with bravado.

“Come on, Nick, it’s almost Halloween.” Henry knocks shoulders with his friend’s and she can hear the grin in his voice. “And that means ghost stories. Besides, they’re not real.”

“Yeah,” Ava agrees. “It’s just spooky and Halloween is the time for spooky.”

“Just not too spooky,” Emma interrupts, ignoring the way Nicholas startles at the sound of her voice - no need to embarrass the boy. “Otherwise you won’t sleep tonight.”

“Have you heard the story of the Misthaven Ghost?” Henry leans close to his friends on the bench with a grin.

Emma is glad for her steady grip on the platter or there would be no s’mores tonight. “Misthaven Ghost? Where did you hear that sort of story?” She tries to keep her voice cool but even she can hear the edge in it - was she the last one to hear about this? -, focusing instead on placing the food down on the small camping table she opened.

“Mr. Booth is having us write a ghost story for class and he gave us that one as an example,” Henry answers and he must misinterpret her questioning as innocent curiosity but she’s not going to correct him. “Do you wanna hear it?”

“Would you mind if I joined you?” 

“No, please join us!” Nicholas grabs her thankfully empty hands to pull her to sit between him and his twin after Henry stands up to stand on the other side of the fire.

“You’re such a scaredy cat.” Ava teases, looking at him around Emma.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Kids.” Emma warns, holding their arms to keep them from hitting each other.

“Listen up! For I am about to tell you the story of the Misthaven Ghost,” Henry calls from the other side of the fire before popping another popcorn in his mouth. Emma finds herself smiling at her kid’s dramatics. “It was a cold night in October, the 30th of October to be exact. An innocent man is walking the Misthaven Trail, determined to beat all odds and finish the hike. He is alone, nothing but his thoughts and the animals around him,” Nicholas plasters himself to Emma’s side. “He carries only a phone that won’t work this far into the woods and his bravery. He hears a presence to his right, to his left, all around, feels the hairs at the back of his neck stand in attention and a voice whispers in the wind,” Ava holds her right arm now as Henry lowers his voice. “‘Get out of the woods’, it says, ‘get out’, but the hiker is too fearless to heed their warning. Suddenly, a boom lights the sky and the ground gives out from under him, and then he’s falling. He’s falling and he can’t ask for help,” Emma feels the shiver running up her spine and, distantly, she thinks maybe Henry should focus on this storytelling ability he has. “He is floating on the river then, his body weak and leaving him, his last thought on the family he leaves behind, a last goodbye sent to the stars he loved so much.”

Henry finishes with a fluttering gesture towards the night sky. Ava and Nicholas on either side of her are gripping her arm, not willing to break the silence. 

“He had a family?” Emma asks and even her quiet tone manages to startle the twins. 

“Were you scared, Ava?” Nicholas asks as he looks at his sister, a victorious grin winning over his fear.

Ava huffs and crosses her arms. “No, you’re the scared one.”

“It’s a good story, isn’t it?” Henry asks, a bright smile on his face and a proud stance to his shoulders.

“Mr. Booth told you this story?” Emma tries again.

“Yeah,” Henry grabs another handful of popcorn, now that his story is done, eating one at a time. “He wanted us to have an example of what to write but he was probably also showing off.” 

The kids laugh, everyone in town knowing of August’s designs of being a published author and his constant promises of finishing his novel soon. But there was still something niggling at Emma’s brain.

“Did he make up the story himself? Or did he hear it from someone?”

“He says he made it up inspired by a real event,” Henry shrugs. “I told Mrs. Nolan about it and she said that, about a year ago, someone did die in those woods and that’s when the Mayor put out the announcement.” He grabs the marshmallow sticks and passes them along to his friends who are still visibly spooked. “Apparently there had been lots of reports of injuries and lost hikers on that trail before that.”

“So it took someone dying for them to actually do something about it? Figures.” Emma scoffs and Henry shrugs, unaware of the turmoil in his mother’s brain.

“Okay, can we tell less spooky stories now?” Nicholas asks, begs almost, bringing Emma back to the present. The fact that Ava doesn’t tease her brother is telling.

“Why don’t I grab my laptop and put on a movie for you?” Emma suggests, standing up from the bench.

“Nightmare before Christmas?” Nicholas turns pleading eyes towards his friends.

Ava nods and then seems to remember herself. “Only if we watch ‘Monster House’ after.” 

