#cs ghost ff

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Being Ghosted (2/4?)

Summary: Killian and Liam Jones are called in to help with the haunting of an old carriage house where a skeleton was recently found walled up within the cellar. This is no ordinary ghost hunt for the supernatural fighting brothers, however. This job will require Killian to face the person who has been haunting him for nearly a year. Emma Swan. The woman he ghosted.

A/N: Yeah, yeah. I know the holiday season is in full swing and we ought to be done with the spooky stuff, but I love a Victorian/Dickensian Christmas aesthetic that leaves room for good old ghost stories. This addition gives me a BINGO for my Fall/Spooky card (better late than never) and will likely have two additional parts to come.

Shout out to @kmomof4 for her exceptional beta skills!

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

Part Two

Leaves rustled overhead, clinging to branches that were ready to be freed of them as the crisp autumn breeze coaxed them from their perch and gently swirled them to the ground below. Those with the misfortune of landing on the pavement were crunched beneath the tires of Killian Jones’ Chevelle, pulling up in front of an old carriage house that was being renovated into a home.

A home for Emma Swan. A home she recently began to share with her boyfriend. A home where the two resided, sharing all of the intimacies he desperately wished he could have shared with her. Intimacies and quiet moments and heated arguments and passionate make up sessions and mundane chores and yes… even their current plight.

A haunting.

Killian would have willingly faced it all with her had circumstances been different, which, he supposed, was why he was here now.

“You ready for this, little brother?” Liam questioned after Killian had put the car in park and shut off the engine.

“Younger,” Killian reminded him in his usual exasperated tone, pushing open the driver’s side door and climbing out while side-stepping his well-meaning brother’s inquiry.

The front door of the carriage house opened and a man exited, greeting them hesitantly, “You must be the Jones brothers?”

“We are,” Liam said, approaching the man with an outstretched hand. “I’m Liam. This is my brother, Killian. Are you the owner?”

“Uh, no,” the man said, shaking Liam’s hand then stuffing his hands in his pocket with an acknowledging nod towards Killian. “I’m Neal Cassidy. My girlfriend’s the one who called you. She technically owns the place, but we both live here.”

Something in Killian’s gut twisted, the ache intensifying when Emma emerged from the carriage house, looking as stunning as he remembered but without the warmth and affection he’d last received from her.

“You guys must be exhausted,” she said after introducing herself to his brother and barely giving him her notice. “We’ve made up the guest room and there’s a pullout in the office.” Turning to her beau, she placed a loving hand on his arm and sweetly suggested, “Why don’t you show Killian to the office and I’ll take Liam up to the guest room.” Addressing Liam - and only Liam - once more, she said, “After you two get settled, we can take you down to the cellar where this all started.”

“That sounds grand,” Liam said, gesturing towards the carriage house. “Lead the way, lass.”

As they filed in, Liam looked back at Killian over his shoulder. His expression echoed that which Killian was already telling himself.

He had fucked up.

Badly.

“So,” Cassidy began, showing Killian into the office where the pull out couch had already been made up for him. “How do you know Emma? She wasn’t really clear on the details.”

Dropping his duffle on the bed, Killian busied himself with rifling through his supplies, attempting to keep a neutral tone. “What details did she share?”

“Something about a dare and the cemetery and not wanting to talk about the experience because it had been too intense.”

Killian let out a commiserating hum. “Intense is certainly one word for it,” he murmured, the memory of Emma laid out beneath him, kissing the holy hell out him while making sounds that haunted him to this day flashed through his mind and tightened the fit of his jeans.

Unwilling to betray Emma’s confidence, and not exactly eager to share the details of their acquaintance with her current paramour either, Killian shifted the conversation to the matter at hand. “As I understand it, the paranormal activity began after the two of you uncovered skeletal remains in the cellar. Is that correct?”

“Yeah,” Cassidy replied, leaning against the door jamb and crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought Emma was crazy at first when she insisted we had a ghost. I mean… you know how irrational women can be.”

Killian chafed at the man’s derisive tone. “If there’s one thing I know about Emma, mate,” Killian informed him with a slight edge to his words, “it’s that her instincts should never be dismissed.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Cassidy back pedaled. “I believe her now. Kind of hard not to when a ghost appears over your bed while you’re trying to convince your girl she’s not too tired to fulfill her duties. You know what I mean?”

Fists balled, Killian took a deep breath and tried to rein in his anger. He was saved from doing anything rash by the sounds of his brother’s voice.

“Ready to check out the cellar?”

“Aye,” Killian clipped out, following after Liam and resisting the urge to shoulder check the repulsive man who had somehow fallen into Swan’s good graces - and her bed (not that he wished to dwell on that fact) - as he passed.

Emma led them down a steep flight of steps into the cold, dark, and dank space below. The atmosphere had an immediate effect on Killian, raising the hair along the back of his neck and giving him the eerie feeling of being watched.

“This was part of the original structure, yes?” Liam asked, shining his flashlight into the inky black corners the dim bulb at the bottom of the stairs couldn’t quite reach.

“Yeah,” Emma answered, lingering by the stairs with Cassidy as the Jones men looked around. “From what I understand, it was cold storage for oats and hay and other food stuffs for the horses lodged here when it was a carriage house.” Gesturing towards an opening, she continued, “I noticed that space had been bricked up and I wanted to open it back up. That’s when I found…”

“The body,” Killian supplied, casting a glance towards her and meeting her eye for the first time since he’d arrived. His heart clenched, the look on her face making him wish he could have spared her such a discovery. Perhaps if it had been he who had been there… No. There was nothing to be gained in thinking that way now. The past was the past and there was no changing it.

“And you called the police?” Liam confirmed, searching the area where the skeleton had been found.

“Of course we did,” Cassidy scoffed. “What else were we supposed to do?”

Killian and Liam exchanged a look. Neither of them could fault their decision, but they both knew, had it been them, they would have handled it much differently.

“And how soon after the body was removed did the occurrences begin?”

“Almost immediately,” Emma answered. “It started with noises on these steps.” She gestured at the stairs they’d used to access the cellar, the tension in her demeanor evident in the stiff, closed-off way she stood in the unsettling space.

“Noises?” Liam questioned. “Like footsteps?”

“No,” she replied. “More like… something falling down them. Then things actually started crashing down them.”

“What do you mean?” Killian pressed, his concern heightening as she continued.

“If we leave anything sitting in the hallway outside the cellar door, it will eventually make its way down here. Clearly having taken a tumble down the stairs.”

“Yeah,” Cassidy said, backing her up. “I thought it was the authorities being careless, because we had a parade of crime scene personnel traipsing through here for weeks after we reported the body.”

“But you knew it was more than that, didn’t you, Swan?”

Emma locked eyes with Killian. He could tell his question had brought back the memory of her first ghostly encounter. She swallowed hard and for a moment it was as though they were the only two people there.

“Rooms would get cold,” she told him in a quiet voice; her words conveying all the nuance and unspoken truths she knew he would understand in a way her boyfriend had not. “I would hear things. Smell things. Things I hadn’t experienced in all the months I spent renovating the upper levels.”

“What sort of smells?”

His brother broke the reverie that had momentarily linked them, snapping the connection that reminded Killian of what they had once shared.

“Um,” Emma began, shaking herself and focusing on the question. “Leather? Hay? Like a barn, but without the pungent animal smells. More how I’d imagine this place was when it was an active carriage house, I guess.”

“So, he could have been killed here during that time,” Killian said to his brother

“Agreed. We’ll need to learn more about the building’s history.” Addressing Emma once more, Liam inquired, “You told Killian the authorities had yet to identify the remains, is that correct?”

“Yeah. But they did issue a cause of death. Blunt force trauma and a broken neck.”

“Injuries one might sustain from falling or being pushed down a flight of stairs,” Killian remarked. “It would certainly explain the occurrences surrounding the cellar steps.”

“My friend Belle is the town librarian and she has access to city records,” Emma informed them. “When you agreed to come, I asked her to pull anything that might tell us the history of the carriage house. Who owned it. Who may have worked here. Things like that. She said she’d try and have a file ready for when you got here.”

“Good thinking, love,” Killian praised, unaware of the endearment he’d let slip until Cassidy shot him an affronted glare then suspiciously flicked his gaze to Emma’s pinked cheeks before sending another hard look Killian’s way.

Clearing his throat, Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear, turning his attention towards Liam and suggesting, “Before we go any further, we should ascertain what sort of spirit we’re dealing with.”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked.

Killian couldn’t help the smug feeling that went through him at the sight of her pulling away from Cassidy’s attempt to wrap a possessive arm around her waist. She took a step towards the center of the room where Liam was already pulling supplies out of the bag he’d brought with him.

“There are generally two kinds of spirits who refuse to move on,” Liam told her. “Malevolent ones who were equally nasty while alive, and those who simply have unfinished business they feel compelled to resolve before they can find peace.”

“Malevolent spirits refuse to leave,” Killian added. “Hell bent on punishing or exacting revenge against the living. The only way to be rid of them is to--”

“Salt and burn their bones,” Emma said, causing Cassidy to balk behind her.

“How did you know--”

“Aye,” Killian said, cutting Cassidy off. “Which will be somewhat difficult to accomplish, seeing as they are still in the medical examiner’s possession.”

“So…” Emma drawled, joining he and Liam as they continued to set up the space for the task they would need to perform. “Best case scenario would be this spirit just having unfinished business?”

“That won’t necessarily make matters any easier,” Liam informed her. “Figuring out a spirit’s unfinished business isn’t usually as straightforward as salting and burning bones.”

“So, how do we determine which kind of spirit it is?”

“Ems, the thing attacked us while we were making love,” Cassidy said, being sure to emphasize the making love part as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “The thing is obviously bad news.”

“We weren’t--” Emma began, mortification giving way to irritation as she looked back at him then shook her head and said, “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.” Looking down at the two brothers as they finished lighting the circle of candles they’d set out, she said, “As I told Liam upstairs, when he manifested he didn’t look threatening. He had his hands over his mouth--” she raised hers to mimic what the spectre had looked like, “--but was clearly trying to tell us something when he vanished almost as quickly as he appeared.”

“Well,” Liam said, pulling the last piece of the equipment from his bag, “This will hopefully allow him to tell us what he tried to communicate with you.”

A belittling snort escaped Cassidy. “A ouija board? Be serious.”

“I assure you, mate. We are quite serious,” Killian informed him as he took a seat upon the cold, cellar floor alongside his brother. “But if the idea of communing with the dead is too much for you, then feel free to sit outside while we conduct our investigation.”

Clearly catching the challenge to his courage, Cassidy grit his teeth and grumbled in Emma’s ear. “Can you believe this guy?”

“Neal,” Emma sighed with a tone of censure. “Shut up and sit down.”

Entering into the circle, Emma lowered herself onto the stone floor and crossed her legs beneath her. Reluctantly, Cassidy followed, a disgruntled look passing over his features in response to the sitting arrangement that had placed him between Emma and Liam instead of separating her from Killian.

“A few ground rules before we get started,” Liam began, holding the planchette in his hands.

“I think we’ve all played with ouija boards before,” Cassidy interrupted rudely, earning him a stern stare from the elder Jones.

“Aye,” Liam responded with a cutting edge to his words. “You may well have, but what we are preparing to do is not child’s play. We are opening a portal to the spirit realm, and for all our safety, precautions must be taken and adhered to.”

Cassidy shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing more.

“Go on,” Emma urged. “We’ll do whatever you tell us to.”

“Right,” Liam began again. “Once we’ve placed our hands on the planchette, they must remain there until the session is concluded. I shall be the only one addressing the spirits, so you must refrain from talking or reacting. And when it becomes clear that the spirits are finished communicating, we must all close the session together by moving the planchette to goodbye. This is the only time we intentionally guide it. Understood?”

Everyone nodded. The seriousness of their endeavor hung heavily around them as Liam continued.

“I’m going to set the planchette on the board, but before anyone touches it, we need to attune the space.” Setting the planchette down, Liam extended his hands to Killian and Cassidy, saying, “Everyone needs to join hands and focus on the spirit we wish to call forth.”

Killian took his brother’s hand then opened the other to receive Emma’s. When she tentatively placed her hand in his, Killian glanced up at her face. They locked eyes for a brief moment before she flicked hers away, but Killian knew his touch was having the same effect on her that her touch was having on him. There was no mistaking the familiar physical tension they’d once shared under similar circumstances.

“Focus on the person we seek,” Liam instructed. “We know him to be a man. We know there is something he wishes to communicate. We know this space was his final resting place until a few weeks ago. However you choose to manifest him within your mind, hold that image there and focus on him.”

Difficult as it was, Killian tried to push aside thoughts of Swan and the feel of her hand in his. Even still, she remained a fixture in his attempt to concentrate. She was there when he thought of the man’s body being discovered. She was there when he imagined how he may have looked when he’d manifested himself to her. She was there with every noise, every scent, every strange occurrence that had led her to reaching out to the one person she knew could help her. Despite the tragic circumstances that led the man to being walled up within the cellar, Killian could not help but feel gratitude to the spirit who had brought Emma Swan back into his life.

“Right,” Liam said a moment later. “With the man still centered in everyone’s mind, place your hands on the planchette.”

Killian sucked in a breath at the loss of her hand, but quickly schooled his emotions and joined the others, placing his hands upon the planchette and readying himself for what was to come.

“We call forth the spirit of the man found concealed behind the wall in this cellar,” Liam called out. “We ask that he come forth and tell us his name. What is your name, spirit?”

The temperature dropped and several of the candle’s flames flickered. Killian could hear Emma’s rapid breaths over the pounding of his own heart.

“Spirit!” Liam called out again. “We invite you to tell us your name!”

A gasp fell from Emma’s lips when the planchette jerked beneath their fingers. With wide, green eyes, she cast her gaze towards Killian as the planchette slid across the board. He gave her a look of encouragement, hoping his own gaze conveyed that there was nothing to fear - that he would not let any harm come to her - before her eyes fell back to the board and the word being spelled out beneath their fingers.

“D-A-N-I-E-L,” Liam read out as the planchette roamed across the board. “Daniel? Your name is Daniel?”

Yes

“What is it you want, Daniel?”

H-E-L-P

“You need help? That’s why we’re here. How can we help you to move on?”

H-E-L-P

“We understand. How can we help? What do you need us to do?”

T-E-L-L-H-E-R

“Tell her? Her who? You want us to deliver a message to someone?

Yes

“You need to tell us who. Who is her?”

L-O-V-E

“Someone you loved?”

Yes

“What’s her name?”

R-R-R-R-R-R-R … No

“No? No, what?”

No

“We don’t understand. No, you don’t want to tell us her name?”

C-A-N-T

“You can’t?”

C-A-N-T

“Why can’t you?”

C-C-C-C-C-C

Killian leaned over and whispered into his brother’s ear. “Another spirit maybe? Interference from another entity?”

“Is there another spirit with us? Someone who does not want you to communicate with us?”

Yes

Killian removed his hands from the planchette, earning him a startled gasp from Swan and a scathing reprimand from his brother.

“Killian!” Liam hissed. “What the devil are you--”

“Use my energy, Daniel,” Killian offered, opening his arms, and himself, up in surrender. “Take my energy and manifest yourself. Tell us who’s trying to silence you.”

“Brother, have you lost all sense?”

“It’s alright, Daniel,” Killian encouraged, ignoring his brother. “You can take my energy and--”

Killian’s words fell away when the fine hairs began to lift over his entire body. His arms began to feel heavy and it was a struggle to keep them lifted, especially when his breathing also became laboured.

“Killian, put your damn hands back on the--”

Liam’s admonishment was cut short by a startled, expletive falling from Emma’s lips. Manifesting above the board, in the center of their circle, was the ghostly image of a young man.

“Is that… Daniel?”

“That’s the man we saw!” Emma confirmed, her eyes wide as saucers and brimming with equal amounts of fear and awe. Forgetting herself, and the rules, she tentatively asked, “Are you…? Are you Daniel?”

The spectre nodded. He couldn’t have been more than early to mid twenties when he died, and though it was difficult to ascertain certain physical identifiers like height or hair or eye color, given his current metaphysical state, his clothing could serve as a clue that would narrow down the timeframe of his passing.

“Tell us how we can help you?” Liam said.

Killian, relieved that his brother was willing to capitalize on the moment, knew that he’d get an earful later, especially if Daniel managed to draw energy off him to the point of him passing out. Though woozy, Killian focused his efforts on the questions his brother continued to repeat and the spirit’s attempted replies.

“Who is the woman you want us to contact? Who else is here with us?”

Daniel tried again and again to speak, but the sound of his voice could not pass from his plane to theirs. Reaching down with ghostly hands, Daniel nudged the planchette and guided it once more to the R. Before he could maneuver it to the next letter, a second pair of hands appeared from behind Daniel’s head and wrapped around his lower face, obscuring his mouth.

Emma screamed and Neal jolted back, nearly knocking over the candles behind him.

“Nope!” Cassidy exclaimed, scrambling off the floor and sprinting towards the stairs.

“Neal!” Swan called after him, though she remained rooted where she was with her hands still affixed to the planchette.

Daniel struggled against the phantom hands, clawing at them with his own while Liam tried to wrestle back control of the seance.

“Reveal yourself, spirit! Tell us who you are and why you wish to silence Daniel! What unfinished business does Daniel--”

The planchette began to spin, making it impossible for Liam and Emma’s hands to remain there. An impossible gust of cold wind swept through the cellar, extinguishing the candles and ruffling both Killian’s and Emma’s hair. The light bulb at the bottom of the stairs shattered, sending down a shower of sparks. The only illumination remaining was Daniel’s ghostly form, but it too was quickly snuffed out, leaving the three of them in darkness.

“Bloody hell,” Liam cursed, the sound of him rummaging through his duffle preceding the beam of his flashlight. Reaching over, he grasped Killian’s shoulder and questioned, “Are you alright, little brother?”

“Younger,” Killian muttered, earning him a relieved clap on the back from his brother; his petulant response the only proof Liam needed as to his brother’s condition.

“You two stay still,” Liam instructed. “I’ll relight the candles and clean up the glass. Is there a broom down here?”

“Y-Yeah,” Emma responded, shakily. “In that cabinet.” She gestured towards the corner, then offered, “But I can do that.”

“No,” Liam said, waving her off as he finished lighting the candles. “You stay with Killian. He’s going to need a minute to recover from his tomfoolery.”

“It got us answers, didn’t it?” Killian shot back, heavily. Drained of energy, it was all he could do to remain sitting upright, but he’d be damned if he let Liam know just how much the encounter had affected him.

“Aye. I suppose it did,” Liam conceded, procuring the broom and dustpan so he could begin sweeping up the broken bulb.

“What answers?” Emma asked. “All I have is more questions.”

“We know there’s indeed another spirit here,” Killian told her. “A woman, if the ringed fingers and manicured nails give any indication. We also have a name to work with - Daniel. Based on his manifestation, I’d wager he was in his mid 20s when he died and by the looks of his clothing, I would guess he worked as a stablehand at some point. That gives us a frame of reference to work with as we investigate his identity further.”

“Speaking of which,” Liam said, disposing of the broken glass and tucking the broom back into the cabinet. “You said you had a friend assisting with research?”

“Yes!” Emma replied, plucking her phone from her back pocket. “Belle. I’ll text her now and see if she’s ready to share her findings with us.”

“Perhaps you would like to check on Mr. Cassidy as well?” Liam suggested, reminding them both of the forgotten man.

“Um, right. Yeah.” Swan stood and brushed the dust off the back of her jeans. Her phone vibrated in her hand, capturing her attention. “Belle says she has everything ready and we can come by the library any time.”

“Terrific,” Killian responded, attempting to pick himself up off the floor… and flailing. “Um, Swan? Would you mind, uh…”

Emma glanced down at him and must have perceived his predicament. Her eyes widened, a startled expression crossing her features, as she reached down and helped him up.

With a steadying hand pressed against his chest, she asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Just a bit… unsteady.”

“Here,” she said, leading him towards the stairs where he could rest against the banister. “Better?”

“Aye. Thank you, love.”

Her posture stiffened in response to the endearment and she turned away, intent on climbing the steps out of the cellar. Killian reached out and lightly grasped her elbow, stalling her steps.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… are you alright? I should have asked how you’re handling the ordeal.”