Her twin seems to think about it before nodding resolutely. “Deal! Is that okay, Henry?”

Henry smiles, seemingly just happy to have a fun night with his friends. “As long as it’s Halloween themed, I’m in.”

Emma grins, despite everything. “Double feature it is,” she chuckles. “I’ll set it up.”

‘This is Halloween’ drifts through the open kitchen window as the kids settle down making s’mores in the yard while Emma sits at the kitchen table. She finds Killian Jones’ social media easily enough - she wouldn’t have become one of the best bail bondsperson in the business without being able to find someone’s internet footprint with only a name and a date of birth. It might be slightly illegal to have taken a picture of the man’s ID but what is she gonna do? Arrest herself?

Maybe Emma needed to take a long look within herself if she was negotiating committing illegal acts to herself… After she got to the bottom of this mystery.

Killian Jones is even more handsome than she had previously thought. Considering the only times she’d been able to actually look at him were either a small grainy ID photo or him caked in dirt and blood, it wasn’t a high bar. 

Seeing him on the deck of a small boat, a colourful shirt open to show his chest underneath, his eyes crinkled in laughter as he holds out a beer bottle in cheers to the person behind the camera is a welcome alternative. She has to force herself to scroll past the picture. 

She notices belatedly that the last post - the Hawaiian shirt distraction - is from a year ago, September to be exact. In the middle of all the thirsty comments, she finds something interesting. ‘Don’t shut me out, Killian, I’m here for you’, was posted by one bookworm33 and it would have looked weird if it didn’t speak of desperation and worry.

Emma continues to scroll down and doesn’t have to swipe too long before she pauses at a picture of Killian Jones and a man that shares the same eyes and facial features. Her gut tugs at her and she taps on the picture once, a tag covering the man’s eyes. Bejewelled40 - whose real name is Liam Jones - aside from being a Taylor Swift fan, is also Killian Jones’ brother.

There are pictures of them in boats, hiking, and visiting foreign countries, even some that include Graham. His posts also end a year ago and the ‘remembering’ on the top of his profile is an easy explanation. Clicking on the first photo - different angles to the September boat trip, focusing more on Liam Jones than his brother - she finds another comment hidden between thirsty comments and boat enthusiasts. ‘I miss you’, written simply and it’s the lack of emojis that catch Emma’s attention. Bookworm33 was clearly important to the siblings. 

It doesn’t take her long to get a better picture of the situation. Belle French, the brother’s friend, has been a librarian at Storybrooke High for the past 4 years after a troublesome divorce made her move cities. Pictures and references to the Jones brothers start a few months after that, before there’s a significant lack of Killian Jones in her pictures a year later. 

An article in the local newsletter, an announcement in the paper and a remembrance post on Facebook spells out the rest of the story. The Jones Brothers move to Storybrooke 5 years ago and join the community, Liam as the Sheriff and Killian as the Harbormaster; Belle and Liam start their romance and become engaged two years ago. A year ago, Belle’s father passes away and she travels back home and Liam is found dead on the Misthaven Trail three days later. Killian Jones isn’t seen in Storybrooke for a whole year after the funeral until Emma finds him almost dead by the river bank.

A message notification puts an end to her research. ‘Jones is out of surgery and we should be able to visit him tomorrow’, Graham texts and she looks at the clock. Emma sighs. Two hours researching and she still has so many questions.

‘Take the day off tomorrow, Humbert, I’ll follow up with Jones’, she messages back. ‘Don’t argue with me, I’m your boss, you deserve some rest’, she sends right after, expecting the argument.

‘Alright, Sheriff, I leave it to your capable hands.’ The reminder causes her to massage her temples. She has Liam Jones’ job; could this whole situation feel more like a horror movie?

Going back to Liam Jones’ instagram, Emma finds a picture of him with Graham in a nature setting. With a squint and a zoom, she recognises the setting. She swipes to find a video with Graham’s voice from behind the camera and Liam Jones struggling but determined to take his next step.

“We’re currently on mile 5 of the Misthaven Trail,” Graham explains, a very faint hint of tiredness in his tone as he sweeps the camera over their surroundings and Emma can’t help the eerie feeling at the setting sun behind the trees. “As you can see, this area is beautiful and peaceful, a great place to be at one with yourself and your thoughts.” There’s a scoff from the right and Graham laughs, turning the camera to his friend. “Liam here is having some trouble.” He earns himself a glare from his companion. “There've been a lot of accidents in this area so this is your friendly reminder to be careful where you step and to respect the forest.”

“You’ve lectured every single lost or injured hiker we pulled out of these woods. Friendly, my arse.” Emma sucks in a breath at the sound of Liam Jones’ voice. Graham’s responding laughter and voice seems to sound from underwater as he defends himself. 

Please, help me, plea-

It’s the same voice. She feels the tingle in her spine and the raised hairs on her arms she had before. How could it be possible?

Sounds of yelps outside have her jumping from her seat, her heart beating rapidly against her chest. Subsequent cheering reminds her of her whereabouts. It’s the kids reacting to the anthropomorphic house finally meeting its demise on the small screen. Emma grips onto the kitchen counter, taking deep steadying breaths. 

She needs to have a chat with Killian Jones.

---

It’s rainy and gloomy the next day when Emma arrives at the hospital. 

Maybe the weather’s a sign. It’s not like she was ever a superstitious person but it’s hard to remain sceptical after the day she’s had. The nurse tells her he’s in room 13. Of course.

In the corridor, she sees a familiar figure. 

“I thought I told you to take the day off, Humbert.” 

Emma almost grins when he startles. Almost. She simply crosses her arms as she stares him down. Graham looks away, as if he just got caught in the proverbial cookie jar, it’s a cute look.

“I am taking my day off, Emma,” Graham defends and she raises her eyebrow. “I didn’t ask him anything that could be related to the case. I just-”

“Wanted to see how your friend was,” she finishes for him.

Graham stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets and nods. “I just needed to make sure he was okay.”

“Because Liam would have wanted you to do the same.”

He looks up at her with wide eyes and parted lips. This might have been the first time she’s shocked her deputy in the year they’ve worked together.

“H-how…?”

“I did some research last night.” She uncrosses her arms to stuff her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I found Killian Jones’ social media, which led me to Liam’s, to Belle’s and then to yours. You were his deputy.”

“The four of us bonded over being away from home.” He shrugs, trying to hide the heartache over the loss. “After Liam passed, it all fell apart.”

“I’d never seen Killian Jones in Storybrooke before today, or Belle French.”

“Killian left after the funeral, said something about a family member in Boston even though I’m sure they didn’t have any family in the States. He rejected all my calls, I had no way to find him.” Graham sighs, scratching his forehead. “Belle isolated herself the first few months. After that she would go from home to work and back. She’s been trying to go out more, determined to live her life the way Liam would have wanted her to. It’s still a slow process but at least she’s trying.”

“And here you are in the middle of everything trying to be there for everyone.”

“I didn’t lose a brother or a fiance, Emma, I’m fine.” He crosses his arms and she recognises the look on his face.

“Right, if you want me to be ‘bad cop’, I will,” she threatens.

“Seriously, Emma, I’m fine, it’s been a year and-”

“Graham,” she interrupts, holding up her hand. “Go see Dr. Hopper or I’m suspending you.”

He groans and yet, it feels like a victory. “Yes, boss.” He mockingly salutes and yet it still shows his respect.

“Go home and enjoy the rest of the day off while I go and talk to Mr. Jones.” Emma pats his arm and he nods. 

“I told him to tell you everything he could remember,” Graham informs her. “I know you can do your job but he can be very stubborn so I just wanted to make it a little easier for you.”

“Thanks,” Emma smiles amusedly and watches as he walks past her. “Hey, Graham?” He stops in the corridor and she can’t hold back her curiosity. “Liam was the sheriff before me,” Graham shifts in his feet, uncomfortable. “Did you apply for the job? I’d think you’d be a shoe-in to be the next Sheriff as opposed to an outsider.”

“Nah,” He shrugs and she can actually see the weight on his shoulders. “It wouldn’t have felt right.” His lips curl up in a small smile, a grieving smile. “Besides, you are a great boss.” 

Emma rolls her eyes but her smile is wide. “Get some rest and go see Dr. Hopper.” 

“Yes, boss,” he repeats before he leaves the hospital wing all together.

With a deep steadying breath, Emma knocks at the door of room 13.

“Come in.”

She nods to herself before opening the door. “Mr. Jones, I’m-”

“Sheriff Emma Swan,” Killian Jones nods at her. “Graham told me you were coming. Didn’t expect you here so fast though.”

“As it happens, you’re my only open case.”