“I’m fine,” she told him. Her position on the steps had brought her to eye level and though there was still only candlelight illuminating their surroundings, Killian could see the truth of her words in her eyes. “This isn’t my first haunted rodeo. Remember?”

Killian let out an amused huff. “Aye. How could I forget.”

They stood there a moment longer, Killian’s hand still resting against the crook of her elbow. He could feel the raised flesh of her arm through the thin fabric of her sleeve and wondered if it was a remnant of the ghostly encounter or perhaps an involuntary response to his touch.

Was he wrong to hope for the latter?

“I, uh… I should go check on Neal,” she said, dragging her tongue across her lip before her teeth scraped over the tender flesh in its wake.

The sound of something heavy scraping the floor above them pulled Killian from thoughts of capturing her mouth with his own, and almost too late he noticed an object about to hurl itself down the cellar steps.

“Swan! Look out!”

With all the strength he could muster, he managed to force her against the wall, shielding her as something crashed down the stairs. Their bodies pressed together, chests heaving against the other’s, it took them both several moments to process what had just happened.

“Emma!” Neal cried out, sprinting through the floors above and coming to a stop at the top of the cellar stairs. Staring down at his girlfriend who was currently being blanketed by another man, Neal’s face grew thunderous as he exclaimed, “What the hell is going on here?!”

“It appears to be some sort of statue,” Liam commented. Killian wasn’t sure if it was genuine ignorance as to the man’s meaning or if his brother simply wished to avoid a scene. Crouched down, Liam inspected the object and added, “Lucky the two of you managed to get out of the way. This could have done serious harm.”

Swan pushed against Killian’s chest, forcing him to step back from her so she could turn and take the man still fuming at the top of the stairs to task.

“It was that stupid garden statue of Pan you insisted on bringing inside!” she shouted. “I told you not to leave it in the hall!”

“How was I supposed to know a ghost could move it?” Neal shot back. “The thing weighs like fifty pounds!”

Stomping up the stairs, Swan grabbed Neal by the arm and hauled him away from the cellar entrance. Although Killian could not discern what was being said between them, there was no mistaking the tone of argument in their voices. He probably ought to feel guilty for having a hand in their current discord, but all he could focus on at the moment was the way his body was still reacting to having been pressed against Emma’s. The way she’d felt beneath his weight, the intoxicating scent of her hair, the feel of her hands clutching the back of his shirt, the way their eyes had connected after the danger had passed, the moment their gazes flicked down in unison to the other’s lips, the impulse he’d nearly given in to kiss her, the certainty he felt that the same desire had run through her mind as well.

“Brother,” Liam said, his tone making Killian groan internally.

He knew what was coming.

“Don’t,” he replied. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh?”

“Aye,” Killian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I was rash and foolish in the way I invited the spirit to use my energy, and I need to get my head on straight. No more distractions.”

“Actually,” Liam said, hoisting his duffle, which he’d repacked, up onto his shoulder before crossing the cellar and joining Killian on the stairs. “I was going to say… A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.”

Slapping his brother on the shoulder he continued up the steps, leaving Killian utterly gobsmacked.

Chapter Three - Coming Soon!

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.)

@kmomof4 @jrob64 @zaharadessert @laianely @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@the-darkdragonfly @undercaffinatednightmare @killianxswan @mie779 @motherkatereloyshipper

@jennjenn615 @jonesfandomfanatic @anmylica @superchocovian @caught-in-the-filter

@winterbaby89 @wyntereyez @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @gingerchangeling

@exhaustedpirate @cocohook38 @donteattheappleshook @lfh1226-linda @teamhook

@jackieorioncat @paradiselady19 @snowbellewells @earanemith @ultraluckycatnd

@pirateherokillian @calmjoonie @unworried-corsair @tiganasummertree @captainswan-kellie

@soniccat @kday426 @djlbg @fairytalepretzkle @maggiegreenvt

@natascha-ronin @ilovemesomekillianjones @iamstartraveller776 @deckerstarblanche @shadowsaur

@qualitycoffeethings @idristardis @phoenix-untamed @bluewildcatfanatic @bananachickens

[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.

[snowbellewells]

Happy Birthday @hollyethecurious!!!

Hollye @hollyethecurious I just wanted to do a little something to wish you a wonderful day. I hope this birthday will be a happy one and ring in a marvelous year for you and yours. I am insanely behind on all of my reading and reviewing for fandom fics, and I hate that I haven't gotten to comment on and sing the praises of several that you have posted recently. You are still one of my very favorite CS authors, and I will be forever grateful for how you have shared your creative gift with all of us over the years - keeping our favorite show alive for us in some small way, even long after it has stopped airing.

While I wasn't able to write you anything, I did create a cover art for one of your WIPs. I haven't gotten caught up on reviewing it yet, but I have read the first two parts, and I am really loving it. I hope you'll accept this little cover art for "Being Ghosted" as a small gift for your special day! I can't wait to see where you'll take the story from here!

Many Blessings and Have Such a Great Day!!!

[dustalive]

Welcome to my blog!

This is my lil page where we gettin a bit 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂😎

⌖I am really slow w my art, so I won't be posting consistently, and my artstyle may vary

⌖This is an multifandom acc, cs Im in a lawt of Fandoms. Fandoms, fav characters etc. under cut!

⌖I will be posting about stuff I only feel like drawing at the moment or what I am most invested in rn, its currently JJBA, but I'm not that active currently

⌖This is a safe place for everyone<𝟑

I do not condone any hate on here.

Tags, socials and other🥳

Don't repost my art!!

#dustalive for my art🦅 #ask dust for asks⭐️

#dust yappin for yappin and rambles🗿

Thanks for reading!

About fandoms, fav games/characters and OCs under cut->

Fandoms

JJBA, Undertale, DC, Sekiro, Ghost of Tsushima, JJK, COD, HonkaiSR/(Genshin)

Fav games🗣‼️(yes, this is very important)

Undertale | Batman: Arkham Knight | Ghost of Tsushima | Sekiro | Detroid Become Human | The last of us | COD: Cold war | Resident Evil: Biohazard | Zelda: Twillight Princess, OG Splatoon, Super Mario Glaxay (Nintendo games🔥)

Fav characters

Joseph, Jonathan, Jolyne, FF, Okuyasu (JJBA), Killer, Horror (UTMV), Red Hood (DC), Choso (JJK), Boothill (HSR), Sekiro (Sekiro💀), Joel (TLOU)

My OCs! ->

⌖Ashton and Dust! (place holder name since she was my sona first)

[csvent-2]

I think the “don’t post if off anon” thing is moreso should the anon forget to actually hit ask anonymously.

Also, how I do *thoroughly enjoy* being ghosted by a very large CS mod when they owe me something and have owed me for months. I *love and relish* in the deliberate avoidance of correspondence.

But seriously, don’t do that. If you do that, fuck you. Even if you have anxiety or whatever else that doesn’t give you an excuse to ghost people. Using a disability as a shield discredits everyone else who doesn’t. It takes 3 whole seconds to say “no progress yet!” Or simply, “I’ll respond in a bit, busy right now”

Ffs have some professionalism

I get it in theory, it's just never happened at all so I'm surprised at how MANY asks I've gotten with it.

[csmeanerr]

(SPHION) Regarding to what the mod said- does that mean they are planning on letting Sphions die?

I'm really hoping no member has spent a single cent on slots/adopts if they were gonna be left to rot so silently- I'm really hoping the owner has the balls or the decency to make an announcement to close the species instead of ghosting everyone ffs :o) All cs owners are the same

post related

[jarienn972]

The Inbetween - Chapter Six

My apologies that this is being posted a day later than scheduled, but due to a minor family emergency, I didn't have access to my laptop yesterday. Anyway, here is the final chapter of my @cssns story, The Inbetween! I've had a lot of fun writing my first ghost story and I hope some of you out there have enjoyed reading it! Thanks @kmomof4 for being such a great cheerleader, to @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 for her wonderful accompanying artwork and to everyone else for their lovely comments and encouragement!  (edited to add links and art)

From the beginning on Tumblr: One  Two  Three  Four  Five

AO3  FF.net

Scarce seconds would elapse before Emma and Killian were greeted with a cloud of deep violet smoke which gradually dissipated to reveal the forms of both Regina and David, now standing in the middle of the Apprentice's living room with them.

"That was quick," Emma commented sarcastically as her initial surprise faded, mentally questioning why Regina would resort to using magic while in such close proximity to a ghost that fed off of it.

"I wasn't about to go traipsing through the overgrown landscaping in the middle of the night," Regina replied, echoing Emma's sarcastic tone. "And right now, the best course of action for all of us to take would be to leave this place right now, seal it up permanently and forget it exists."

"Sealing the ghost inside?" Emma asked skeptically. "For some reason, after all we've experienced tonight, I highly doubt that would work. There's too much magic here and if this ghost is already capable of enacting his own protection spells, what's to stop him from trying to break ours?"

Regina practically snorted as she chuckled at Emma's unfounded worry. "He's not that powerful," she scoffed.

"Maybe not today, but that could change," Emma reminded her. "The ghost even told us that as All Hallow's Eve approaches, he can draw from even more dark magic, but I have a feeling you already know that. And I think there's a lot more to this story…" She stood to face Regina in the candlelit room, wanting to make sure she could see the mayor's face if she tried to lie to them. "When you lifted the spell that enchanted the hearts, Killian said the spirits went quiet - at least for a couple of minutes. We know that there's at least one very angry spirit still in there. Why didn't he cross over? Don't you have his heart?"

Regina's face scrunched in thought as she fought for a way to relay the story, exhaling a deep sigh. "I'm fairly certain I know where this particular heart is located…"

"It sounds as though there's something you don't want to share with us, your majesty," Killian pressed, disdain practically dripping from his tongue as they awaited the rest of this tale. "The spirit, Jeremiah - David informed us that you believed he was dangerous. Perhaps you would like to clarify that statement?"

"He told us that he was one of your Black Guard," Emma added, "but I have a feeling that we're not getting the whole story…"

"That part is true," Regina stated, although reluctant to reveal details from so long ago. "He was a member of my Black Guard, but he was also a troublesome aspiring warlock."

"A warlock?" Emma repeated, incredulously. "The ghost we've been fighting all night was some sort of warlock? No wonder he's hanging out here in his afterlife with so much magical energy at his disposal. Still doesn't explain though why he didn't cross over with the others, assuming that really was his goal��� Why stick around if you've fought so hard to move on?"

"Jeremiah was a special case," Regina began, glancing about the room looking for the least dusty and dingy place to sit, finally deciding simply to lean her weight against a wall. "My Black Guard were the inner circle of my army, hand-picked either by myself or my closest confidants and entrusted to carry out my orders without question. They were required to be a particularly ruthless bunch by design and I expected loyalty from them. One night, I caught Jeremiah snooping through my spell books without permission and even though I probably should have turned him into a toad or something right then and there, it was just before I cast the first curse so I must have been feeling somewhat benevolent that night because I simply ripped out his heart and made him my slave instead."

"Why is it that so many of your stories sound alike?" David asked rhetorically as Regina ignored his sarcasm - even though he was correct. "I had a feeling you remembered who he was when I mentioned his name earlier."

"If it was just before the curse, was he brought to Storybrooke then or did he come here later?" Emma wondered, trying to place where he might have fit into Storybrooke daily life.

"He came with us during the first curse. I know he was working at the Post Office during that time, but I lost track of him after the curse was broken. I honestly don't know when or how he died. You'd have to check with the town clerk for that information, but since he knows his real name and who he was in the Enchanted Forest, obviously he died after the curse broke."

"So, let me guess - you can't actually find his heart?" was David's next question. "Even though you say you know where it is, I have a suspicion that he didn't cross over because his heart isn't actually here…"

"Oh, I know precisely where Jeremiah's heart is located," Regina snapped back defensively. "I just can't be sure if the enchantment actually lifted or if he simply doesn't want to cross over."

"He tried to possess Killian again after the other ghosts departed, so to speak," Emma said as she tried to put the new information Regina had provided together with their interactions with Jeremiah. "We think he might be after something that requires a physical body to obtain. Any idea what that might be?"

"My first guess is that he's trying to find a way to get to me - to get his heart back before I crush it," Regina stated.

"I don't think he'd actually need a physical body to try to kill you, especially since he tried to drop a chandelier on us earlier tonight. I'm still thinking there's something you're not telling us…" Emma's green eyes darkened, sparking angry with the flickering candlelight as everyone was now staring at Regina, awaiting an answer.

"Why would you have told us he's dangerous and why come all the way out here if you could stop him simply by crushing his heart?" David questioned. Something simply wasn't adding up here.

"Fine!" Regina huffed impetuously. "I've known the ghosts were here for a while and I knew Jeremiah was one of them." She took a deep breath before continuing. "When I took Jeremiah's heart, I looked him in the eyes and told him I wasn't going to crush it, but that instead, I was going to punish him for his insolence. I sealed his heart into a little silver box and locked it away in my vault - and in doing so, bound his magic and sent him to my dungeon until the curse was cast."

She paused to gauge their reactions before going on but no one seemed to be particularly horrified by her revelation. Had everyone grown so accustomed to tales of her evil deeds that they weren't even the least surprised by her actions anymore?

"When the curse created Storybrooke," Regina continued, "everyone had false memories implanted into their psyche, so I saw it as a chance to make Jeremiah useful again. I gave him a new civil service job - one as monotonous as possible - as punishment. But it seems that sometime after the curse broke, Jeremiah regained enough of his memories to realize he was missing his heart. Most never regain that memory, but in his case, not only did he remember about his heart, but the curse breaking must have freed him from the spell that I'd enacted to bind his magic. With magic returned to Storybrooke, he tried to resume his experimentations, but without a heart, he wouldn't have been able to summon the emotion necessary to grow and guide his powers so, while we were all distracted dealing with my mother, Greg and Tamara, Jeremiah apparently went on a quest to find his heart - to no avail. While we were in Neverland searching for Henry, he broke into my vault, but his heart wasn't there…"

"Do we even want to know it's actual location or how Jeremiah ended up being a cranky, magic-absorbing spirit haunting the Sorcerer's mansion?" Emma asked, curious as to what Regina would answer, yet somewhat afraid what that same answer might be.

"His heart was still sealed inside its little silver box back in my castle, where it would have remained probably for eternity, but then, as you know - Zelena happened. When the Wicked Witch took over my castle, she also took control over all of the magical objects I'd left behind, one of those being Jeremiah's heart. The curse your mother cast to bring everyone back here to Storybrooke of course also brought Zelena, and with her, many of those same magical trinkets and enchanted hearts. She had no idea who any of those belonged to yet somehow, Jeremiah knew his heart was back here in Storybrooke and the fool attempted to ally himself with Zelena, then still pretending to be Snow White's midwife, to get it back. When I found out the traitor was helping my sister, I got a bit irate and snapped his neck, leaving his body out in the forest. I know Henry wanted me to try being the better person, but I wasn't exactly there yet and since Jeremiah was working for the Wicked Witch of the West, he was as much of an enemy to us as she was. Honestly, I didn't think another thing about what I'd done until the first time someone reported a presence in the Sorcerer's mansion. At first, I thought it was just Gold up to no good again, but I later discovered it was actually paranormal activity. Ghosts don't exactly scare me so I ignored their existence - until David came knocking on my door tonight."

"Damnit, Regina! Why didn't you tell anyone else about this?" David chided her. "Especially if you thought it was Jeremiah?"

"Because at the time, I had a lot more to worry about than a ghost!" Regina shouted back at him. "And at the time, I had no reason to believe that he might be dangerous, but that changed tonight when you told me he'd possessed the pirate's body."

"Okay," Emma interjected, putting an end to the bickering, at least temporarily. "That's all in the past, but we still have to find a way to deal with Jeremiah here in the present. How are we going to stop him from getting any more powerful before Halloween and leaving this house to reign terror on the citizens of Storybrooke? I witnessed one ghostly possession tonight and I really don't want to ever see another. How do we deal with this spirit once and for all?"

"Would crushing the heart now dispatch his trapped soul to the Underworld?" Killian asked.

"Perhaps - If we can get to it," Regina replied sheepishly as another important fact she'd been concealing was about to surface.

"You told us just minutes ago that you knew where it was." David reminded her.

"Oh, I do," Regina assured him, extending her index finger in the direction of the main house. "It's in there."

"Inside the mansion?" Emma couldn't believe what she'd just heard. "You put the heart of the ghost who's hunting for it inside the same mansion he's haunting?'

"In my defense, I didn't actually put it there." Regina retorted. "It seems to have landed here during the curse. I remember seeing it here in one of those little secret rooms when we were hunting for the Author. I should have come back for it, but once Isaac was freed, things escalated pretty quickly around here…"

Emma sighed as she dropped back onto the sofa, sinking into the cushions beside Killian who was rubbing his bleary eyes with his thumb and index finger. "Okay - so where do we find it and how are we going to get in there to look?"

"It's in a little room off of the library - some narrow chamber that Henry located when we were looking for the door pictured in the book," Regina explained.

"A little narrow, tunnel-like corridor?" David asked, seeking clarification as Regina nodded in reply. "I think I know where it is. The kids tonight got themselves stuck in a secret passage connecting the living room to the library. There's a false stone built into the fireplace that opens up a panel in the wall. That has to be the same one, so if we can get back inside, I can go retrieve the box."

"If we can get around Jeremiah's protective spells. I highly doubt he'll let us back inside without trying to kill us all again," Emma responded, struggling to think of another way to do this.

"I'm hardly worried about a ghost's spell," Regina chuffed. "I can get us through that easily. Jeremiah wasn't ever that skilled of a warlock and I doubt he's gotten better in death. I can lower the spell long enough for you to get inside."

"Someone would have to go with me," David stated. "The door doesn't stay open long so someone has to stay inside the living room to reopen it once I get the box. What exactly am I looking for anyway?"

Regina closed her eyes as she pictured the box so she could describe its appearance to David. "It's a rectangular box made out of silver - about four by six inches and maybe two inches deep. Just large enough to hold a heart. There's a polished, oval onyx stone on the latch and the lock is sealed with blood magic so that only someone of my bloodline can open it. It'll be tucked away in an alcove just off of that corridor. There isn't a lot inside there so you should be able to locate it quickly."

"Alright then," David said with a smile. "Let's go find it."

"I'll go with you," Emma offered, "as long as someone can manage to keep Jeremiah occupied long enough for me to poof us inside and grab that box."

"I can distract the spirit," Killian spoke up. "He wants to possess me, so what better way to maintain his attention than to let him try again."

"No way," Emma said, shaking her head vigorously. "It's too dangerous. Even if he can't fully possess you anymore, his presence still seems to have a negative effect on you. You went into some sort of trance and if that happens again, he could kill you!"

"Unfortunately, I happen to agree with the pirate," Regina countered. "It would be perfect to use him as bait - so to speak." She added the latter in response to Emma's glare. "Don't worry. I'll be there with him. I won't allow Jeremiah to harm him."

"I suppose we don't have much choice," Emma scowled. "Let's go then. We've got a ghost to bust and get this night over with."

True to her word, Regina made quick work of Jeremiah's protective barrier, lowering it and surreptitiously enacting one of her own. She informed Emma and David that they'd have approximately ten minutes to retrieve the heart before Jeremiah's spirit energy would begin draining their magic so they'd have to make this quick. David recited a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening as he and Emma transported into the living room, enveloped in a swirl of grey smoke. Switching on his flashlight, he wasted no time hurrying to the fireplace to show Emma the location of the fake stone that would allow her to open the panel concealed inside the wall.

As the panel slid open, David aimed the flashlight beam into the dark recess, but couldn't see much in the inky blackness. At least so far, they'd been left alone. Whatever Regina and Hook were doing to keep the ghost entertained appeared to be working because they'd yet to face any resistance.

"Be back in a moment," David promised his daughter before ducking his head and stepping inside the hidden passageway while she waited impatiently in the living room, listening for their agreed upon pattern of knocks so she'd know when to press the stone. Please make this quick, she whispered as she heard the panel snap closed.

Regina, in the meantime, had transported Killian and herself into the vestibule, wisely avoiding entering the mansion anywhere near the kitchen. They were here simply to draw and maintain Jeremiah's undivided attention, keeping the ghost away from the living room so that David and Emma could retrieve the heart. They weren't here to chase a ghost throughout the depths of the property and Regina wanted this night to end just as rapidly as Emma did.

"You really should have spent more time practicing how to conjure a proper protective spell, Jeremiah," Regina announced her presence with a statement clearly designed to antagonize him.

"And as if he wasn't angry enough…" Killian muttered under his breath, nearly convinced that Regina actually was trying to get them both killed. "You certainly got his attention, Love," he added as he heard the spirit's unenthralled response.

"That was my intention. He was an unskilled, second-rate warlock - barely deserving of that description," she continued to goad the invisible entity as above their heads, the vestibule's light fixture began to sway on its chrome chain, the heavy crystal sphere hovering precariously over them. Regina managed to throw a protective barrier around them just as that chain snapped, deflecting the sphere away from them where it shattered against the marble floor sending lethal glass shards flying in every direction.

"I do believe our host is a tad irate," Killian quipped sarcastically.

"Good," she stated in reply. "Let him use all of that energy throwing things at us…"

"And what if he starts draining your magic?" he asked, recalling the challenges Emma had faced earlier in the evening.

"He's only one ghost. He can't draw all of it away that swiftly, but for all of our sakes, let's hope that Charming makes it snappy locating that box!"

"Agreed," Killian nodded as they watched a new scene unfold before them. The shards of broken glass began to draw together, swirled up and around in a miniature cyclone of shiny, deadly projectiles. "I do hope this magical barricade you've enacted is powerful enough to withstand that…" The spinning vortex began to pick up speed and girth as it moved towards them, mercifully repelled by Regina's protective spell, but as the shards scattered back across the marble surface, the spell faltered, leaving them incredibly vulnerable to another attack.

"Damn!" she exclaimed, shaking her hands furiously as she tried in vain to raise the spell again, but she simply couldn't draw enough magic. "He can't possibly be that strong…"

"I hate to disappoint you, Regina, but it would appear that you've misjudged this entity!" Killian shouted, a split-second before some manner of malevolent force struck them both from behind - one strong enough to send them both sprawling to the floor.

"I don't like what I'm hearing out there, Dad," Emma shouted anxiously toward the panel in the wall, startled by the sound of something heavy - and apparently very breakable - striking a solid surface. "Have you found it yet?"

On the other side of the wall, David crouched with the silver box clutched tightly beneath his arm while he pounded furiously against the wall. He'd remembered, a little too late, one very important fact Tyler Sprat and his friends had told him earlier - the passageway allowed them to hear sounds from outside, but no one outside could hear sounds from inside the tunnel. Emma was out there waiting for him to knock, but she wasn't going to be able to hear him and he'd stupidly left the radio back in the butler's quarters. But on this early morning, he couldn't have been more thankful for his daughter's impatience when the panel slid open and he could see the beacon of her flashlight.

"Everything okay in there?" she called out into the darkness as she made her way from the fireplace over to the passage entrance right as David scrambled out.

"I forgot that you wouldn't be able to hear me," he confessed. "I'm so glad you decided to open up the panel anyway."

"Did you find it?" she cut him off even more impatiently. "I'm hearing all sorts of loud noises coming from out there…"

"Yes, I found it," he replied, holding up the tarnished silver box where she could see it.

"Well, then, we'd better hurry up before that ghost drains all of Regina's magic."

"This way then," David said as he clasped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her toward the arched doorway that would lead back to the vestibule, arriving just in time to see both Killian and Regina be tossed to the floor by an invisible force, landing amidst a scattering of shiny objects that reflected the glow of her flashlight. Broken glass from the light fixture, she realized as the beam illuminated the metal chain coiled on the floor.

Regina was livid as she pressed her bloodied hands to the floor, catching glimpses of Emma's flashlight in the hallway to her left, maintaining hope that she and Charming had located the heart. On her right, the pirate had pushed himself up onto his knees and even though she couldn't see his facial expression in this dark vestibule, she assumed that Killian would be equally angered at Jeremiah shoving them around. In actuality, Killian had scarcely been given a moment to recover before the ghost turned his full attention on him and drew the pirate into a trance-like state yet again.

As Emma and David approached, they heard what sounded like clanking metal which Emma immediately realized was the sound of the chain she'd just spotted on the floor now moving on its own. She directed her light to where she'd seen it lying earlier just as the chain lifted off of the floor to encircle Killian's neck.

"Killian!" she wailed, hoping he would hear her cry and break from the trance, but he remained unmoving, making no attempt to fend off strangulation as the chain tightened about his neck under Jeremiah's power. Emma's jaw gaped open as she instinctively yanked the silver box out of her father's hand, offering it up to the vicious entity. "Is this what you want, Jeremiah?" she cried out, done with this spirit's antics.

"Emma, what are you doing?" Regina demanded. "Don't let him get ahold of that!" She didn't want to hand over their only bargaining chip to Jeremiah, but she understood Emma's anxiety as she grabbed ahold of the chain and tried to pull it free from Killian's neck before his airway was completely cut off. The chains weren't budging though and Regina suddenly had a feeling of helplessness wash over her as she sensed her magic being drained away only to be absorbed by the very entity they were fighting.

"Sorry, Regina. Gotta do this my way," Emma countered as she then addressed the ghost. "Let Killian go and you can have the box!" The moment she shouted the words to their invisible enemy, the box flew from her grasp and both the chain and Killian dropped to the floor. The box landed atop the marble on the opposite side of the staircase, out of the reach of any human's hand at the moment, but it rattled and vibrated wildly as though the ghost were struggling to get it open.

Emma crouched beside Killian, tossing the chain away from him as he gasped for breath, no longer transfixed by Jeremiah's spell. She drew her arms around him protectively as they glanced over at the silver box lifting off of the floor and flying into the wall. It was as though Jeremiah had become frustrated with his inability to open it and free his heart so he'd flung box and all against the wall in hopes that it would break open - but he wouldn't be so lucky.

"Why did you let him get the box?" David asked in frustration after all they'd done to recover it. "Won't that make him more dangerous?"

"It would - if we weren't a step ahead of our supernatural friend here this time," Emma replied cryptically as her right hand slipped inside of her leather jacket. "I'm sorry, Jeremiah, but it's time for you to rejoin your companions in the Underworld…" As she withdrew her hand, she revealed the deep, ruby red heart clutched in her palm and then tightened her fingers around it. She felt the entity descending upon her as she crushed it to dust, an act which she normally would have harbored immense guilt over, but Jeremiah was already dead. She was only helping him move on, as he should, Emma told herself as she squeezed it until there was nothing left but a pile of ash billowing from her fist.

No one said a word for a few seconds as a brilliant flash of light lit up the vestibule and the scattering of dust was picked up in another mini-cyclone like the one that Jeremiah had created with the glass shards earlier but this one vanished in a flash. Killian was finally the one to break the silence. "He's gone," he said in a raspy whisper before collapsing against Emma.

"Hope this afterlife is better for you, Jeremiah," Emma stated as she pushed herself to stand up and then helped her husband to his feet, carefully dusting away glittering crystal slivers with her sleeve.

Feeling her magic restored, Regina waved her hand and the front door swung open, revealing the first faint hint of the morning sunrise to the east. "I think we can all safely go home now," she smiled as she stood. "I think the mayor just might be taking today off," she announced to the others before disappearing in a purple cloud.

"I think I'm in full agreement," David laughed, taking a tentative step through the doorway, not yet convinced that they could leave freely, but there was no barrier to stop him from strolling out to the porch.

"C'mon, pirate," she urged her exhausted husband. "We should probably go get your head checked out…" Emma suggested as they followed David through the front door, pulling it closed behind them before Emma sealed the lock with magic. David started to descend the steps towards his truck, but paused as he reached the flagstone walk, turning to Emma with a look of pure confusion on his face.

"I've got a question for you, Emma," he turned, glancing up at his daughter who was still standing on the porch. "Regina said that the box was sealed with blood magic, so how did you manage to get it open and take the heart out? And how did you know that it would work?"

"Before we left the Apprentice's living room, Regina gave me a tiny vial of her blood - just enough to break the seal. She figured we might need it, and did we ever! I opened up the box and stashed the heart in my jacket while we were making our way down the hallway in the dark. The rest was just a little bit of misdirection."

"I, for one, am quite pleased that it worked," Killian stated with a weary, but grateful smile. "Now - may we please go home? I'll be fine…" He lowered his aching bones to sit on the top step and slumped his tired body against the railing, simply too exhausted to take another step.

"Looks like I'll be making a trip back for the Bug later," Emma grinned. "Thanks for all of your help tonight, Dad."

"Anytime," he assured her. "Have a good night - err, morning?" he chuckled as she wrapped her arm around Killian and they poofed away in a puff of smoke.

Emma transported them straight to their bedroom, depositing Killian atop their king-sized bed. She helped him shrug off his leather jacket while he toed off his boots then fell back against the pile of pillows, not even caring that he was still clothed. It didn't take long for him to drift off and while she had some lingering concerns about his head injury, she decided she wasn't in the mood to deal with Dr. Whale at this hour so she set her alarm to go off in two hours, remembering something she'd read somewhere that you should wake a person with a concussion every couple of hours to make sure they hadn't slipped into deep unconsciousness.

Since he'd fallen asleep atop the comforter, she yanked a quilt off of the back of the armchair sitting in the corner and draped it over him. She then slipped off her own leather jacket, tossing it right onto the same spot she'd removed the quilt from before she unzipped and removed her boots and collapsed onto the bed herself. She snuggled in close to him, tugging half of the quilt over her own body while pressing a kiss into his cheek and finally, resting her head atop his chest to hear the comforting sound of his heart beating beneath her ear.

What a night, was the last thought that crossed her mind as she faded into slumber. Maybe the Sheriff would be taking the day off too.

Thanks for reading!  Here’s one more look at the character art Kayla @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 created for this story as well.

[donteattheappleshook]

Barefoot in the wildest winter... a captain swan Christmas AU

Summary: 

She wasn’t supposed to come back. It had been a stupid plan, thinking she could get in and out of Storybrooke without anyone knowing she was here. Just catch the skip, bring him in and go back to Boston without her brother finding out that she’d lied about not being able to come home for Christmas like she did every year. There’s some kind of cosmic joke being made at her expense. There has to be for this day and this storm to have led her here of all places, on tonight of all nights.The walk to the building feels all too familiar and she struggles to push back the memories of the last time she was here as she works up the nerve to make her way up the stairs, to knock on the door. There’s still time to run. “Swan?” “Hey, Killian.”

Rated M (E?)

Merry Christmas @killiansprincss​​ ! It’s me, not the problem this time but your Secret Santa 🎅

I’ve SO enjoyed getting to know you over the last few weeks and getting to talk CS, Christmas and Taylor Swift! 🥰 

I hope you like this little story I’ve written you for the @cssecretsanta2020​​ I tried to fit in as many of your favorites as I could: soft Killian, forced proximity/only one bed, fluff/smut/angst (with a happy ending of course), and a little nod to some favorite holiday movies, a splash of favorite side characters and scenes, and (obviously) a little inspiration from the queen of love songs herself  

And a hundred thousand million thank yous to @the-darkdragonfly​ who saved this fic when it went off the rails and made it not terrible <3 It never would have come together without you holding my hand through all of it.

Read on Ao3 were my italics work! 

❄️❄️❄️

It’s not that bad. 

It’s just a little snow.

The Bug is reliable and she’s got winter tires. 

She’ll be fine. 

Shit, she just missed her turn. They need more street lights around here - the snow covering the signs doesn’t help either. She ducks her head, trying to see better, looking for any landmarks she recognizes. Emma thought she knew Storybrooke off by heart, but it seems a decade away has left some of her recollection hazy. 

The snow had come out of nowhere, blanketing the ground in the amount of time it took her to walk in and out of the Sheriff’s station, the flurries massive and wet as they hit her windshield. What little light her headlights manage to shine through the dark is blinded by angry streams of flakes, falling furiously against them in the harsh wind, the consistent rattling noise unnerving.

She used to wish for winters like this, town blanketed in snowfall, schools closed and days spent hiding out with friends. ‘Here.’ A gift pushed awkwardly into her hand, an embarrassed smile, flakes swirling around a little version of the town they both lived in. ‘Now you’ll always have snow.’ Now she just needs to get away. The magic is gone. No more dreams of white Christmases. 

She can see the water - she thinks - to her left. There’s a road along the shore, one that leads out of town in a more round-about way, and so she makes the next left turn she can, weaving through the narrow, empty streets until she finds herself on Misthaven road with a triumphant cheer. Okay. She’s got this. This way leads right out of town and towards he highway and she can - 

Emma slams her foot down on the break, eyes suddenly reflecting bright in her headlights and the car swerves on the slick ground. She doesn’t have time to see what it was, cursing as the bug swings frantically from side to side, fighting with the wheel to get it back under control as it skids towards the ditch piled high with snow. But there’s no stopping it.

The impact is jarring, her whole body rocking forward with the force of the sudden stop. She grips the wheel, heart racing as she puts her head down against it to take a breath. You’re okay. It could have been a lot worse, she rationalizes when she looks up to find her windshield and front windows completely clouded in white. She could have hit the water. 

She manages to get her seatbelt off, falling forward into the dashboard with a grunt. The door won’t budge when she tries it, the snow packed tightly on either side, so she pulls out her phone to call for help. She finds it on the floor instead, screen shattered and ominously black. Of course. 

Climbing through the car, over the back seats to the trunk, she manages to pop it open and heave herself out. Emma looks back at her little bug as she sits on the bumper, uses it to step back onto the road. I’m sorry, I’ll come back for you. She just needs to find a phone. Do payphones still exist? This town has been stuck in the 90s for decades. Or someone has to come by eventually, a snow plow, another person as determined to get out of here as she is…

Her coat isn’t warm enough, arms wrapped around herself as her hair, freezing in icy tendrils, whips across her face as she struggles to keep her eyes open against the onslaught of wet snow. Where are you? No answer comes, her memories of this road too hazy to see through the storm. So she walks, picking a direction rather than standing and losing extremities one by one. 

She wasn’t supposed to be here. She was never supposed to come back here at all. She should have ignored the call, let someone else take the bounty on the skip that had decided to go hide out in her hometown, a place she’s managed to avoid for over a decade now. She’d gotten out, run as far and fast as she could, hurt one too many times by this cursed little town where all her happy endings were taken from her. 

Christmas morning, the day after her first and only boyfriend had dumped her - the last in a long line to leave her behind in Storybrooke - because he ‘wanted to see what was out there’, she’d taken a train to Boston and never looked back. She wasn’t supposed to come back. 

It had been a stupid plan, thinking she could get in and out of Storybrooke without anyone knowing she was here. Just catch the skip, bring him in and go back to Boston without her brother ever finding that she’d lied about not being able to come home for Christmas like she did every year. And yet here she is, wandering the streets of Storybrooke on Christmas Eve, lost and alone. 

She’s not sure how far she’s gone when she sees the water, a clearing in the trees, a straight shot to the beach. The waves bring memories with them as they crash against the shore, the sea always refusing to be frozen by the harshest of colds. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere. Arms wrapped solidly around her, a hand taking hers, ‘come with me,’ sitting in the cold sand throwing rocks at the waves with his hands on her ears, ‘they’re going to fall off, Killian,’ and her heart on her sleeve. 

Emma looks up at the building across the street. If she squints she thinks can see a light on. There’s some kind of cosmic joke being made at her expense. There has to be for this day and this storm to have led her here of all places, on tonight of all nights. She still has a snowglobe on her mantle, a gift given to her by a boy she’d spent most of high school infatuated with, and the years after navigating an ineffable friendship. 

How long has it been since she’s seen him? Not since that morning she left, the one where everything had almost changed. It did, she supposes, but not the way she’d been so suddenly terrified it could in those few breaths between a question and a goodbye. He may not even live there anymore. She knows he’s still in town from what David’s told her and the occasional social media stalking, but that’s about all she knows about him now. 

It’s your best bet. At least whoever’s there might have a phone she can use, know a tow that she can call to get her bug back on the road and her on her way back to Boston. The walk to the building feels all too familiar and she struggles to push back the memories of the last time she was here as she works up the nerve to make her way up the stairs. Still, her heart pounds in her chest and her stomach tightens reflexively when she knocks on the door. There’s still time to run.

“Swan?”

“Hey, Killian.” 

***

They were at the Christmas market, Emma grumbling to Ruby about the fact that there hadn’t been any snow that year as they picked through a pile of novelty keychains. “It just doesn’t feel like Christmas without it.” She picked up a little skull and crossbones, holding it up for her friend’s appraisal.

David called them over, offering to buy everyone hot chocolate, all thoughts of shopping abandoned - “Who would you even get that for?” “I don’t know.” She just thought it was cool. This was the first time she had her own set of keys to a front door. It slipped so easily into her pocket, a habit picked up between foster homes. Take whatever you can get your hands on. You might not get the chance again. 

“Hey, Swan.” Only one person called her that, whispered too low for anyone else to hear. “Nicely done.” Killian smirked at her, nodded toward her pocket, eyebrow raised.

Crap. “You’re not going to tell David, are you?” She couldn’t lose this one too. 

“Why would I do that?” Thank god. His face softened. “It takes a while.” 

“What does?”

“To stop feeling like you have to.” Something passed between them then, an understanding. David had said they had a lot in common. “Here.” He put something in her hand, smile awkward, cheeks red. A snow globe, one of the ones Ingrid from the ice cream shop made, a vague rendition of Storybrooke in the center. “You’re right about Christmas.” He touched a finger to the back of his ear. “Now you’ll always have snow.” 

“Did you steal this?” 

His laugh was loud. She liked it. “No. It’s a gift.”

She smiled at it, face flushing furiously - a gift from David’s new friend, the nice one with the pretty eyes who smiled a lot. Shaking it a few times to make the little flecks of white dance around her currently green town, Emma looked up at him, lip catching between her teeth. “I love it.”  

“Here.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out the stolen keychain, wanting to be able to give him something in return. 

His slow smile sent something twisting in her stomach, mischievous, like they had a secret. “Your loot, Swan? I’m honoured.” 

“Well if you don’t want it -”

“No, I do,” he said quickly, grabbing it before she could take it back, ears red, running his thumb over the little skull. “Thank you. I’ll treasure it always.” Idiot. 

***

He’s staring at her, like he can’t quite decide if she’s real, a literal ghost from his past appearing on his doorstep after a decade without a word. He looks good. She knew he would - he always had. But the last time she saw him he was twenty-two and the years have been unfairly kind to him. He’s grown a beard, a ginger scruff that covers his cheeks, both them and his ears reddened by the cold like he’s just come inside. 

She shifts uncomfortably as the silence drags on and he continues to stare, brow pulling down in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

She’s not sure if he means the literal here at his door, or here in Storybrooke, or here suddenly in his life again, so she answers all three. “I ran my car off the road a little ways up the street. I was hoping you might have a phone.” She holds hers out. “Mine didn’t survive.”  

“You what?” 

“There was a deer or something… Can I come in?”

Killian blinks at her, finally registering her question, her answer to his. “Aye,” he says, stepping back to let her pass. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, just, you know, cold. And stuck.” 

It’s different. The first thing she’s come back to in this town that isn’t exactly the way she left it. The large, single room is furnished in old wood and leather, the heavy curtains along windows keeping out the fury of the storm. There’s art on the walls. When she’d been here last it had belonged to a guy in his twenties: second hand couch, posters of bands and movies tacked up with push pins. 

She looks over towards the back of the apartment, the bed in the same place it had always been but new. She let out a squeal falling onto the mattress, the distance further than she expected. Laughing, ‘you need a bed frame.’ A rushed promise, ‘I’ll go to Ikea in the morning.’ Better not to pay attention to that. 

“Are you hurt?” 

She shakes her head. “Just need a tow.” 

“Do you want a towel?” She thinks she needs to answer yes to one of his questions or he might not stop asking them. Her hair is soaked, snow melting in her lashes, probably smudging mascara down her cheeks. 

“Sure, thanks.” She kicks off her boots. Her socks make an unpleasant, wet sound when she sets her feet on the hardwood, damp fabric squishing between her toes and she makes a face at them. 

Killian notices. “Do you want to borrow a pair of mine?” More questions.

She shakes her head, “No, I’m fine,” quickly pulling them off and draping them over her boots. She won’t be here long. 

“Cell service is down, but you can use the landline,” he offers, nodding towards the phone in the kitchen. 