She stands a few feet from his bed, arms crossed as she finally takes a look at the man they saved the day before, now no-longer covered in blood and dirt. There is a bandage on his forehead all the way down to the temple, his face, neck and hands - the only things visible - filled with small scratches, and his leg is in a thick cast. He looks tired but okay.

He looks handsome too and she’s trying not to remember his boat pictures. It helps that the hospital gown and robe cover his chest and what she knows is underneath. She’s really trying. 

“Why don’t you take a seat?” He gestures to the chair next to his bed, where she assumes Graham had been seated minutes prior. “We’re probably in for a long chat.”

She should refuse, keep him at a distance. She sits down but not before pulling the chair back a few inches. Emma catches an amused smile on his lips and she wonders what else Graham told him about her. She clears her throat focusing on being professional.

“Alright, Mr. Jones-”

“Please, call me Killian.” 

Emma nods, trying to look away from the soft smile he directed at her. “Killian.” His smile grows. Professional, Emma. “Do you remember what happened before we found you?”

“Aye,” It’s his turn to clear his throat at the wavering tone of his voice. “The ground slid out from under me and I fell, hit my head and broke my leg.”

His tone was distant, factual, and it sounded wrong in his voice. “What were you doing in that part of the woods?”

“I-uh, I went there to drink.”

“We didn’t find any evidence of alcoholic beverages and your blood alcohol levels were very low.” She raises her eyebrow at his half-truth. “Let me tell you a little secret.” She leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “I-”

“Have a thing with lies.” There is a small smile on his lips at Emma’s surprised expression. “Graham told me about that.”

“Right.” It takes her a second to recover from the surprise. “If you know, why don’t we avoid lying or, in this case, omitting part of the story and you tell me the truth.”

“Commanding, I like it.” He smirks weakly and at the roll of her eyes, he nods in preparation, his expression turning serious. “I was there to mourn my brother, Liam.” 

“Why not go to the cemetery? I’m sure you’ve heard how dangerous that part of the woods is.”

“That’s where he died,” His voice is low and she can only just hear it over the beeping of the machines. “Graham and the others found his body wrapped around on a rock in the river the next morning. He’d bled out during the night.” 

“So he got injured the day before? How did no one notice he was gone for so long?” She doesn’t mean for her voice to sound accusing but from the guilty self-punishing look in Killian’s face, that’s how he would describe it.

“A few weeks before he passed, I went through a break-up,” he sighs, settling carefully on the pillows at his back and Emma does the same on the cushioned chair. “I had fallen in love with a married woman.” She tries to contain her surprise and apprehension but it’s like he can see everything she tries to hide. “I know, I got an earful from my brother when we started dating. But she promised that she was going to divorce her husband as soon as she could find a good lawyer so she could guarantee a joint custody deal.”

“She has a child?”

He nods and his frown is enough for her to understand his conflict. “We kept it a secret. We didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardise her relationship with her son. Liam kept telling me how reckless I was being, how naive, but I kept shutting him down. I was in love.” He shrugs. “After a while he stopped trying and I was happy.”

“Her husband found out.” It wasn’t a question.

“I got greedy, selfish,” Killian’s tone turns hard, self-loathing. “We went to a cafe in town and she was nervous but I was happy, I was out in public with the love of my life.” He shakes his head with a scoff. “Her husband walked in with her son right behind him and I considered it luck that the cafe was almost empty. The boy came up to us first, asking his mom why she was there and who I was. I didn’t know what to say and her husband was looking at me like he wanted to kill me.” Killian sighs. “She asked me to leave and that she would talk to me later.”

“I’m assuming it didn’t go well.”

He actually laughs, a sharp, terrible sound. “I had gotten myself into a state when she finally met me. We yelled at each other, she accused me of pushing, I accused her of playing with my feelings. When she finally told me that she almost lost her son because of me, I shut up. She told me she was going to go back to her husband, that he was willing to take her back after the stupid mistake she made and then she left.” He finishes with a sigh and Emma leans back on her chair, overwhelmed. “I didn’t take it well.”

“Who would?” 

His chuckle brings her eyes back to his and despite the pain behind them, there’s an amused glint in the blue eyes that definitely do not get captured well in pictures. “For the next few weeks, I started drinking. A lot. I didn’t want to see Liam’s disappointment or self-righteousness so I distanced myself. That day, he barged into my house, took one look at the half-empty bottle in my hand and went off on me.” He shifts in his bed, hissing when his leg moves wrong. “I can see now that he was scared but at that moment I was angry. We argued and I told him that I never wanted to see him again and he left my house.”