“You have a landline?” she smirks before catching herself. But he sees it, his shoulders relaxing a little. 

“Comes in pretty handy when we lose power.” There’s just a ghost of that cheeky smile she remembers as she pads barefoot across his apartment, too modest to be smug but close. 

“Fair point.” She stares at the thing. Oh, right. “Do you have a number for a mechanic?” 

He hurries over to join her in the kitchen, searching through a drawer until he pulls out a business card. “Here.” Gus’s Auto Repair. 

Gus can’t come get her car out until tomorrow. “Got to be on standby for emergencies and since you’re clearly somewhere safe and not stranded on the side of the road freezing to death -”

“I don’t count. Got it.” 

Perfect. Could also have done without the somewhat patronizing comment that she shouldn’t be out driving in a blizzard. 

Killian’s waiting for her to fill him in when she hangs up, handing over the promised towel. “Looks like I’m stuck,” she tells him, wringing her hair out. 

“Sorry, love,” he sighs. “I’m sure you had people waiting on you to get home for Christmas. Do you want to call anyone? Let them know you’re okay? Make as many calls as you need.” 

She almost debates lying, pretending that yes, there is someone at home waiting for her to get back, having a fake conversation with her own answering machine rather than admitting the slightly pathetic truth. “No, it’s okay. It was just going to be me this year.” 

She’s gotten used to being on her own though. She did it for a long time before she’d ever had any family to spend the holiday with. She’d started out alone, after all, found just outside the town line, a few hours old, abandoned and wrapped in a blanket with her name on it, a small suggestion that maybe someone had loved her at one point. But nobody had come forward. 

There had been a series of foster homes after that, none sticking, in and out of Storybrooke for the entirety of her childhood. She’d had one good year, the Sheriff taking her home for Christmas, no social worker around when the latest family left her at the station. She’d always liked him, the kind man with the beard and the funny accent who let her hold his badge and chase him around the station. 

But when he’d died it had been a series of foster homes again until she’d met David in high school. Older enough and big enough to scare off bullies, he’d brought her home for dinner until his mother decided she should stay. And Emma had stayed, until David got married and moved out, until Ruth passed away shortly after, and then it was just her again, alone in Boston celebrating Christmas, eggnog and a plastic tree. 

Neither of them say anything for a moment, her last comment hanging between them until he finally breaks the silence. “I was going to warm some cider. Would you like some?”

“You got anything stronger?” 

“It’s mostly rum.” 

“Then yes.”

She takes a moment to wander the apartment rather than standing awkwardly in the kitchen with him, tracing her fingers along the back of the old leather couch with heavy blankets draped over it. She tries to reconcile her memories of the twenty-two year old she knew and this man he’s become. And while they don’t quite fit, they make sense. He’d always been this way, warm, inviting, comforting. 

“Nice place,” she says as casually as possible, as though she’s never stepped foot in this room before. He’s put up Christmas decorations, lights and pine branches, little wooden trees and reindeer sculptures. Emma looks over at the massive fir in the corner. “Your tree doesn’t have any decorations on it,” she tells him absentmindedly, because focusing on that is much easier than focusing on how familiar and comfortable the place feels. 

“Aye, we’re decorating it tomorrow,” he explains, scratching behind his ear in the same way he always did when he was nervous. It’s nice to know she’s not the only one. “Your brother and Mary Margaret are coming for dinner.” 

She takes a seat on the sofa, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees, bare toes curling over the edge of the cushion as she tries to figure out what to do next. Right, she’s stuck in Storybrooke for the night. “Sounds fun.” The words fall flat.

He hums, then stops what he’s doing, deep breath, hands gripping the edge of the counter, bracing himself for whatever’s about to come. “Why are you here, Emma?” The question is hard, she can tell, his jaw clenching and shoulders tight.

“In Storybrooke?” 

“For starters, yes.” 

“I was chasing a skip,” she sighs. “He was hiding out here and I thought I could catch him, collect the bounty and be back in Boston before the end of the night.”

“It’s Christmas.” 

“I didn’t really have any other plans...” 

“What about David and Mary Margaret? Do they know you’re in town?”

“No. And I don’t want them to. I said I couldn’t come - it would just hurt their feelings if they found out.” 

“And that’s it?”

“What’s it?”

“The only reason you’re in Storybrooke.” She nods, wrapping her hands around her cold toes, resting her chin on her knee, his gaze hot on her, reading her in that way he’d always been able to. “Alright.” He brings over a steaming mug, sets it down on the table in front of her. “So what now?” 

“I haven’t gotten that far yet,” she winces. 

“Just stay here, love,” he sighs, like his offer is an apology. “It’s hell out there. I’ll take the couch for the night. It’s better than freezing to death in your car,” he adds when she doesn’t answer right away. Emma bites her lip. She’d been considering it - he knows her too well. Killian raises an eyebrow. “I’m going to try not to take offence to you deciding which is actually worse,” he tells her and a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. 

“Okay.” Her voice is quiet, her answer also an apology, for disappearing from his life without a word, for bursting back into it without explanation. “Thanks.” 

“Good,” he says, then breathes, “bloody ghost of Christmas past,” into his mug. 

Emma takes a sip of her cider, immediately coughing when the burn of spiced rum hits her throat. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding,” she coughs again and he smirks, taking a more dignified drink of his own. “Listen, I appreciate you letting me stay here and not freeze to death or whatever,” she tells him when he takes a seat next to her on the couch, leaving as much space between them as possible. “But I don’t want to ruin your night if you have plans…”

“Nothing important.”

“What were they?” She’s horrible, doing this to him twice. 

He shrugs. “I usually spend Christmas Eve on my own before the big hoorah tomorrow. Drink spiked cider, watch a Christmas movie… I usually take a walk along the coast first but, well, between the storm and you showing up here like the Little Match Girl, I think I’ll skip that part this year.” He smiles crookedly at her, the same way he had another Christmas Eve so long ago. And her heart gives a little lurch as the memories come flooding back.

***

Maybe she was being irrational, maybe she was overreacting; people broke up all the time. But it was the coldness in his tone as he did it, the dismissal, like he never actually cared at all, like she was a placeholder until he could go and find something better that made it hurt so much. 

She was already outside, having left Neal’s place as quickly as she could, already halfway down the road, halfway towards god-knows-where before she even realized that it was snowing, that it was cold. But it wasn't like she could bring herself to go back. She couldn’t go home either. Not to that house where Ruth would have been only a year ago, would have known what to say and what to do to make everything better - that house where it was just her now. 

He’d just ended it. Just like that. As though they hadn’t spent almost a year together, as though they didn’t have plans to go to Boston in the morning for a little Christmas holiday. As though they didn’t already have tickets. He ‘wanted to see what else was out there’. She knew what he meant but didn’t say. He wanted to see who else was out there. 

She was stranded. Stuck on a windy road in this horrible town with nowhere to go, nobody to call. Everyone was gone or celebrating with their loved ones. She was running out of those. She knew there was really only one person she could call - one person who would pick up and come find her, regardless of the fact that she’d never actually called his number before.

Headlights shone down the winding road, the sound of a car slowing echoed on the quiet street. The engine turned off, the door slamming shut before footsteps crunched in the snow. “Swan?” Killian came running over. “Swan, what happened?” She hadn’t told him much on the phone, just asked if he could come, and he looked so worried now, so much like he actually cared, like she actually mattered, that it chipped away at the walls around her heart just enough that she couldn’t keep the hurt out anymore.  

“I didn’t know who else to call.” The tears overwhelmed her and she let him pull her against his chest. Maybe it should have felt strange, but instead his arms felt solid around her. His fingers stroked through her hair the way Ruth used to and it was something she needed more desperately than she realized. All that soft affection that he always showed her, that she’d always held for her brother’s friend - the one who always smiled at her, always teased her, always cared - flooded her as she tightened her grip on his jacket.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked when she’d finally managed to stop crying, to pull her face from the collar of his shirt she’d definitely ruined. He wiped at her tear stained cheeks. “Do you need a ride somewhere?” he asked before cocking his head at her and raising a brow. “Or maybe for me to murder someone?” She snorted out a laugh, his smile relieved if still tentative. 

“I’m fine… Neal and I just broke up.” 

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, and then, “Would you like me to murder him?” She snorted another laugh. “I never liked the guy anyway. Wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“He’s not worth it.” 

“Do you want me to take you home?”

“No, I’m sorry. Thanks for coming to get me, I just... I can’t face home right now.”

“It’s okay,” he promised. “I was on my way home. Do you want me to take you somewhere else? Granny’s maybe?”

“It’s almost midnight,” she pointed out. She couldn’t believe she called him this late - and on Christmas Eve. But she just… needed him. Nobody else would have been able to make her laugh just now. 

“Right.” 

“This is so stupid. I’m not even crying over him. I don’t know why I’m crying at all,” she insisted, rubbing harshly at her eyes in frustration. “I just - this town fucking sucks. I need to get out.” Her laugh was bitter. “Neal and I were supposed to go to Boston in the morning. We were gonna spend Christmas there together. I even have the stupid ticket.”

He considered her for a moment and she thought maybe he got it, the urge to escape for a little while, forever. He reached out and took her hand in his. “Come with me.”

They walked along the edge of the water, waves crashing against the shore, surface refusing to freeze despite the cold. Killian didn’t say anything, just kept her hand in his and led her further down the beach until he finally came to a stop, looking out at the sea. She followed his gaze.

“What are we doing?” 

“Looking at the water.” 

“Okay… Why?” 

He huffed a laugh, sitting on the snow-covered sand. “I thought you might find it soothing.”

“It’s cold.” 

“It is,” he agreed, nodding but not moving to get up. With a sigh she plopped down beside him, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them. “I come here whenever I’m pissed off and need to get away,” he shrugged. 

“You get pissed off?” She didn’t think she'd ever seen him lose his temper. He was always so calm, even when he had just as much reason as her to want to curse out the whole world. Killian smiled, picked up a rock and tossed it into the water. She did the same, and then did it again, the splash satisfying against the roar of the waves before it was swallowed up by the rest of the sea. She sighed, shutting her eyes and letting the sound of the water fill her ears and calm her anger, dull her hurt a little. 

“You know this is still Storybrooke though, right?” she reminded him.

He shrugged. “Maybe. But the water always kind of feels like its own place, everywhere and nowhere all at once. It’s easier to imagine being somewhere else here.” 

“Poetic,” she teased, turning back to watch the water a little longer, the waves pulling at something in her every time they slipped back from the shore, like they were trying to drag the words from her chest. “I feel like an idiot. I think I knew he wasn’t a nice guy, deep down.”

“You’re not an idiot, Swan. You fell in love. Happens to the best of us.” 

“Maybe.” Was it love though? Or had she just clung onto someone in the hopes that she could make them stay, that they’d be the first not to disappear on her. “I think this town is cursed.” 

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Cursed?” 

Emma threw another rock into the ocean. She didn’t know how to explain it to him, something she’d started believing as a kid, when every family she found left her here alone, as everyone she cared about in this town was ripped from her one by one. It became a lot easier to try not to love them, to keep David and Ruby at arm’s length after Ruth died, to choose a guy she knew she couldn’t completely open her heart to. And to ignore the way she felt whenever she was around Killian, the pull and the longing, how easy and tempting it would be to just pour her whole heart out and trust him not to judge her, not to hurt her. 

“Well,” he said, nudging her shoulder with his, smile crooked. “That’s one of the nice things about Christmas, magic in the air and all that. Probably enough to break a curse.” 

It was so cheesy and she wished she could believe him, but years of heartbreak just made it impossible. Emma looked away from him, pulled her coat more tightly around herself, a shiver running through her and she changed the subject. 

“Do all of your philosophical ideas involve Christmas and frozen beaches?” she asked, tucking her chin into the neck of her coat. “Because we probably could have looked at the water from inside. And then I might still be able to feel my ears.”

He laughed and she breathed a sigh of relief - he was gonna let her off the hook. He wasn’t going to make her talk about her stupid cursed life in this stupid cursed town because he got her. She didn’t need to explain it to him. She never did.

“Baby,” he teased.

“They’re going to fall off, Killian,” she insisted. “And it’ll be your fault.”

His hands came up to either side of her face, fingertips chilly but palms warm as they covered her ears and her heart stuttered in her chest. 

“Better?”

She nodded, swallowed. Slowly, his amused smile slipped and she could tell he was trying to read her. Emma slipped her hand into one of his, holding them both against her cheek. She would blame the waves, drawing her stupid, battered heart out of her chest, or maybe the cold, urging her towards all of the warmth inside of him, but suddenly she was leaning across the space between them, pressing her lips to his. 

Killian froze and she pulled back, panicked. Shit. Shit, she’d completely misread that. It was stupid and impulsive and now she’d probably ruined whatever it was they had, this little bit of good that she’d just tried to grab onto.

He didn’t let her go, pulled her back to him, mouth hot against hers, fingers sliding from her cheek to weave through her hair, the other curling around her waist. It should have felt strange, it was probably a mistake, but it was Killian, and this felt long overdue. So she let him pull her closer, let him hold her like he had on the side of the road and kiss her like he was trying to break whatever curse would eventually rip him away from her. 

***

“Guess I kind of ruined your night alone.” 

“I don’t mind the company,” he promises. “So long as you don’t comment on the movie.”

“Why would I - Oh, no.” 

“Oh yes,” he beams, reaching for the remote. “Every Christmas Eve.”

Emma groans as the music starts, an English accent giving a monologue about airports and then the dreaded words flash on the screen. Love Actually. “This is literally the worst Christmas movie ever.” 

“This is the best Christmas movie ever.” 

She rolls her eyes but does her best not to say anything as the movie begins, Killian getting up at one point to make a bowl of popcorn - with Milk Duds mixed in so they get all melty. Her silence doesn’t last very long, the rum making her bolder, making her forget the awkwardness. She finally reaches her breaking point.

“This is so stupid. They can’t even understand each other. And they’re just saying the complete opposite thing the whole time.”

He looks over at her, exasperated, head rolling over the back of the couch. “People don’t have to be able to say they love someone out loud for it to be real.” 

She doesn’t have an answer for that, staring at him for a moment before shutting her mouth and turning back to the movie. He has a talent for saying things without saying them. It’s only a few minutes before she can’t help herself again.

“Okay, but even you have to admit this one is terrible.”

“There’s… something romantic about loving someone from afar.” He’s not even buying it. 

“Sure, but this is just stalking.” 

“It’s just one story.” 

“Out of a hundred other terrible stories. Like this girl. Just don’t pick up your phone and -”

“Swan, I will make you sleep in your car.” 

“I just don’t get what the appeal of this movie is. Everyone makes such a big deal out of-” She’s interrupted by a handful of popcorn shoved into her mouth, Killian licking melted chocolate off his finger. 

“There,” he says, pleased with himself. “Now if you promise to be quiet for the rest of the movie, we can watch Home Alone after, alright?” 

 Emma just stares at him, eyes wide in disbelief. He did not. When he looks up at her, back on his half of the couch but not quite as far away, a smirk starts to tug at his lips, stretching wide when she spits the popcorn out into her hand. 

“You’ve got chocolate all over your face,” he tells her, barely holding back a laugh. 

“Whose fault is that?” She drops the handful of mushy popcorn into her empty mug, wiping her palms on her jeans. 

Chuckling he reaches out again, wiping his thumb over the corner of her mouth. “I’m sorry,” he says - he’s not - looking at her with very serious, and very insincere, apology. 

His attention drops to her mouth, hand settling on her cheek, and traces his thumb along her bottom lip where she’s sure there’s more chocolate. But all she can focus on is how close he is and how much she wants to replace his thumb with his mouth and her breath hitches. ‘Are you sure?’ whispered between heated kisses, his name broken on her lips, her fingers desperately fisting in his hair, falling apart on his tongue, the heat of him inside her, gentle touches and praise breathed against skin as they came together again and again. 

His eyes dart back up to hers and she wonders if he’s thinking the same thing as the amusement in his eyes fades and then she’s waiting for him to do something, even if they probably shouldn’t, even if she definitely shouldn’t. 

But she doesn’t stop him when he pulls her mouth down to his, lips slanting across hers as he drags her closer. They knock over the bowl, popcorn scattering across the floor when she climbs into his lap, fingers digging into his hair, his digging into the skin at her hip as he presses himself against her, tongue seeking hers. 

This is probably a bad idea. In fact it’s definitely a bad idea, because she’s been exactly here before and she knows how it ends. But his lips are on her neck, tracing the line of her jaw, and she lets out a small whimper, hips rolling over the hardness she can feel growing beneath her. He catches her mouth again with a growl, one she knows all too well, and his hand slips under her sweater, calloused palm rough against the skin of her back as he arches his hips up into her, hard and hot against her centre. 

She wrenches her lips from his, her fingers finding the buttons of his shirt and hurrying to undo them. She lifts her eyes to his face, finds him watching her, his own gaze dark and heady, hesitates on the next button. “I’m going back to Boston in the morning.”

“I know.”

Her heart beats frantically against her ribcage, as she tries to read his expression beyond the obvious want and temptation. So long as they’re on the same page, she tells herself. That’s all that matters. This isn’t like last time. 

***

They stumbled through the door, practically running from the beach, giggling like kids the whole way. He’d kissed her for ages out there by the water, until she told him she thought she would lose her fingers from the cold and suggested they go somewhere warmer. 

Now that they were inside though - the apartment new, some of his things still in boxes on the floor - he hesitated. So she took his face in her hands like he’d done before and kissed him, feeling the doubt melt away as he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close. 

They fiddled with zippers of puffy coats, laughing as they unravelled too-long scarves, boots kicked off as they crossed the length of his apartment, Emma letting out a squeal when they fell onto the mattress, the distance further down than she’d expected. 

“You need a bed frame,” she laughed, lip caught between her teeth.

“I’ll go to Ikea in the morning,” he promised, claiming it for himself, fingers going to her hair as he deepened the kiss. 

It wasn’t what she expected. She’d never kissed anyone this long before, hadn’t ever taken things quite this slow. But he seemed content to continue kissing her for the rest of the night. When she arched up against him he sucked in a breath, pulling back to look at her, “Are you sure?” 

There wasn’t any question, not for her. She kissed him again, clothes pulled off slowly, his mouth finding her neck, her stomach her breasts, hands hot on her skin, pulling her closer - always closer. 

He asked again, settling between her legs, a kiss to her thigh - “This okay?” - words breathed hot against her center, waiting for her nod before putting his mouth on her. Killian took his time, finding what made her breath hitch, what made her cry out and what made her hips arch up desperately against his tongue, building her up slowly, bringing her over the edge and leaving her trembling. 

She kept waiting for him to take what he wanted, to rut into her and find his release, surprised he’d waited this long already. Instead his lips mapped her skin, discovering places he hadn’t yet, drawing his tongue across her body like ink, leaving marks wherever he found a gasp or a sigh - a secret trail for him to follow, hidden from the rest of the world. 

He traced the marks with his fingers, mouth falling over hers and they slipped between her thighs, leaving her writhing when he found that sensitive bundle of nerves. She fell apart again, fingers deep inside her, lips speaking praise against her skin until she was left a shaking, boneless mess.

“Gods you’re beautiful, Swan,” he breathed into her ear like a confession, one he’d held onto for a long time. 

Emma snuck a hand between them, taking hold of him once more and canting her hips up until she felt him brush against her heat. His groan echoing hers as he slid in just the tiniest bit. “We can stop if you want.”

She shook her head, taking his face in her hands and meeting his lips in a messy kiss. “Please don’t,” she breathed into his mouth, fingers fisting too tightly in his hair. 

He took her slowly, the same way he’d kissed her, the same way he’d done everything. She wasn’t used to slowly, to the way his lips kept finding her own, tracing along her neck, hand finding her breast and tongue rolling languidly over the sensitive peak as he moved inside her. 

This wasn’t fucking, this was something she’d never done before, something tender and gentle. He made love to her, drawing out her pleasure, staving off his own until she was shaking, nails digging at his back, forehead pressed to hers as he brought them both over the edge.

He stole an exhausted, sated kiss from her lips before settling beside her, pulling her to him. Emma lay her head on his chest, tracing absentminded patterns through the small smattering of dark hair as she tried to school her breathing, to keep her eyes open. 

His fingers ran over the length of her arm, turning every few minutes to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “Are you okay?” he asked. 

She let out a low, lazy giggle. “How would I not be okay right now?” 

“I’m sure this isn’t what you imagined when you asked me to pick you up tonight,” he sighed. He was berating himself. She could hear it in his voice, imagining himself a villain for coming to her rescue, for healing her heart just a little bit - and then making her come three fucking times. 

Emma raised her head, meeting his self-conscious gaze and smiling softly. She leaned in, kissed him, relieved when he kissed her back, hand weaving through her hair again like maybe he was trying to keep her there a little longer. When she pulled away he gave her a crooked, hopeful little smile, only growing when she pressed her lips to his again, tasting it. 

Tucking herself back against his chest, he curled his arm more tightly around her, fingers tickling along her spine. “Merry Christmas, Swan,” he whispered into her hair. 

***

She kisses him again, finishing with the fastenings of his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders. He leans forward enough to shrug it off, not breaking the kiss except to pull her sweater over her head and then dragging her back to him as soon as she’s free of it. 

Emma traces the line of his shoulders, over his chest and the hair that blankets it, nails scratching down his stomach, relishing in every inch of soft skin and hard muscle beneath her fingers. His mouth wanders the length of her neck again, tongue teasing the line of her collarbone and down through the valley between her breasts, leaving goosebumps and fire in his wake. 

She gasps when he tugs one of the cups of her bra out of the way, taking her nipple between his teeth. She lets out a curse, back arching into him, hips grinding roughly against the outline of his cock through their jeans. Her fingers fist in his hair, holding him there as he licks and sucks at the sensitive peak.

His hands slide along the outside of her thighs, palming her ass and squeezing as he drags her slowly, firmly over his length before standing, taking her with him, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. His mouth finds hers again as he walks them across the room to his bed, kneeling on the edge before dropping her onto the mattress. 

His hands quickly find the waist of her jeans, tugging them open and Emma catches her laugh between her teeth as she helps him slide the tight denim past her ankles. He tosses them aside while she pulls the remaining fabric from her chest. Killian pauses, looking her over slowly and she does the same. 

It’s really not fair how much better he looks after so much time - he was already handsome enough when he was young. Now the angle of his jaw is sharpened, his shoulders broader, the hair on his chest darker and thicker. Her tongue runs over her bottom lip wantonly before she tugs him back down to her.

He lowers himself between her open thighs, the scratch of his chest against her breasts and his beard against her neck making her writhe beneath him. Killian’s hand slides over her waist, down across her stomach before going in search of where she’s wet and aching for him. 

“Fuck,” she breathes as his fingers tease their way between her legs, turning to hiss “yes” against his ear when he finds the sensitive bundle of nerves there, rolling it under his thumb. 

“Tell me if you want this.” - making sure, always making sure - as he slides a finger inside her, adding a second and thrusting slowly, dragging against her walls in toe-curling torture. It takes her a moment to find her voice as he continues to fuck her with his hand, thumb and fingers working in a steady rhythm, a knot tightening in the pit of her stomach.

“God yes,” she tells him, remembering how good he felt inside of her, how full and perfect and right. She scrambles for the button of his jeans, popping it free and making quick work of the fly before sliding her hand inside. She finds his cock, hard and straining in her palm, and he lets out a choked moan when her fist tightens around him. 

“Now?” he asks, voice strained, and she nods, not able to find her own with his fingers working her faster, the circles he presses into her clit holding her right on the cusp of her climax. 

Her hands shove at the waist of his pants, using her feet to push them further down. He slides away from her, standing to kick them off, and she bites her lip, moaning at the sight of his length bobbing against his stomach. She hears his slightly desperate groan before he’s on her again, mouth claiming hers, hot and messy, tongue sliding past her lips and drawing a whine from her chest.

Taking himself in hand and lining his cock up with her entrance, he hesitates only until she cants her hips, trying to take him inside herself. Her hand finds his back, the other grabbing at his ass as she hooks a leg around his thigh and urges him forward. 

They both cry out when he finally sheaths himself inside her, thrust rough, cock thick and long as he slides out slowly only to push back in hard, hips snapping against hers. God yes, she thinks as he fucks her. This is what she’d expected last time, the desperate race towards the edge, her whole body rocking every time he drives back into her, the roll of his hips powerful and so fucking good. 

She starts to writhe beneath him, the knot coiling so tightly inside her that she can feel it about to snap. His lips are at her neck, his hand reaching for one of her breasts, palm rolling over her nipple and then pinching it between his fingers as he moves faster. Her nails dig into his sweat slicked back, cries growing louder and more frequent, his curses and praise spoken into her skin between the slide of his tongue and the scrape of his teeth until her back bows sharply, pleasure ripping through her as she comes apart around him. 

Emma can feel him following after her, fucking into her at a frantic pace until his own release takes him and he goes stiff in her arms. He collapses on his back beside her, his breathing ragged as her own as they both lay there and wait for their hearts to stop racing and the sweat to cool on their skin. 

Killian rolls onto his side, hand reaching for her, fingers spreading over her stomach just below her breast, different from the way he’d pulled her to him last time. His thumb traces absentmindedly along the underside of her breast and she knows they understand each other - or he understands her at least. A one time thing. She’s leaving in the morning. 

Killian clears his throat, voice still raspy when he speaks. “Bloody hell, I didn’t know you hated the movie that much.” 

She laughs, boneless, exhausted. “Anything to get out of watching it.” 

He raises himself up a little, looking over towards the TV. “I don’t think it’s over yet, actually.” He raises a brow. “We could probably still catch the big finale.” 

Emma groans, long and suffering. “Please no. I literally can’t think of a worse way to spend the night.” 

“Oh?” he asks and she can tell just by his tone what he’s thinking, even before his arm snakes around her waist and he pulls her back to him, rolling and bracing himself above her. “What did you have in mind, then, love?” There’s that cheeky smile again.

His lips are already teasing, feather-light over the spot below her ear, grinding his hips suggestively against hers before she can answer. She’s tempted to let him continue, to let him make her fall apart again and again for the rest of the night. But, “I’m leaving in the morning.” 

He nods, giving a nip to her jaw as he answers, “Aye, so you’ve said. Many times now.” 

“So this - tonight - needs to be a one time thing.”

Killian pulls back, searching her face carefully. He brushes a piece of her hair behind her ear. “I know you’re not staying, Swan. I won’t ask you to.” Not again, lingers where the words stay unspoken. “This was all just a freak, horrible series of events brought on by bail skippers, snow storms and devilish good looks that landed you into my bed tonight. And in the morning you’ll be on your way back to Boston and I’ll be here trying not to replay everything in graphic detail while I sit next to your brother at Christmas dinner.”

“Ew,” she laughs, shoving at his shoulder. 

“But it’s not morning yet,” he finishes, tongue tracing the inside of his lip, gaze fixed on her mouth, waiting. A one time thing for a second time. A bad idea, a dangerous one. A desire she’s going to give into again, one she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to resist. She’ll never stop wanting him, not so long as she stays here.

“No,” she says, sliding her fingers into his hair, tongue sneaking out to tease the seam of his lips. She’ll be gone tomorrow, tonight doesn’t matter. “It’s not.”

***

He’s already up when her alarm goes off in the morning, Emma blinking crankily against the light shining through the windows. It takes her a moment to remember where she is, wrapped up in the familiar spice of salt and leather that clings to the sheets and her pillow, skin bare against the warm blankets. He’s standing by the stove puttering around with something and she watches him for a minute. It’s strange, still being here. She’s not used to her one night stands lasting into the next day.

“Merry Christmas,” he greets when she’s pulled her clothes back on and padded into the kitchen. She manages to mutter. He hands her a slip of paper. “Gus called, said to give him a ring when you were up and he’d come by with the tow.”

“Thanks.”

“There’s coffee,” he tells her, gesturing towards a pot. Her second thank you is more enthusiastic and he laughs. “I know you wanted to get up and on the road as soon as possible.” Emma hums, pouring herself a cup and drinking deeply. 

“Can I ask you something?” she ventures, thinking of returning to Boston, of leaving this town once and for all for the second time. He nods. “Why are you still in Storybrooke? I thought you’d have left a long time ago.”

Killian shrugs. “I thought about it a couple of times. It just never felt right. This was the first place that felt like home.” Emma plays her fingers over the rim of her mug, nodding like she understands. “I know that wasn’t the case for you.” 

She hesitates, trying to figure out how to explain her complicated feelings about this town. “Storybrooke never felt like home to me,” she admits. “Graham’s place did for a while,” she shrugs. “But that didn’t last very long. Without him it was just a house. Ruth’s did too. But with her gone…” 

Killian’s expression softens, sympathy without pity from someone who knows what it is to lose those you love. “It doesn’t feel like her anymore. And I love David but that home is his and Mary Margaret’s now and for me it’s just…” A house, too large and full of too much grief. “I always figured home was someplace I would miss when I left it. But they’re all just buildings,” she shrugs. 

Killian nods, looking pensively into his cooling mug of coffee. “I suppose it’s not the places but the people in them that make it home,” he says, finally looking up at her, the only person in this town she’s ever really missed, and the silence hangs heavy between them. 

She can’t read his expression, his eyes more guarded now than they used to be, his heart no longer on his sleeve like it had been when they were young. And she thinks that’s her fault. She cut him out of her life for a decade, of course he wouldn’t trust her like he used to. And yet here they are, right back where they were that morning.

She doesn’t know how he feels now, doesn’t know for certain how he felt about her then. But she does know how she felt, how seeing him again has brought back so many of those old feelings, ones she’d always hoped would fade with time, that she’d managed to ignore until now when they risk becoming fresh and raw once again. 

And she worries… most of all she worries that if she lets them come flooding back - break through the wall she so carefully constructed around her twenty-one year old heart - that she’ll want to stay. 

“Knock knock,” a voice calls, too cheery for the early hour. Killian turns panicked eyes on her. 

“What is she doing here?” Emma hisses.

“I don’t know! They weren’t supposed to get here until tonight.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Mary Margaret continues, already pushing her way inside. “The door was open and we thought with the storm you might need help getting things ready and -” She stops dead in her tracks, David nearly running into her before looking up and staring in shock at the sight of his sister.

“Emma?” Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “What are you doing here?” 

“I thought you were in New York.” 

“Um…” she hesitates, trying to come up with a story that won’t hurt their feelings - a reason to be in Storybrooke. “Surprise?”

The lie comes almost too easily, Emma and Killian exchanging guilty winces over her family’s shoulders. She meant to come down to surprise them. The storm got in the way and she had to crash at Killian’s for the night. Parts of it are true. It was all planned. She’s thrilled to be home for Christmas. Most of it isn’t.

“How long are you here for?”

“Just the day.” Her grimace is taken for guilt. She can’t spend another night here. 

There’s lots to do - or so she’s told, more the type to order in when she hosts her family for the holiday - and they put her to work. ‘Don’t worry, Swan, you can do the easy bits.’ ‘I can cook!’ ‘Whatever you say.’ 

Her insistence backfires, gagging when they ask her to help prep the turkey, nearly losing a finger chopping vegetables - ‘Give me that,’ Killian takes it from her. ‘Who gave Emma a knife?’ ‘You should be really glad I don’t have one right now.’ - until she’s banished to cookie duty.

“Think you can manage icing without injury or illness?” Killian’s smirk is shit eating and she takes the sugar and milk from him. 

“Is it supposed to be this runny?”

Once Mary Margaret has fixed the icing, she’s left with a piping bag and several tins of gingerbread. She’s halfway through, Killian’s hands on the back of her chair, looking over her shoulder at the little man she’s decorating. 

“Did they send you here to check on me?” 

“Just some run of the mill quality control.” She’d gotten bored a little while ago - ‘two eyes, three buttons and a smile, that’s all you need to do’ - deciding to get more creative. “What on earth are those supposed to be?” he asks, eyes wide as she traces icing in the shape she wants. 

“A bow.” 

“Swan.” He’s barely holding back his laughter, face red and she narrows her eyes at him. “Please don’t make me say it out loud.” 

“What?” Emma looks down at her cookie, at the four others she’s already made - ‘they’re bows!’ - but the icing has spread, the wobbly squares at the top rounded, the two hanging ribbons melded into one. “Oh my God.”

His roar of laughter sends the others over, crowding around her horrible creation. Killian’s barely able to hold himself up anymore.  

“Oh,” Mary Margaret says, trying her best when David loses his shit too. “Well, it’ll certainly be the most phallic gingerbread we’ve ever had.” Everyone’s laughing now. 

“Got something on your mind, Emma?” her brother snorts and she shoves the cookie in her mouth, destroying - some of - the evidence. “Maybe you should help,” he tells his friend, returning to the kitchen. 

“Aye, Swan,” his voice is low, whispered against her hair, breath ghosting over her neck, “got something on your mind?" She tries to hide the way her cheeks heat, goosebumps down her spine. She does now.

They make a  pretty good team, Emma supplying the ideas while Killian does his best to execute them. The task quickly becomes a game of finding what she can stump him with. ‘Are you really gonna be smug about being good at icing cookies? That’s the bar you want to set?’ ‘I’m a man of many talents, love, some I’d be more than happy to remind you of.’  She gives up when he turns the chubby little cookie into a skeleton. “Fine, you win. I’m sure this skill will take you far in life.” 

People start arriving sometime in the late afternoon, the apartment filled with the smells of Christmas dinner, every shelf of the oven and every burner on the stove in use - her skills in the kitchen finally appreciated when she made them all mac and cheese in the microwave for lunch. Every guest wears the same expression of shock at seeing her standing with the others. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ruby demands, tactful as ever. Nice to see you too. Emma can tell by the look Ruby gives her that she doesn’t buy this being a planned surprise, but her friend pulls her into a hug regardless, a murmured promise that they’ll be talking about it more later whispered over her shoulder. When Granny asks why she didn’t stay at the inn, she repeats the story about the storm and the accident - ‘Where did you sleep?’ Ruby knows. ‘The couch.’ - and then quickly changes the subject. 

Two waist-high heads of strawberry blonde curls come hair barreling through the apartment, Killian returning the identical little girls to their parents, one swinging from each of his arms. 

“Girls, we’ve told you before,” Elsa scolds, “Uncle Killian is not a tree.” 

“Aye, only his head is made of wood”’ 

“Is that the best you’ve got, brother?”

Emma watches them play, the girls infatuated with their uncle, smiling into the rim of her wineglass as they attempt to tackle him onto the couch only to be tossed onto the cushions over and over. 

She’s caught, Killian looking over, eyes meeting hers, his own lips quirking up tentatively and she feels that same soft warmth from all those years ago spreading through her chest. She doesn’t know what it is, not exactly, but she knows that she’s missed that smile for the last ten years. 

One of the twins hurls herself at his stomach sending him falling backwards with an ‘oof’ and Emma has to bite back her laugh, turning and pretending she’s been listening to the conversation when someone asks her a question. 

Killian’s apartment is small packed in with what feels like half the town, and when it’s time for dinner everyone finds a spot to sit or stand, plates balanced in their laps or set down on a counter or an end table, whatever surface they can find. Emma manages to snag a spot on the couch, Granny and Elsa next to her, wrapped up in an intense conversation over the benefits of real versus plastic trees. 

“How are you fairing?” He takes a seat on the arm of the sofa, one leg still on the ground, plate resting on his knee, and handing her a glass of wine. 

“Much better now,” she beams, taking the drink from him. She’s never had so many conversations about her childhood in her life, everyone determined to reminisce about the way they used to spend Christmas, the dinners and the ice skating and the secret party that Ruby would always throw in the basement of the diner. ‘Turns out Granny knew all along.’ The old woman only shrugs, impish smile on her usually dour face. 

Some of it hurts, remembering the mornings with Ruth, the presents and the hot chocolate - and the mornings where there were no trees, no presents, no smiling foster parents or siblings. She’d suppressed all of them for so long, determined to forget the way her happiest moments were taken away, forever tinged with sadness so that she’d forgotten how good they’d once been. 

When David talked about the Christmas market they all used to hurry to, buying each other cheap gifts from the weird collection of crafts and things people found in their attics, she felt a twinge in her chest. A little snow globe pressed into her hand, red ears and cheeky smiles. A little skull and crossbones she’d taken because she thought she had to, then given away to the first person who ever really understood. She realizes that a part of her does miss it - the people, not the places, like he’d said. 

“I’m sorry you got stuck here. I know it’s hardly how you wanted to spend your Christmas.” 

“It could be worse,” she admits. 

“Here, I saved you one.” Killian hands her a little gingerbread man from the corner of his plate. 

“Awe, you’re giving me a little gingerbread dick?” 

“It’s clearly a bow. Get your mind out of the gutter, love.” 

They’re all decorating the tree - Killian’s nieces arguing over which would get to climb on his shoulders to put the star on top - when she sneaks off to the bathroom, the only place in this apartment with a door that closes. 

She just needs a minute to herself, needs a second to reconcile her dislike of this place and the fact that she’s actually enjoying herself. It’s never been safe to let her guard down, but it just keeps slipping around him, and it’s getting harder and harder to put it back up. And she doesn’t know why - after all this time… 

Something catches her eye when she looks in the mirror - ready to give herself a talking to, to remind herself why she has that guard at all - a piece of a chain hooked over the corner, the rest fallen behind the back of the frame. 

It’s a necklace, long and worn, the silver tarnished from years of wear. A little skull and crossbones hangs from the end. He kept it. All these years. It slips into her pocket, as easily as it had that day at the market, another secret kept between them. 

“Are you coming back with us?” David asks when everyone has started to make their way home, the hour late, the glasses empty. 

“Actually, I think I’ll stay for a bit. My car is still here…” Emma looks from her brother to where Killian is clearing dishes, his eyes lifting to hers for only a second before dropping them quickly. She doesn’t say she needs to get going, can’t quite bring herself to - can’t quite bring herself to leave, to have this be their final goodbye. “If that’s okay?” His guard is slipping too. She can almost read him again when he nods, enough to know that he might not want her to leave just yet either. 

They’re curled up by the fireplace, the dishes done and the room tidied. There’s only the two of them and the silence of the empty room, their voices sounding so much louder against it with everyone gone. 

“Do you want to call Gus?” he asks, looking at the time after they’ve talked about the party, gossiped about all their friends. “If you want to get back to Boston tonight you probably shouldn’t wait much longer.” 

Oh. “Right.” She tucks her hair self-consciously behind her ear, staring at the fire.

“Unless…” 

She looks up. Unless? There’s no question posed, the sentence never finished. But neither moves for the phone. She can’t leave. Not without telling him. Not without knowing if it’s all in her head. Not when it means leaving him behind. Not again.

“Killian, I -” Just say it. “I’m sorry.”

His guard is back up, weak and struggling, but it’s there. “For what?” 

“For how I left things - for how I left you.”

Warm fingers tracing over her skin, sitting on the edge of the mattress in the cool morning air, bare toes on the floor, always braced to run. ‘You know you could stay, if you wanted...’ Heart screaming to be heard, too terrified of what could happen if she stayed, if she let herself love him like she wanted to. An apologetic shrug, a glance over her shoulder, shirt pulled over her head, boots laced. ‘I already have the ticket.’ 

“You don’t have to apologize, love.” It slips again, a small sigh as he shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything. It was one night, however I felt about it… whatever I might have wanted or hoped for was on me, not you.” But it wasn’t just one night, not really. She can’t make herself say the words. Felt, wanted, hoped, past tense. “I always wondered though.”

“Wondered what?”

He can’t look at her and it hurts. “If you left because of me. If you regretted it or if I did something.” 

Her heart sinks. She was such an idiot. “Is that why you never called?”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t answer.” 

“I never regretted you, only that that night made it so much harder to leave.”

“Why did you leave?” 

“Because of you,” she says finally, the heartbreak clear on his face even as he nods in acceptance. “Remember how I told you I thought Storybrooke was cursed?” Another nod. “Almost everyone I’ve ever cared about in this town is gone - died here, left me here.” Her parents, the Swans, Graham, Ruth, Neal… “I had to leave. And I couldn’t ask you to come with me because -” Her hands shake, her biggest fears spoken out loud. “What if it wasn’t Storybrooke, what if it’s just me? What if I’m the one that’s cursed - to lose everyone I love… I couldn’t lose you too.” But she had, in a way that was so much worse in the end. 

“Lose me?”