“Is that why no one filed a missing persons report?”

He nods and his eyes water. “I drank the whole night after he left and the next day, I woke up to someone banging on my door. It was Belle.” His breath shudders. “She had been trying to call him all morning. Liam had told her that he would be coming to my place so she thought he’d stayed the night, when he didn’t text her or call her the next morning, she started to get worried. That fear, the feeling that someone had gone wrong to someone you love, was the sharpest cure for a hangover I ever had.” They both shared a mirthless chuckle. “We called Graham right away and when he didn’t know where Liam was, it became a town wide search.” He takes a deep breath. “Graham found his car parked at Toll Bridge and searched through Misthaven Trail.”

“He fell.” Emma wrings her fingers as she watches the emotions in Killian’s face.

“He left his phone in the car so when he fell into the river, he couldn’t call for help.” He sniffs, staring at the wall in front of him. “So imagine my surprise when you and Graham showed up to my rescue despite the fact that I also left my phone in my car and no one knew I was even in town.” Killian turns to her, his eyes still full of pain but a curious small smile gracing his lips.

Emma tucks her hair behind her ear in a nervous move and leans back on the chair. “It’s like I told you yesterday, we received a call that helped us find you.”

“Right,” he frowns. “And as I just said, I left my phone in the car, so it’s impossible.” 

She sighs. “I’m aware of that and, trust me, I’ve spent the whole night trying to figure it out and the only explanation I have is impossible.”

“Try me.”

Emma opens and closes her mouth a few times while Killian looks on patiently. “All our calls are recorded,” she says instead, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Before I came here, I went by the station to download the recording, so I’m just gonna play it for you.” Killian raises an eyebrow while Emma brings up the file.

“Sheriff Swan speaking.”

Static rings out from the speaker and she tenses up all over again. “Help, I-I fell-” Killian gasps and she gives in to his silent request and hands him the phone. “The cliff gave out. Can you hear me?”

“Uh, yes, yes, I can hear you, sir. Can you tell me where you fell?”

“I w-was on the Misthaven Trail, I-I think I broke my leg,” Killian’s eyes shine with tears at his brother’s voice, at his sounds of pain and Emma feels her chest tighten. “I can see the bone, I-”

Static plays up again and she is dreading the end of the call. “I can barely hear you, sir.” His knuckles turn white from where he is gripping the phone and a tear falls down his cheek. “Can you tell me precisely where on the trail?”

“The river, Shepherd River. I’m bleeding, please, help me, plea-”

Killian takes a shuddering breath when the recording ends and the phone drops on the bed. She should grab the phone and give him space. She should ask him questions about it. And yet, Emma finds herself grabbing his trembling hand with hers, her whole skin tingling at the touch. He grips her hand back tighter, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

“H-How-,” he whispers in a broken tone. “That’s my brother’s voice but-but how is it possible?”

Killian looks at her, pleading for an answer, for an explanation. But she can’t give him one. Emma shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.” Her thumb moves unconsciously over his knuckles. “But if it wasn’t for this call, we wouldn’t have found you.”

To her surprise, Killian starts to laugh even as tears fall down his face, a disbelieving sound. “I can’t believe this.” He covers his face with his free hand and Emma squeezes his hand, silently asking for clarification. He sighs and looks at her, his eyes bluer than they’d been before. “I ran away after the funeral, they had barely finished covering the casket and I was crossing the town line. I knew Belle needed me to stay, Graham too, we should have mourned together, helped each other during this but I-I-”

“You blamed yourself.”

He exhales a laugh. “Aye, stupidly tried to find answers at the bottom of a bottle once again. I just kept replaying our last argument, kept seeing him bleeding out in the river and I knew I couldn’t grieve when I knew it was my fault.”

Emma opens her mouth to protest but Killian raises his hand, stilling the words she still wasn’t sure she would say. “After a night where I was almost inducted into this woman’s witchy cult,” and she really wishes she had the chance to ask about that, “I looked for help. Found a therapist, grieved. A week ago, I told him about the anniversary of Liam’s death coming up and he suggested I visit his grave, talk to him, ask for forgiveness.” He sighs. “I was on my way to the cemetery when I found myself on the Toll Bridge. I thought it was a sign when I found the marker Graham made to honour Liam. I sat there and talked to him, I didn’t realise how much anger I still felt towards him dying, abandoning me.” He laughed sarcastically. “Ridiculous, I know. I threw my flask and I felt the ground slide from under me and I thought ‘there it is, your revenge, Liam, you’re finally punishing your killer’.”