“I thought it was safer to stay away from you, from everyone I loved - for them… and for me. I know it doesn’t make any sense but I -” He puts a hand over hers, fingers twisting in her lap.

“No, it doesn’t. But I get it.” 

She forces herself to look at him. It takes a while - to stop feeling like you have to. And she’s so sick of running. “I would take it back if I could.” She pulls the necklace from her pocket, slips it into his hand, his breath hitching. “Because the truth is…” Deep breath. “I miss you. So much, Killian.” 

The silence stretches on too long, her whole world hanging on whatever he’s going to say next, his thumb tracing over the pendant. “Emma.” He hesitates again. Just say something. “I’ve thought about you every day since you left.” Something sparks in her chest, hope. “I think maybe I couldn’t leave,” his fist closes around the necklace, “because I was hoping you’d come back.” 

His words are rushed, spoken in a breath before his hands are in her hair and he pulls her to him, his kiss long and deep and perfect. She missed this. She missed him. She tries to apologize again, ‘I’m sorry’ whispered against his lips, but he steals the words from her tongue. ‘Later. We can talk later.’

Later is good, later means after, later means this is more than just right now, more than just tonight. No more one time things - this is the third time, after all. 

He lays her down in front of the fire, hands more cautious than they’d been last night, peeling the clothes from her body until she’s bare beneath him and he can find the map he drew so long ago, lips tracing the lines that have faded from her skin. 

They make love like they had the first time, no desperate attempt to fuck away the feelings they couldn’t voice, no need to rush for fear they would run out of time. She presses all of her apologies into his body, feels the forgiveness in his touch, fingers tight in her hair when she takes him in her mouth and begins to learn him as well as he does her.  

He breathes words that aren’t quite love but could be into the space between them, Emma rocking above him, hands on his chest, his at her hips, dragging him towards the edge with her. Sitting up and pulling her to him, skin pressed to skin, repeating the same words against her lips, against her neck and breasts, ‘I love you,’ spoken somewhere in the moments before they find release, neither sure who said it, only that it’s true as they fall apart, clinging to one another, no intention to let go. 

“Does this mean you’re staying in Storybrooke?” he asks when they’re laying intertwined on his floor.

Emma lifts her head, resting her chin on his shoulder and giving a small, hopeful smile. “Do you want me to?” 

“Aye, I do. But only if you want to stay.”

She presses a kiss to his chest, above the pendant that now hangs around his neck. “I want to stay with you,” she tells him quietly, heart still timid, unused to being seen. “No matter where that is.”

“There’s always Boston.” 

“You’d come to Boston with me?” 

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, thumb tracing along the length of her jaw, over her lips as he watches her with what she finally knows is love. “I’d have come with you to Boston ten years ago, Swan. All you had to do was ask.” 

She kisses him then, her words not enough to do justice to the way his burn through her, fill her from the inside out. He rolls them, settling above her, beginning his exploration again, fingers and mouth finding her where she’s hot and desperate for him, driving her to the edge with careful strokes of his tongue and languid touches that leave her writhing and begging for more. 

She comes apart at his hands once again, kisses trailed up her body before he claims her lips with his and pulls her into his side. Limbs tangled, skin warmed by the fire, her fingers trace patterns over his heart, patched up to match her own. ‘I could get used to celebrating Christmas like this.’ He presses a kiss to her temple, words breathed into her hair, ‘Then we will, love, every one.’

❄️❄️❄️

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to/removed from my tag list!

@kmomof4 @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly  @goforlaunchcee @undercaffinatednightmare @jennjenn615 @dramioneswan @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @batana54 @lfh1226-linda @csalltheway @xsajx @xarandomdreamx @onceratheart18 @ownedbycaptainswan @teamhook @pirateprincessofpizza @lostintheskyfaraway @zaharadessert @thejollyroger-writer @ultraluckycatnd @justanother-unluckysoul @spartanguard @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @wefoundloveunderthelight @sailtoafarawayland @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @superchocovian @snowbellewells @xellewoods @sals86 @karlyfr13s ​ @ouatpost ​ @skairipakomtrikru @lonelyspectator12   @anmylica   @alexa-fangirl-forever @inspiredbystardust @marcella2727 @paradiselady19 @koryandr

[sotangledupinit]

just like a ghost whisperer

Happy start of CSSNS 2022! I was lucky enough to have the first posting date so of course this piece is a monster. So excited to see all the other works being shared for @cssns this year!

---

SUMMARY: It figures that the gorgeous house Emma’s renting on Boston’s coast has something wrong with it. She would have preferred a leaky sink or creaking stairs — anything but the ghost of Captain Hook haunting her. Between his annoying habits and flirtatious advances, the two of them work together to unravel a murder mystery, discovering something deeper along the way.

RATING: T for language, violence, and very very mild suggestive themes!

STORY WORD COUNT: 25,031 words

TAGS: Captain Swan, CSSNS, implied/referenced child abuse, ghosts, Just Like Heaven AU, Ghost Whisperer AU, mature language, violence, and mildly suggestive themes

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hahaha this was originally going to be 3k-8k words and then four days ago i decided to add massive plot. i'm so sorry hahahaha.

***

Packing tape smells horrendous. That’s the only thought running through her head as she seals another cardboard box shut.

60 days left.

The apartment that’s been home to herself and Henry for the last four years would just be another on a long list of residences they’ve spent time in. But Emma would not be able to stomach the $400 rent increase. It’s something engrained in her from the foster system and the years following Henry’s birth, stretching her dollar as far as it would go and sometimes going without if it meant her kid could have the formula he needed. Even though she can afford the price hike now, her gut refuses to let her stay.

Plus, she doesn’t think she can handle another leasing year with Albert Spencer as her landlord. Spencer thrives on making others miserable, she swears it. He even campaigned with the local and state officials to get rid of the cap on rent hikes.

Asshole. 

Someone could tell her that his other company of vehicle rentals was a front for drug trafficking and murder and she’d believe it. He had a snide look on his face the moment she first signed her lease years ago, like he was about to swindle her out of all her money. Then came the disgust whenever he saw her paying her rent like he couldn’t believe he let the likes of her rent in his building.

A list of names, addresses, and photos are probably hidden somewhere in his own dwelling and he crosses off enemies as he goes, eliminating them by kicking them out, reporting them to authorities, and/or the possibility of killing them.

She’s only joking about that last part. Somewhat.

She’s kept them here for so long because it gave Henry’s life stability and the location was ideal. Who cares if she’s probably at the top of Spencer’s list because of the complaints from her neighbor Mrs. Norberry about Henry’s late night gaming - the price on top of everything else was too good to pass up.

In fact, maybe the increase wouldn’t be so bad?

“60 DAYS, RESIDENTS!” the man himself yells from the hallway, banging on doors as he passes them and repeats his message. 

Nope. Definitely need to move.

Henry hasn’t had an issue with the prospect of them moving. He goes to his part-time job at the docks after school, then comes home and finishes his homework before spending the rest of his evening on different listing sites.

“Do you even want to stay in Boston? I mean, we can go anywhere.” His excited voice echoes in her head as she takes in the half-packed apartment. Part of her wonders if she’s doing the right thing. 

Constantly moving, never setting down roots - that has been her whole life. Staying in one place for too long makes her itch but that’s the last thing she wants for her kid. 

Despite what her long list of driver’s license address changes might say, she wants the house with the white picket fence and the dog and everything that screamed a normal happy life in every sitcom she watched growing up. The only problem lies in the fact nowhere has ever felt like home. The closest she ever came was a small cottage town further up the coast. They got plenty of snow in the winter and the summer never got unbearably hot like it did in Tallahassee. But she was young when she was there and the locals were getting suspicious of the nights she spent in her car with Henry in his carseat so she drove right out of Florida.

Hard to believe it’s been nearly 16 years since then.

Ding!

The chime from her laptop pulls Emma from her musings and she hurries to her feet. The packing tape rolls away from her and the scissors clatter to the floor but she pays it no mind. With the rental market being as insane as the housing market right now, a minute delay in correspondence could mean she loses out on a potential apartment.

Disappointment fills her chest when she sees it’s just a reply from one of her contacts but it quickly disappears when she notices what it’s regarding.

*

TO: eswan@swansPIservices.com

FROM: scarletbilliam@gmail.com

SUBJECT: RE: Jones

Found some info that might be related to your missing person case. It’s a few years old so no idea if it’s even worth anything but figured it didn’t hurt to send it your way.

Will

*

Emma sits up straight, shoulders tense as she reads over the protected document he attached to the email. Most of the information included are things she already knows. However, at the very end of the document, she sees a new address that belongs to the person she’s been hunting for the past two years. It’s not listed under their name on any other forms or documents. Hell, they might not even still live there but it’s a start and it’s more than enough for her to go off of.

She spends the rest of the afternoon elbow deep in research at the cramped kitchen island. They’ve been able to make do over the past couple of years with such a tiny living space but perhaps the rent increase is fate stepping in. Paperwork she has compiled for this case over the last two years covers every inch of the island, extending over to the countertops and the coffee table. She prides herself on completing her jobs, or handing the few she couldn’t over to someone who could. But this case has been nagging at her since she took it up, even if it has become her white whale.

It was supposed to be easy; family separations usually are for her. She’s a pro at finding people, even if she’s never found her own parents, and the fact that this is the one case where the separated party completely dropped off the grid without any kind of job, social media, or education over the last ten years astounds her. They must be living in the midwest farmlands where there’s nothing for miles.

The address Will sent her, however, is for right here in Boston.

After cross-referencing the legitimacy of the information, she bites her lip. Temptation to check it out for herself, to know that she can finally close this case, almost wins out but she refrains. All her client wants is the information. What they do with it after is up to them and the last thing she needs is bad reviews or word of mouth telling everyone that she inserted herself deeper into personal matters than she was hired for. 

Rolling her shoulders and cracking her fingers, Emma takes a deep breath and opens her email again.

*

Hello Mr. Jones,

I am happy to inform you that I’ve received information regarding your brother’s whereabouts. I assume that you still wish to avoid discussing this over the phone but I feel this will be best shared in person rather than over email. Are you available to meet in the future to review the information further? Please let me know what times work best for you.

Emma Swan

Private Investigator

617-555-0810

P.S.: I really think we found him this time.

*

Ms. Swan,

I was delighted to see your email in my inbox this evening. I appreciate the hard work you’ve put into this case over the last two years and look forward to this newest development. Have you heard of Book & Bistro over on Chelsea Street by Constitution Marina? I’m available tomorrow at 3:30pm if that works well for you.

I cannot express my gratitude enough.

Jones

*

Emma did, in fact, know Book & Bistro. The small cafe near the harbor was where she sat while Henry interviewed for his after-school job. Its placement on the corner of a large building makes it the perfect viewing area for the boats coming into Boston. While she’s never lived anywhere that felt like home, being near the water is the closest she can get. It calms her and lets her weary bones melt into her seat.

Most of the walls of Book & Bistro are covered in bookcases filled with every genre imaginable. What doesn’t hold books holds plants, the greenery adding life to the bright and airy space to keep it from feeling sterile. It feels like a retreat and the perfect place to get lost in a sandwich and a book which was exactly what she did while she waited for her kid.

It’s exactly what she does now as she waits for Mr. Jones to show up for their meeting. She nabs A Christmas Carol off the shelf despite summer creeping just around the corner, nibbles on her BLT, and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

She checks her watch repeatedly, the minute hand slowly bringing her into the next hour. The door opens but no one even glances around the shop looking to meet someone. His email to her is the first thing she sees when she unlocks her phone, double checking the date and time. 

Everything is correct. Mr. Jones should be here. The man spent months trying to get her to take his case, emailing her and even calling her one time, his accent distracting her just enough during the call that she missed his first name. (Things snowballed from there and she’s been too embarrassed and stubborn to ask for it since.)

Mr. Jones apparently had tools at his disposal to look into the search for his brother but couldn’t use them himself. Legal reasons, he had supplied and she shrugged it off. A good quarter of her clients are either hiring her from jail or have a record that any misstep could send them back. Who is she to judge with a record of her own?

Most of her means to find someone are legal, now easily figured out through social media postings. But she does have a few underhanded tricks that skirt the line of legality that any straight-laced person would shy from. 

Sighing, she checks her phone again and texts Henry that she’ll be home in twenty minutes. He’s off from his job today and should be arriving at their apartment any moment now.

With any other client, Emma would’ve left a half hour ago but she decides to wait a few more minutes still.

Standing someone up doesn’t seem to be in Mr. Jones’ nature yet it’s the exact situation she finds herself in. It’s not the first time Emma’s been left in the dust by a client and it won’t be the last, but Mr. Jones’ guilt-ridden emails and pleas to find his brother leaves her surprised. She trusts her gut, her instinct being the only thing that’s kept her alive, off the streets, and away from jail again in the time since she left juvie. It tells her that his search is genuine and she can trust him.

She guesses even her gut isn’t infallible.

Pushing out of her chair and cleaning her space, Emma exits the bistro. She passes by a few emergency vehicles on the scene of an accident of sorts, nothing that uncommon in such a big city, and nods to the police officers she recognizes as she walks towards her car a block away. She calls Henry to let him know she’ll be longer than her twenty minute text message originally said. Sitting in traffic, she types up a quick email to ask Mr. Jones where he was today and if there was another meeting time that would work better before hitting send and turning up the radio to distract herself from the long ride home.

*

The apartment is quiet when she opens the door. Her keys clatter to the misshapen bowl Henry made in art class last year that sits in their entryway as she kicks off her shoes. It’s blue and doesn’t sit quite right but it reminds her of the art projects he brought home in kindergarten so she keeps it out even though he begs her not to.

“Mom, please,” he says. Clean room, nice shirt, and cologne - all signs that he was nervous about Violet coming over for their study date. “Can you please put that away?” He gestures to the bowl on the entryway table and reaches for it.

“Uh, no,” she responds. She softly slaps his hands away and stands in front of her new prized possession.

“But Violet is in my art class. She’ll know that it isn’t some project I made as a little kid. It’s embarrassing.”

“Well, if you want her to like all of you then that includes your minimal artistic talents. Seriously, stick with words, kid. Your writing more than makes up for your pottery.”

He whines and Emma imagines him stomping his feet like he did when he was small. “Moooooom.”

A sharp knock on the door interrupts them and she watches her son stand up straight and hold his head up high. He nervously runs his hands down his shirt and checks the mirror over Emma’s shoulder before giving her a look. It screams ‘Please go away’ and she decides to be merciful and hide in the kitchen as her son opens the door for his first study date.

The only thing she hears is Violet’s giggle and melodious voice as she comments, “Aw, it’s sweet your mom loves it so much she keeps it out here.”

Coming home to silence was an adjustment this year. Once Henry got his afterschool job to supplement his Fortnite addiction, often heading straight to the nearby harbor once class let out, Emma found the quiet of their apartment to be her companion more often than her son. 

When summer break starts, Henry will only be home for a few days before leaving for the six-week writing program the University of Southern California is hosting for high schoolers.

It’s the longest they’ve been apart since she was in juvie. She’s tried to prepare herself for it as best she can, taking less cases while he’s home so she can busy herself once he leaves. But she knows she’s going to be lost without him and it’s not a concept she wants to deal with until he goes off to college. If then.

She shifts the pizza boxes from one hand to the other and calls for her kid only for him to come bounding out of his room with excitement clear on his face.

“Okay, hear me out,” he begins and Emma cries out internally. Henry’s taken up the habit of searching the Best of cities and searching how the housing market there compares with their budget. She’s not sure if it’s from an unstable life or his thirst for an adventure like the ones he reads in his books, but it’s becoming clear that her son doesn’t have a reason to care much for Boston. Especially after things with Violet fizzled out to just friends.

Oh God, is he trying to run from a breakup like she’d done?

Emma puts the pizza on the island, clear of yesterday’s paperwork which sits collected in a haphazard pile next to the microwave, and gives Henry her full attention as he holds his hands out in front of him like he’s calming a dangerous animal.

“How do you feel about the U.S. Virgin Islands?”

*

Five and a half weeks later…

She’s been ghosted by clients before. It’s unsurprising, given what so many of them hire her to investigate, but she’s never had a client wait two years for information just to drop their communication the moment she announces she has the final piece of the puzzle. Especially when the client is Mr. Jones.

But she brushes it off as best she can and takes on the easy cases of cheating spouses that she can work on while Henry finishes his sophomore year. 

It becomes a painless routine for her. 

Wake up, check apartment listings, see Henry off to school, follow scumbag spouse to insert seedy motel here and snap a few pics of them with a coworker, prostitute, or neighbor.  The stakeouts are boring and she’s run out of podcasts to listen to but she keeps a vigilant eye out for movement. Apartment hunting is a pain and she’s often beaten to the lease signing by another renter. 

And then Henry leaves and she surrounds herself with work. Her kid sends her sporadic video updates from the other side of the country between their lunchtime phone calls, Emma filling her calendar with cases after clearing it up for some mother-son bonding time before he left. Cardboard boxes have joined her lonely companionship with the apartment’s silence and, for someone who spent so much of her life alone, she feels empty. Having Henry consumed her entire life for the past 16 years in the best way possible. But now she doesn’t know how to have a life outside of him and his weeks away have left her floundering.

Now her main purpose lies with condensing their belongings into boxes and trying to make sure she can keep a roof over their heads. If it means swallowing her pride and signing for another year at the higher rate just so her kid doesn’t get an inkling of the uncertainty she faced at his age, it’d be worth it. All it would mean is more cases.

It’s right as her work email alerts her to a new message that Boston PD detective David Nolan gives her a call.

She knows him best from her time as a bail bondsperson when they first moved to Boston before starting her own business. He was her receiving officer more times than she can count and, according to Instagram, recently celebrated the birth of his first kid.

“Hey, David,” Emma says absentmindedly as she maneuvers her way through the growing pile of boxes. “How’s Baby Nolan?” Hearing from him is certainly a surprise, especially with a newborn at home. He’s probably wondering when she can come over for dinner one of these days. His wife insists that she and Henry join them for dinner at least once a month, though that went to the wayside with the baby along the way.

“Not letting us get any sleep, so good. Do you still need a place to stay?” David’s voice, despite sounding worn and worried, offered a pillar of strength she needed amongst her own stresses.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been holding out on a mansion just outside of the city.”

His chuckle reaches her ears and warms her chest. David’s the only man that’s never set off any alarms from her superpower and while their communication has become limited as of recently, his presence in her life is still that of a protective big brother. “Not a mansion, but definitely a place to stay for now.”

Emma perks up, her back straightening. “I’m listening. What’s the catch?”

“It’s being sublet on a month by month basis. And there’s a bit of construction on pause at the moment.” 

“Meaning?”

“The owner was renovating when they ran into an unexpected incident and won’t be able to resume work anytime soon.”

Immediately, her shoulders drop. She’s not sure which condition is worse - living in uncertainty on a month by month basis or dealing in a stopped construction site. “I wouldn’t suggest this place to you unless I thought it could work,” David says soothingly. “It belongs to a family I know and they’re only asking for enough so it could help cover some of the taxes when they’re due in December.”

Emma sucks in a breath as David describes the home. Nestled in Storybrooke, a small area compiled of a couple of blocks in Nahant, the house sits at the end of a street right on the water. It has plenty of bedrooms that she won’t have to deal with any of the areas of construction and the view is incredible. Most importantly, the rent is cheaper than what she’s paying now.

“I’m in.”

*

“Kid,” Emma huffs, ear pressed to her shoulder to hold her phone as she hobbles through the front door with a box in hand. “This place is gorgeous. Half-finished, but gorgeous. I swear, David’s friend has to be a millionaire to get this property.”

Henry’s response is muddled between bites of cheesy puffs. His words only become clear once he swallows. “Think you’ll still be renting it when I finish up in three weeks?”

“Yeah kid,” she groans as she drops the box in the foyer, eyes glancing around to the kitchen and dining room to her left and the expansive living room to her right. From the way the house is positioned on the lot, nearly every window has a view of the ocean. In fact, the view from the living room’s bay window is her favorite. “We’ll have at least one week left by then before they realize how cheap they’re renting it for and decide to kick us out next month.”

“Mom,” Henry starts. She can tell he’s grinning by the way his voice changes, amused by her pessimism. “Have a little hope. Just a tiny bit.”

“You know you’ve got all the hope in the family,” she teases. “We balance each other out.”

He laughs and starts to say something before she hears chattering in the background. “Lunch is over so I’ve gotta go. Love you!”

“Love you too, kid.”

She smiles small, a gesture all for herself, as she puts her phone on the window seat. How lucky is she to have a kid like Henry? A kid who enjoys spending time with her and calling her while he’s away. Who isn’t afraid to tell her he loves her and when he misses her.

Taking a deep breath in, she looks around the living room.

This is what she wants to give her kid. The same thing she’s wanted for so long.

A home.

“The boxes won’t come in themselves…” she whispers to herself, sighing as she turns to head out to the U-Haul she rented.

Only she stops in her tracks, eyes wide and breath stolen for her as a man stands in the foyer just feet from her, open door behind him. Dressed in black leather pants, a billowing black shirt, matching velvet vest, and a black leather duster, his scruff looks artifully shaved and his blue eyes pierce into her soul. When she thinks back on this moment later, she’ll admit that the man is pure sin. A delectable treat for the eyes. But for now, she yells in surprise and rushes to grab a nearby object, the only one being a lamp. She pulls it hard into her hand, yanking the plug from the socket.

“Bloody hell!” the man yells at her. “What are you doing in my house?!”

“Your house?!” Emma nearly shrieks. “This isn’t your house!”

“Like hell it isn’t! I bought it specifically for that view there!” the stranger yells back. It’s only when he raises his left hand to point at the window behind her that she realizes he has no left hand at all. Instead, a hook protrudes from a cuff around his wrist. Her heart pounds as he leaves the hook arm up and steps closer, eyebrows furrowed in a menacing gaze. “I don’t know who you believe you are lass, but you better get off my - ”

Fight or flight instinct kicks in and Emma chooses both. She darts forward, right arm pulling back before launching forward in a punch. The action cuts off his sentence, his startled surprise at her movement the only sound she hears. Except he must have stepped back because her punch doesn’t land.

However, her escape out the open front door is now clear and she rushes past the stranger, down the porch steps and into her U-Haul. Kitchen pots and pans be damned, she can buy new ones.

*

Emma sits in the driver’s seat of the U-Haul as she watches the house, one hand on the ignition and the lamp resting in the passenger seat. The mystery man, however, never comes out. There’s something about him that doesn’t allow her to leave so she waits.

David arrives a half hour later, rushing out his patrol vehicle and to her driver’s side door in a heartbeat.

“Emma, are you okay?” he asks, eyes rovering over her person to assess any injuries.

She glares at him as she unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out of the car. Technically it’s David’s fault she’s in this mess. He was the one who had a friend that had a place. A place where herself and Henry were supposed to be the only occupants of. If this actually turns out to be a roommate situation with all of the bedrooms rented out, she is gonna kill him then leave. “I’m fine but I thought you said the house was empty. I need you to talk to the crazy guy in there to find out if I’m out of a place or if he needs to leave.”

“And you’re sure you’re fine?”

“Yes, David, I’m fine. Now go fix this, please.”

David rolls his shoulders and sighs, turning to head into the house with one hand resting on his gun. Aside from the fact hers is safely packed away, the last thing she would ever want is something else on her record. Things are hard enough as it is.

Silence fills the area by the truck and her continual glances around the property doesn’t show any movement or the stranger making a run for it. So she waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And honestly, if David isn’t out within the next two minutes then she’s going in, stranger be damned and–

As if reading her mind, David steps out of the house and makes his way to her side.

“All clear,” he says, hands on his hips. “No one is inside.”

“Where did he go then? No one has left,” she says, crossing her arms.

“Well, there’s always the ocean.” His joking grin is merely met with a glare so he clears his throat. “What did the gentleman look like again?” he asks, pulling up the notes app on his phone.

“Dressed in all leather, looked like a pirate.” She swallows hard before saying the next part. She knows she’s not crazy – she knows what she saw. But that doesn’t mean he won’t think she is. “And he had a hook for a hand.”

David immediately stops. He stares at his screen for a moment before his eyes meet Emma’s, scrutinizing her. Judgment complete, a sort of glee lights up his eyes, smirk playing on his lips, and she inwardly groans. “Are you telling me that Captain Hook is haunting your temporary housing?”

��I’m being serious,” she insists, slapping his arm as he begins to giggle. “I saw someone in there. They are real.”

“I didn’t see anyone. I can guarantee you that the owner won’t be around anytime soon. Are you sure you saw someone and you’re not just tired?”

She is exhausted but she trusts her gut and she knows she wasn’t alone. “David.”

The look David gives her is full of sympathy and it makes her want to cry. It took her a long time to discern the difference between sympathy and pity but David gets her and knows that pity would be the last thing she ever needed. “Look, I think you’ll be safe here tonight. Just remember to lock all your doors and windows. If you want, you can always stay on my couch until you find someplace new. You’d just have to take over my diaper changing turns.”

Emma snorts, a small smile making its way onto her face. “Nice try but no.”

“Do you want me to set up my patrol car out here and keep an eye out?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s not necessary. I’ll just stay here tonight.” She adds, without any convincing, “I’m sure you’re right and I’m just tired.

He gives her a look like he doesn’t think there’s anything to look into but she ignores it. Aside from the situation with Mr. Jones, her gut hasn’t led her astray in over a decade. If it tells her that what she saw wasn’t nothing then she’s sticking with it.

The night passes slowly. She sits on the bay window, Henry’s old baseball bat in hand, and keeps an eye out for movement in the backyard while she listens for footsteps in the house. The lamp is back in its spot on the end table but she doesn’t turn it on. Instead, flames flicker from the fireplace casting a dull light over the room. There’s no furniture in the house yet, just the end table and its lamp, but she thinks this is the kind of place people make a home.

It’s quiet on the water, the waves calmly lapping against the bulkheads in a way that’s so soothing she nearly falls asleep sitting up. She catches herself being mesmerized by the glow of the moonlight on the ocean and stifles her yawns until the sun comes up.

By the time early morning rolls around, she checks all the doors and windows again before going upstairs to where her air mattress sits on the floor of the primary bedroom. Catching a few hours of sleep before David inevitably checks on her is all she can think about now.

*

Sweat trickles down her back from the July heat as she continues unpacking the U-Haul. The rental is only for another 24 hours so she needs to be done by then, even if it means paying Will in beer to get him to come move a few things for her. 

The first thing she did when she woke up was take out her gun. It sits holstered on her hip and she keeps one eye out for the mystery man’s appearance as she pulls tables and chairs from the truck but it’s been quiet since she woke. 

It’s not until an hour later that she sees him. The sun glints off of the water creating a glare in her vision for just a moment but it’s long enough for the man to appear.

“Hey!” she yells, pulling her gun out and aiming it towards him. Her thumb sits on the safety, ready to flick it off at a moment’s notice. “What are you doing here?!”

“Lass,” he nearly groans, glare etched deep in his features. “We covered this yesterday. This is my home so it’ll be in your best interests if you leave now.”

“You’re the one who needs to leave.”

“Don’t make me get rid of you. Leave now.”

At his threat, the safety comes off and her pointer finger sits on the trigger. “Or what?” She knows that she’s egging him on, daring him even, but she won’t let him scare her.

He steps closer, hooked arm pointed towards her from his side, and drops his voice low. “Or I will forcibly escort you off my property. It won’t be pretty.”

“Stay back.” Steady voice and still hands, she continues aiming the gun at this Captain Hook figure even as she steps away from him.

The man merely laughs and rolls his eyes. “You’re not going to shoot me.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“Because if you were going to then I’d already be dead.”

“Try me and we can find out.”

He growls as he speaks, saying, “Get. Off. My. Property.”

“No.”

“I tried to be nice, lass,” he says, resigned and angry. He moves towards her, hooked arm extending to her person and in a flurry of motion, she pulls the trigger.

Vibrations run up and down her arms as she stares down the man in front of her. All that echoes is the sound of the gunshot. There’s no gurgling sound that she’s heard before as someone drowns in their own blood, there’s no gasping for last breaths, there’s no thud of a body collapsing to the ground. Her aim is impeccable, constantly getting bullseyes at the shooting range. So how could she miss?

“Bloody buggering fuck! Did you just fucking shoot me?!” he yells in disbelief, head tipping down to glance at his person in a hurry before glaring at her.

“Why aren’t you hurt?” she says, mostly to herself. Worry and fear seep into her voice and she doesn’t bother masking it as the shock overwhelms her. There was absolutely no way she missed.

“I can’t believe you shot me!”

Emma snaps out of her daze at that. Blinking, she moves her gaze to meet his.

“Of course I shot you!” she yells back, eyes narrowing on the man in front of her who has trespassed on the property twice and threatened her. Neither of them have moved which is fine with her because she doesn’t think her shaky legs can hold her weight at the moment.

“What do you mean of course?!”

“You threatened me with that!” She throws her arm not still holding the gun in the direction of his left arm, the hook shining under the July sun.

His eyebrows pinch together in anger as he holds it up for her to see, his words attacking her like it was a ridiculous assumption to make on her part. “You mean my hook? It’s practically my left hand now, love. I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

“How was I supposed to know that after everything you said,” she shoots back. Then her nose scrunches up in annoyance. “And I’m not your love.”

The man has the audacity to roll his eyes at her and in a huff, she points out that he’s fine so clearly she missed.

“Oh but you were so close,” he says through clenched teeth and a narrow gaze. “Felt the wind like it went right through me.” It takes a moment for his words to register and it fully sinks in once he moves to pace, ranting about her and how she needs to leave but he won’t go near her lest she shoot him again.

Blinking wildly, she looks at the mystery man and notices the inconsistency in the shed behind him. Right behind where he stood just moments before, the white shed is marred with a black spot. Sparing him one more glance, Emma puts the safety back on and tucks her gun back into her hip holster, marching right by Hook to inspect the shed.

A hiss escapes her mouth as her fingers gingerly touch the metal of the shed only to pull them back immediately from the residual heat. Definitely her bullet then. Which means she didn’t miss Hook. So how isn’t he hurt?

A low whistle from just behind her rings in her ear and she stiffens, refusing to let the man know that he was able to sneak up on her. Instead, she keeps her eyes trained on the bullet she embedded on the shed of the house she was renting.

Fuck.

She was definitely going to have to pay for this and get the homeowner a new shed.

“You’re going to have to replace that,” the man says. Ignoring the way that his accent sends chills down her spine, she plants her hands on her hips as she faces him, one eyebrow raised.

“I didn’t ask for your commentary.”

“You’re a bit of an open book to me, love,” he says, the cheeky tone only making her want to shoot him point blank. He shouldn’t even be this close to her but for some reason she’s allowing it. Instead, she lets her other eyebrow rise up and her lack of amusement be clear on her face.

“Still not your love,” she comments, rolling her eyes. “Now leave or next time I won’t miss.”

“Ah, ah. That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not leaving my own property.”

Biting back a groan, Emma starts. “Listen here you – ”

Except her words get caught in her throat as she pokes her finger at his chest just for it to go through him.

What. The. Fuck.

The two of them stand in shock as Emma’s finger remains half inside the man’s chest. His body starts to glow around the area and she swears she can see right through him to the grass beneath their feet. It’s as if he’s becoming transparent before her eyes and she feels the blood drain straight from her face.

She really is being haunted by Captain Hook.

“Wh-what did you do to me?” Captain Hook asks with a shaky voice, his eyes fixated on her finger. She rips her finger out of his chest and the only thing she feels is a cool embrace along her skin. 

“I - I didn’t do anything,” she stutters. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to argue, maybe call her a witch and demand she be burned at the stake or something, and she hates how she notices how this centuries old pirate, who probably didn’t even practice good oral hygiene while he was alive, has better teeth than her. She swallows to bring her focus back and manages to get out the words that neither of them can believe. “I think you’re a ghost.”

*

She hasn’t seen Hook since her realization the other day.

He had denied it, of course. Who wants to accept the fact that they’re dead and stuck as a ghost anyway? They spit words at each other, nasty words, and she may have wished him eternal damnation in hell, but he clearly wasn’t accepting the fact he died so maybe she could just scare him off.

Emma, though, isn’t one to take her chances. So after Hook turned and walked off – quite literally disappearing into nothingness as the sun glare from the ocean became too much – she figures that the best course of action is to discover what she should do the next time he appears. Because clearly he has some unfinished business with the property. Maybe treasure buried somewhere on it?

When she decides that her best course of research will be in obscure books that the library would take a few weeks to procure for her, she sets her sights elsewhere. Her growling stomach brings her back to Book & Bistro two days after the incident, the Reuben sandwich on their menu practically singing to her.

Belle, a short woman in tower-high heels, sensible skirt, and floral blouse rings her up before asking if she needs help finding a book to read while she eats. 

“Actually,” Emma begins. Her eyes dart around the shop like she can’t believe she’s doing this but she sucks it up and asks anyway. “Do you have any books about ghosts? Err, getting rid of them specifically.”

Belle flits around the shop like she could navigate the shelves with her eyes closed, brown curls flying behind her.  Something on her face must show her admiration when she’s handed a book for her small but growing pile. “I own the place,” the short brunette explains.

“Ah.”

“You might have to skip through a few passages but these four will have the most information regarding your concern.” Her smile is as white as it is wide and Emma can hear Henry in her head, joking that he’ll need sunglasses if she grins that big again. 

Emma doesn’t realize she has a guest at her table until she takes a bite of her sandwich and glances up only to find Hook sitting opposite her. “Shit,” she murmurs between coughs, clearing her throat of the caught pieces of Reuben deliciousness. “What the hell are you doing here?” she hisses. No one in the cafe seems to be paying attention to her anymore after her coughing fit but she still doesn’t want to be seen as a crazy person. Belle’s inquisitive tilt of her head is her limit.

Still, Emma picks up her phone and holds it against her ear before turning to face Hook.

She doesn’t know why she expects him to be wearing something other than his pirate getup but he’s not. Dying in leather must mean one stays in leather as a ghost. Hopefully there’s no chaffing in the afterlife.

Ignoring the curiosity dancing across his features, Emma leans forward on the table under the pretext of studying one of her books.

“You haven’t answered me yet,” she whispers.

“Sorry love. I’m simply mesmerized by your skills,” he answers, part cheeky, part sarcasm, fully charming. His hook reaches forward as it to tap the phone and Emma holds her breath, eyeing it cautiously. She realizes now what an asshole she was, assuming that the hook was only there as a torture device and not something that was actually useful to have while on a ship.

Yes, she did her research, thank you very much. None of which ever mentioned Captain Hook being real.

“But I am here,” he continues and Emma blinks before meeting his gaze. “Because when you left today, I felt a tether linking myself to you. I was curious to test out its limits and surrendered to the pull. The next moment, I’m in the doorway of this fine establishment,” he breaks off for a second, a strange look on his face as he glances around Book & Bistro before he shakes his head and continues. “And you’re over here. I’ve felt small instances of this tether before, but never like this. And it never let me leave the property before too.”

She knows he’s telling the truth. Or at least her gut seems to think he is. Completely off her rocker or not, her gut rarely steers her wrong – Thanks Mr. Jones for ruining that streak – and it is not detecting a single lie.

“What, pray tell, are you doing here with all these lovely tomes instead of, say, at the library?” He lifts one eyebrow, an enticing look that has her leaning into his space subconsciously before she catches herself and looks at the pages before her.

“I am finding out ways to get rid of you.”

“Oi, don’t make me sound like a terrible houseguest,” he says, leaning back in his chair and tilting his chin up at her. “At least I don’t shoot other people.”

“Oh my god.”

She ignores his chuckles and spends the rest of the afternoon huddled at her table, Hook browsing over her shoulder on occasion. He disappears sometimes, where to, she has no clue, but then he comes back when she thinks of him or feels like she’s made a breakthrough and she’s not sure how to handle that. How does a ghost even get tethered to a stranger? Do they need to break the tether first before helping him move on or stop haunting the house? Her head starts to pound by the time the dinner rush comes in and she makes the executive decision to go home, Hook following or not, she doesn’t care.

*

So far she’s found no information about the tether and it leaves Emma stumped. She sure as hell doesn’t want to do anything that might hurt her. Self-preservation sits in her arsenal of survival instincts, always near the top and ready to be called on.

Unpacking had originally been her method to clear her mind. When she’s finished all of that – mainly the essentials because who knows when they’d have to leave this gorgeous home – she explores. Most of the first floor is done, the kitchen completely remodeled with light wood floors, a pale forest green on the cabinets, butcher block countertops, and the cutest white retro fridge and stove. There’s a room just to the left of the front door with windows lining all three walls. Bookcases fill the walls against the hallway and foyer, and she realizes within moments of entering that it’s a study of sorts, though the chair at the desk still looks brand new.

The rest of the floor is a gorgeous remodel that keeps the house’s original charm, from the window seat in the turret outcove to the brickwork scaling half the wall the fireplace is on, every inch of the house makes her jaw drop. That is, until she makes her way to the third floor.

The bedrooms on the second floor are in perfect condition, and the bathrooms hold the same exquisite marble slabs in the shower and subway tile backsplash by the sink. However, the third floor remains unfinished, exposed studs not clearly separating the area into defined spaces and the bathroom on this floor sits just as unfinished as the rest. Boxes of subway tile sit on the floor, supplies in front of the sink and only a few tiles actually on the way. It’s like whoever lived here before her just disappeared out of thin air.  

So when she needs to contemplate what to do and she’s unpacked everything she can, she stands in the bathroom. Is it overstepping if she’s helping the owner finish what he started? Technically, she’d be a big help. Besides, one of her foster fathers worked in construction and brought her to the site to hang in the trailers when he couldn’t find a babysitter.

(Truthfully he didn’t care what she did as long as nothing interfered with his checks so she sat in on the tilers in the kitchen.)

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Emma hates to admit it but his sudden appearance makes her jump. Being a ghost and all, Hook doesn’t make any footsteps to warn of his arrival. He’s not even corporeal enough for her to attach a bell to.

“Yes,” she grinds out, putting all of her focus and then some on placing the tile in her hand onto the wall. In all honesty, she’s just glad she didn’t drop the tile. Knowing her luck, the contractor would have only bought enough to make no mistakes and it’d have been a super rare subway tile that’s been discontinued. Because, if the ghost haunting her new dwelling isn’t evidence enough, that’s the kind of luck she has.

“Your video device is proof of that?” He nods to her phone propped up on the counter playing a YouTube video.

“That’s it!” she exclaims in anger after pressing the tile on. “I am going to get rid of you even if it’s the last thing I do!”

“Last thing you do? Is that you wanting to spend an eternity with me, love?”

She can hear the smirk on his face in the way he presents his flirtations and it just makes her groan as she gets up and makes her way down the stairs to her room, but not before yelling out behind her. “And I’m not your love!”

*

The exorcist is first. Father Gold isn’t from a local church, as none of the ones in the immediate area have a priest readily available to perform such a task, but he comes dressed in his black robes and collar, a bottle of holy water in one hand and a silver crucifix in the other.

“Afternoon, Miss Swan,” Father Gold starts. She hears an echo of Hook in the kitchen practicing ‘Swan’ on his lips in different accents and it hits her that she never told him her name. Then Father Gold continues talking to explain what he’ll be doing. There’s an unease in her stomach as she listens, nodding along when appropriate.

At first, she thinks it’s because she feels bad for doing this to Hook. He’s not a bad guy, she’s come to accept. Just because he’s a nuisance doesn’t mean that she wants him to be melted with holy water. Still, she doesn’t interrupt Father Gold’s preparations.

It’s not until he starts (“May the power of Christ compel you!”) that she realizes the pit in her stomach is from Father Gold himself. He sweats like a sinner in church and from the way he stumbles over his introductory prayers, she initially puts it all down to nerves. She’s heard the stories, the difficulties of such tasks, but there’s something else with him. Something slimy about Father Gold.

“Have you even vetted your exorcist, Swan?”

Emma turns her head to see Killian standing beside her and watching as the priest holds his crucifix up near the fridge, the complete opposite side of the house they’re standing at, and waving his bottle of holy water in the air. Water droplets fall onto the wood and she can see Hook wince from the corner of her eye.

“You know you’re wiping that up, right? Too much water on these floors and it’ll warp the hardwoods.”

“Shut up,” she says from the corner of her mouth. Neither of them move from their spot, watching as Father Gold’s prayers increase in volume and passion and Emma’s face twists in disgust. “Is he even trying?” she asks herself, jumping slightly when she hears Hook’s snickering from her side.