“And then we showed up.”

“And I thought that maybe you had appeared for a reason and now hearing that?” He looks at her embarrassed, shaking his head. “I sound like a crazy person but-”

“I thought I was crazy,” Emma interrupts him with a reassuring smile. “Common sense would have you think the call was a prank. But from the moment I got the call, my instincts told me something wasn’t right, that there was more to the story.”

“I’m really glad you decided to go with your instinct, then,” he smiles softly. “If you hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have made it.”

“But you did.” She squeezes his hand and they both seem to remember that their hands are still clasped together. She doesn’t let go and neither does he. “And if we are to believe in ghost stories, your brother is adamant that you get a second chance.” 

They lock eyes, share a soft smile and she figures professionalism has been thrown out the window from the moment she took his hand. He nods and his smile widens. She kinda wishes they could hold hands forever.  

Wait, what?

“You may be right.” His voice is soft and it feels like he’s trying to look inside her, searching. “He’d probably beat up the side of the head that it took me this long to get my head out of my own arse.”

Emma chuckles and his smile widens. “I don’t think he expected you to break your leg and your head to get the message across.”

“Well,” his lips curve into a side smirk and she’s not ready for it, “I’m guessing that the service in the afterlife is a little spotty.” She laughs, surprised at his joke, and he laughs with her. Nope, she was not ready. “My brother always gave me good advice, maybe I should follow this last one too and take that second chance he gave me.”

“Oh?”

Her heart hammers against her chest at the way he looks at her. He opens his mouth to answer when the room door bursts open.

“Killian Jones!”

Emma jumps from her seat, refusing to acknowledge how empty her hand feels now that it’s no longer holding his, to make space for the shorter brunette storming up to Killian’s bed. 

Belle French.

“I haven’t heard from you in a whole year and then I have Graham calling me to tell me you’re in the hospital?!”

But Killian only smiles, clearly happy to see his would-be sister-in-law despite the guilt beginning to take root in his eyes. “I’m so happy to see you, Belle.” And it’s clear that the simple sentence breaks something in the librarian’s being. With two quick strides, she embraces him tightly. “Careful, love, I’m an invalid now,” he complains, even as his arms hold her closer, willing to ignore any pain it might be causing him. 

“You’re in a world of trouble, Killian.”

His smile only widens and he turns to look at Emma, likely amused at the overwhelmed look on her face. Belle seems to realise that there’s someone else in the room - not that Emma blames her - and turns to her.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you, I-”

“No need to apologise,” Emma raises her hand to stop the apology. “I just needed to take Mr. Jones’ testimony.” He raises an eyebrow at her use of his last name, clearly unimpressed by her choice to be professional. “Sheriff Emma Swan,” she introduces herself before holding out her hand.

“Belle French.” Belle takes her hand, still somewhat surprised as she looks between Killian and her. “Is he in some kind of trouble then?” Her expression seems ready for a fight and Killian’s smile seems to grow.

“No, no,” Emma is quick to appease. “I just needed the full story, that’s all.” She stuffs her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I actually should go write up the report.” She takes a few steps back towards the door. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss French. Get better soon, Mr. Jones.”

She starts to walk out the door. “Emma,” Killian calls and she really should not have turned around so fast. “Maybe we can grab a coffee when I get discharged? You can tell me all about safety measures when hiking.”

Emma tries to ignore Belle’s curious expression. “I think Graham might be the better man for the job.”

“He’s been trying for years, it never stuck,” He grins and there’s only so much a girl can be expected to take. “Maybe you’ll have more luck.”

She bites her lip and focuses on the hopeful look in his eyes. The last time she trusted someone, that she gave someone a chance, she ended up in prison. She should say no. 

Maybe she can justify this leap on supernatural activity too?

“It’s a date.”

The way his grin lights up a whole room does feel otherworldly. 

Just as the door closes behind her, she hears Belle’s stupefied voice.

“Killian Jones, you have a lot of explaining to do.”

Emma laughs. Maybe not all ghost stories have to have bad endings.