She ignores him, refraining only just from rolling her eyes, and instead thanks the priest for his time once he’s finished, handing over the money donation for the church that Father Gold looks too eager to collect.

“You realize he was the one who needed an exorcism, right?”

“Shut up, Hook.”

“As you wish,” Hook begins, his gaze quickly darting down to the paperwork on the kitchen table. “Emma Swan.”

She likes the way his tongue works over every individual letter of her name. It’s like he caresses each letter like they’re his lover and it leaves her flushed, wondering what other things his tongue can do. Filing that thought away for later, she heads to her current bedroom, one that was probably Hook’s long ago, and makes her next call.

*

Zelena, the medium someone recommended on the NextDoor app, is as crazy as her curls suggest. Gorgeous red hair flows down her back in ringlets, the same kind of red Emma tried dying her hair to in middle school with Kool-Aid. The main difference lies in the fact that Zelena’s is completely natural… and that’s about the only positive thing she can say towards the woman.

The medium enters the house in a flourish, sniffing the air repeatedly before stopping in the living room. Hook eyes them suspiciously from where he lounges on the couch and Emma does all she can to not roll her eyes at his eyebrow raise. 

“Hmm…” Zelena says, sniffing the air again. “Yes, yes. There is definitely a spirit here.”

“Yeah, I know,” she deadpans. “That’s why I called you.”

“Oh,” the redhead says, a smirk growing on her features as she steps closer to the center of the living room. “It’s a young spirit. One of a man.”

Hook sits up from his seat on the couch, instantly intrigued. He looks past Zelena to her and says, “She knows what she’s talking about.”

Glaring at him, Emma turns to Zelena with her hands on her hips. “So how do I get rid of him?”

“Let yourself…” The medium pauses, running her hands up and down her boy in frantic yet sensual motions. “Be free with him.”

Like the cat that caught the canary, Hook’s grin is wide and his eyes keep darting to her face but she refuses to acknowledge the flush that’s taken over her skin. Blaming it on anger seems like the easiest escape route. “You’re not seriously suggesting I offer myself up for ghost sex?!” 

“Oh, I like her.”

“It seems that your ghost has some pent up issues,” Zelena says.

Crossing her arms, Emma glares at Hook, eyes sharp as daggers. “Clearly.” The pirate merely smirks and leans back into the couch again.

“I have reason to believe that he is… emotionally constipated, if you will.” It takes every ounce of acting ability that she’s honed over her years of bail-bonding and private investigating to not laugh out loud at the way that Hook’s face drops. “His inability to connect with someone of flesh before he passed on is preventing him from moving on. He regrets his failure to experience that action.”

Fighting to keep the amusement out of her voice is a spectacular failure but not one that Emma cares much for losing. She eyes Zelena and just barely keeps her smirk at bay. “So you’re actually suggesting I take a ghost’s virginity?”

“Why yes, dearie, exactly that.”

“Swan! She doesn’t know what she’s talking about!”

Emma grins wide at her and places her hands over her heart, an attempt to look far more sincere than she is. “I’m so glad you know what you’re talking about.”

She steps aside and watches as Zelena prances around the living room, herbs and incense being waved about as the medium speaks to the ghost in her living room, asking him to open himself to them. Said ghost sulks in his seat, glaring at the redhead while he interjects every few sentences to assure her that while he’s not certain of many things, he’s certain he’s very practiced when it comes to enjoyable activities with a woman on her back.

Handing Zelena the fee for her appointment feels a lot like handing money to Father Gold. Both with underhanded motives and slimy smiles and ugh she just hopes their tactics work and are only experiencing a temporary delay, and she’ll wake up tomorrow with Captain Hook out of the house.

“For your information love,” Hook starts the moment Zelena leaves. He practically jumps out of the chair as he approaches the foyer where she stands, looking at her from under his eyelashes, tongue sneaking out to wet his bottom lip. “While I am no blushing deckhand, she may have had a point about – ”

“Absolutely not,” Emma cuts him off, face screwing up in disgust. “Entertain yourself with your hook instead.”

There has to be another option.

*

She has gone crazy. That is the only reason she actually scheduled an appointment with so-called ‘Ghostbusters’.

Greg and Tamara walk around the first floor of the house, the black machines strapped over the shoulders of their tan jumpsuits humming loudly and emitting various beeps at random. Hook stands by the bay window, eyes trained on the ocean just beyond the glass. He looks at ease there. Tension leaves his shoulders and if he could breathe, she imagines him taking long, deep breaths.

Much like the previous attempts, the two she’s dubbed as Ghostbusters Lite have no clue what they’re doing. They yell to each other from opposite sides of the first floor about the readings on their machines. The two of them inch closer to her basement door and Hook just raises his eyebrow at her like he can’t believe they’re actually letting these two go through with their scheme.

Greg and Tamara join at the basement door and do a show of yelling, shaking, and lights from their machines before they finally stop and take heaving breaths. “I believe we’ve got ‘em,” Tamara says as she wipes an imaginary bead of sweat from her forehead.

“Oh?” Emma says with feigned interest. She makes a show of a slow perusal of the first floor, narrowing her eyes only fractually as Hook remains by the window giving her the most unimpressed look she’s ever seen.

“Still here, love.”

“Yeah!” Emma suddenly says, grinning wide at Ghostbusters Lite as she digs in her purse. “I think you did too! Thank you!”

She hands the money to Greg and he counts it in front of her, his eyebrows furrowing as he sees she gave him the exact amount they agreed upon. “What? No tip?”

*

She refuses to tell David.

The last thing she needs is to have him concerned that she needs to do a stint under medical supervision for hallucinations. God, and she doesn’t need him laughing at her attempts to be rid of the ghost of Captain Hook.

Henry, however, is a different story.

“Is the place really haunted?” he asks the next afternoon after she lets slip about Ghostbusters Lite and their complete failure.

“I - uh,” Emma looks over at Hook standing in the bay window again, hand and hook clasped behind his back and posture straight as a board. “Yeah, kid, it is. But I’m trying to get rid of it.”

“Why?” She knows she shouldn’t, and she wouldn’t have if they weren’t over the phone, but she smiles at the whine in her son’s voice. For as much as he’s growing up, it reminds her of when he was younger and wanted to stay up to read just one more chapter, one more comic book, play one more level on his video game. Now he doesn’t have a bedtime, acting as self-sufficient as any adult. “Ghosts are cool,” he tries to reason. “Plus, it’s perfect writing inspiration when I get back. I could totally turn this into a science-fiction book or a horror novel. Mom, please don’t get rid of the ghost!”

“Henry,” she warns. “There is no way that I am going to let a ghost hang around the house annoying me – ”

“ – I beg your pardon! – ” Hook chimes in.

“Just because it might serve as inspiration for a book. Nice try kid, but no.”

“Moooooom!”

“I said no. Now,” she sinks down into the couch, happy she’s pulled the curtains back on the French doors so she can see the calming ocean waves from her perch, “tell me how your workshops are going.”

*

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“What are you talking about? I’m doing it just fine.”

“You’ve messed up the pattern, love.”

“No, I haven’t. I’m following the pattern exactly.”

“Yes, if whoever’s planning this work wants that wall’s design to be backwards.”

“Ughhhh!” 

Emma stands up in a quick motion, hastily pulling her gloves off and throwing them to the floor. She angrily swipes at the hair that’s falling out of her bun and into her face and glares at Hook. If he weren’t dead already, he would be from the way her gaze burns him to the core.

“I am done! I don’t know how I’m doing it and I don’t care but I will be rid of you!” she shouts to the ghost relaxing against the third floor bathroom framework. “Come on now, Hook, don’t be shy. Tell me your unfinished business so you can leave me alone.”

He snarls, pushing himself off of his perch and standing straight. “No. I am not leaving my house, be it in my life or in my death.”

“Well you’re going to have to because I am not going to entertain a ghost for my summer!”

“Then you can leave!”

“You’re the one who needs to leave! Go find the light or the fiery pits of hell, I don’t care! Choose one and go!”

“I DON’T KNOW HOW TO!”

His chest heaves as if he’s struggling to breathe and she watches as he swipes his thumb against his lips, fury coming off of him in waves. For as much as their first interactions were full of yelling, she’s never heard him shout like this. With so much pain and anger. Not at her, though, but at himself. She imagines that this is the kind of feeling that he’d latch onto as a villainous pirate captain pillaging and plundering enemy ships. Vivid imagery of the hook coming out as a weapon rather than a hand comes to mind. He’d threaten his enemies with the point of the hook to their necks, use it to slice their stomachs open wide, dangle them from it over the side of the ship.

Blue eyes searching for the words he can’t bring forth, he drops his head in defeat. “I – I…” He makes a noise of frustration from the back of his throat. “There are things that I know and I don’t know why I do. But I do. Frivolous things like Netflix and the hairdryer! But I don’t recall a damned thing about my own life. Bloody hell, it’s like sailing through a fog.”

He paces back and forth in the unfinished third floor, tracing the steps again and again as he runs his fingers through his hair and taps his hook against his hip. 

“You clearly remember enough to criticize my tiling.” Except her joke doesn’t land. She’s never been one to know what to do in emotional situations. Growing up, no one was at her side or holding her hand through it. Henry she could handle because he’s her kid so it’s different. Still though, there are more than enough moments where she struggles through it. Emotional breakdowns from the ghost haunting her house? She has no clue what to do but put her foot in her mouth.

“No.” He stops his pacing to snarl at her, his upper lip twisted to bare his teeth. “You have no idea what it is like to see a tendril of what might have been your life and go after it just to have it slip through your fingers leaving you adrift.”

“You have to figure out how to remember so that you can move on!”

“Pray tell, how do I do that, Emma? Since you seem to know bloody well everything else!” His anger is met with silence because she doesn’t know how. How can she help a ghost from hundreds of years ago remember?

His voice becomes increasingly hysterical and desperate as he stalks towards her, fire ablaze in his eyes. “I have no bloody clue who the hell I am or anything about my life. So stop forcing me out of the one place I do know. Because I’m not leaving.”

It’s not like it’s her fault that he’s stuck as a ghost in limbo. She didn’t do anything to cause that and she’d appreciate it if he’d stopped acting like she did. 

Clenching her hands into tight fists at her side, she straightens her shoulders and stands tall. He will find that she can be defiant too. 

She imagines he plans on striding downstairs, his leather duster swishing behind him as he gets in the last word but she won’t allow it. Instead, she bitterly lets out, “Join the club,” and steps right past him.

*

Memories of her past don’t haunt her dreams anymore. Or at least, they haven’t in so long that she forgot what they are like.

Tonight, she revisits her time with the Langston family and the mother who could barely keep herself upright from how badly she ran herself ragged for the other foster kids they accepted and the father who would be more concerned with how many beer cases or cigarettes he could purchase with the state checks. Mrs. Langston tries her best and has good intentions at heart but Mr. Langston looks at them with dollar signs in his eyes and for some kids even worse thoughts. The worse she has ever gotten from Mr. Langston has been when he uses her as his ashtray.

Most times she’s able to dodge out of the way of the cigarette butt touching her skin, her clothes filling with holes and burn marks that she tells teachers are from her playing with matches (that’s more likely to get her to a different foster home than anything of truth). Once she’s not quick enough. She’s not paying attention and his hand comes down and he burns the skin below her collarbone with his cigarette and he holds it down there like he knows what he’s doing and wants to dig as deep into her skin as he can.

The pain is searing hot and steals her breath instantly. She’s 12 but her wails remind her of that of an infant’s. No one comes to her aid.

Mr. Langston finally lets up and tells her to shut up and she weeps silently as she makes her way to the bathroom to do what she can for the wound. Mr. Langston wouldn’t dare spend a moment for her well-being, much less a dollar for a trip to the doctor and she’s seen what he does to Mrs. Langston when he feels she’s stepped out of line.

So she grabs the ointment after doing what she can to clean the wound and applies it gently. Except it feels like it won’t stop hurting so she rubs harder and harder, ignoring the pain and the tears that spring to her eyes and the way that she feels like she’s drowning in her sobs. She rubs and rubs and rubs until she sees blood.

And then she wakes up.

She sits up in bed with a gasp and feels the lingering burning sensation from her dream over the skin below her collarbone.

“Does it hurt?”

Emma’s eyes dart up to see Hook sitting in the bay window in the bedroom. Situated directly above the one on the first floor, it offers up an even better view of the water. The only thing is that he’s not looking at the water but at her.

“Huh?” she asks.

“That,” he answers with a nod of his head towards her chest. Furrowing her eyebrows, she looks down a moment later to see she’s been absentmindedly rubbing at the scarred skin.

“Oh.” She forgets he’s there as she continues to gently rub the spot until he comes to sit beside her on the bed. “What are you doing?”

“How’d it happen?” His voice is quiet and Emma takes a moment to study him.

She thinks a part of the reason she so badly wants him to move on is because growing up, death meant freedom. Not that she ever did anything to herself, but she always viewed death as being the only time she’d find peace since life wasn’t granting her any growing up.

And then she had Henry and life with him, amidst all the chaos, is as close to peace as she’s ever felt.

But for when the day comes, she doesn’t want to be a ghost stuck in limbo without a clue of the past. She wants to be able to move on to resting for eternity and be at peace.

Taking her silence for hesitance, he speaks softly, the softest she has ever heard from him. She supposes that she must have been thrashing and yelling in her sleep, something she hasn’t done in over a decade, and even ghosts take pity on the living. “I don’t remember much but I do know wounds that are made when we’re young tend to linger.”

Hair slips over her shoulder, covering the burn mark, and she watches with baited breath as Hook acts on instinct, leaning forward and collecting the hair with his hook to push back over her shoulder. Except his hook doesn’t collect any hair, instead going right through it. He frowns and apologizes as he steps back, coughing awkwardly and scratching at the back of his ear while she sits up straighter in bed focusing on the cool, soothing sensation his action has left on her body. She can’t explain it but it was like she felt him in a way.

Her thoughts start to overwhelm her as they jump from one conclusion to another and she feels herself losing control. Clearing her throat, she brings her knees to her chest and looks over at Hook’s awkward form in the doorway. He turns, giving her his full attention.

“We’ll figure out how to get your memories back,” she promises quietly.

Hook’s answering grin is rueful as he says, “Aye.” Once he leaves the room, a heavy weight settles in her stomach. Emma just found a new white whale.

*

Her last correspondence with Mr. Jones sits at the top of her email, pinned for her convenience and curiosity. The fact the man just disappeared off of the face of the planet right when she gets the information he wants baffles her. Her unsolvable case has been solved and yet she’ll never be able to share it since Mr. Jones has decided to ghost her.

Ugh, between Captain Hook and Mr. Jones, she has enough ghosts in her life. 

She sends him one final email, wishing that he is well and that she has the information ready to be handed over when he returns from his absence, noting the final balance they agreed upon when she sent over contracts for her services two years ago. Hitting send, she takes a deep breath and decides to spend her afternoon researching how to help a ghost with no memories move on.

Search results focus on fighting one’s inner ghosts and famous ghosts in media; a part of her is hoping she’s been dreaming everything since her first return to Book & Bistro and this is her mind’s twisted take on A Christmas Carol but she knows that this is real. It’s as she’s reading through an article from a faux ghost hunting show that she gets an alert for a new email.

*

Hi Emma,

My name is Ruby Lucas and I was hoping you could help me with something. Do you have an office or somewhere that we can meet?

*

The two women agree to meet at Book & Bistro which, Emma realizes, is quickly becoming her go-to spot. She’d deny it if she had any real friends but part of her hopes to run into Mr. Jones here. Not that she knows what he looks like, but maybe it’ll be like fate and she can finally close the door on that case.

She takes a seat at one of the tables outside the lunch eatery, pulling out a chair beside her to put her bag on only to find Hook swiftly snatching it up as his own. She glares at him and drops her purse down anyway, smirking slightly at the oof from the weird feeling it caused as it went through him.

Ruby strolls up to the table moments later in skintight red jeans and black tank top, her black leather jacket making Emma sweat in the summer heat.

“Oh, she’s real,” Hooks says, his tone downright seductive as he licks his lips. A jumble of emotions play in her stomach, some that she doesn’t dare name, so she pushes them as far down as they’ll go and focuses on her annoyance.

“Really?” she deadpans. “We’re helping her solve her boyfriend’s murder.”

“Don’t worry, love,” Hook continues, the cheeky grin on his face growing as he notices the flush in her cheeks. “You’re still the most beautiful woman here.”

“Oh shove it.”

“Hi! Emma Swan, right?” Ruby’s cheery voice greets and Emma immediately stands, holding her hand out for the gorgeous woman to shake. 

“Yes, and you’re Ruby Lucas?”

“That’s me, unfortunately,” the black-haired beauty said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m sorry about Billy,” Emma offers.

Ruby’s smile is small and sad, her eyes glistening until she blinks the tears away. “Thanks, me too.”

She looks around the area, glad for the sounds of the boats to block their conversation from any outside observers, with Hook being the exception. Still, she leans forward when she speaks. “Can you tell me more about what’s going on?”

Ruby pulls strength from a well-fortified part inside of her as she tells Emma everything.

She’d been dating Billy for about a year and a half when he was killed and his former employer is starting to point fingers at her since her first, and only other, boyfriend also died. “A bee sting, believe it or not,” she shares, resigned to the heartbreak life has dealt her.

Billy was different though. No allergies, no drugs or rival gangs like what she ran into when she found her mother. Billy was as straight and narrow as they come, the sweetest man in the world, and who Ruby thought she’d spend her life with. Or so they both thought.

“You see, he’s a mechanic and was saving up to get his own garage. He wanted to be able to buy me a ring first though,” she says with a wistful smile. “So he got a second job transporting cars for this old guy. His company seemed legit – Billy always researched everything to a point where it could get annoying,” she huffs out a laugh, “but he wanted to be sure. And everything checked out.”

Tension flows over the table as Ruby looks down, fiddling with the rings on her fingers before she gathers the courage to continue. “Then one day he shows up dead in an alleyway and there’s no explanation. His boss keeps implying I hired someone to kill him to get his savings or some bullshit and the cops have questioned me three times already and I just know it has something to do with his job but I don’t know how to prove it. That’s why I need your help.”

The plea in Ruby’s voice hits her straight in the chest and Emma doesn’t even realize what she’s doing until she eyes Hook from beside her and he nods in agreement. She blinks and shakes her head, wondering when she started looking for him for his opinion and instead focuses on Ruby.

“What have you tried so far?”

“Don’t laugh, okay?” Ruby waits for her nod before continuing. “I can feel his presence around me sometimes. Like he hasn’t moved on yet and I don’t think he will until we solve his murder.” She sighs, eying Emma’s face of shock before saying in a hushed and shameful tone, “I even hired a medium hoping that she could connect with him but he’s been too elusive.”

She doesn’t mean to, truly. The laugh that escapes her mouth is a complete accident but Emma can’t help but find humor in the irony. Ruby stands up quickly from disgust and gathers her items into her purse, jarring Emma back into reality and she shoots her hand out to grab the other woman’s arm.

“Wait! I wasn’t laughing at you! I promise,” Emma rushes to explain. “Trust me, you’ll laugh when I tell you what was so funny. And then I can help you.”

*

Ruby snorts, pulling her strawberry milkshake from between her lips as she starts laughing. Emma hands over a pile of napkins through her own giggles and Hook sits there unamused even though their guest can’t see him.

“So let me get this straight,” Ruby says as she finally calms down. “I have been desperately trying to get in contact with my dead boyfriend for over a year with no luck and you have a pirate captain haunting you that you can’t get rid of?”

“Sounds about right,” Emma grins.

Ruby takes a sip from her milkshake before asking as innocently as a sinner, “Is he hot?”

The look Emma gives her in return is as friendly of a glare that she’s willing to give new clients and/or friends. “He’s sitting right beside me.”

The other woman simply smirks, reaching for her drink once again. “I’ll take that as very.”

“Can we keep her around?” Hook asks from his seat and Emma rolls her eyes. She goes to kick his shin but instead only feels a cool sensation again before her toes slam into the chair. “Wish all you might but you can’t touch me, Swan.”

“I hate you,” she glares but neither holds much heat.

Ruby watches with interest but says nothing for the rest of the appointment.

*

Irony seems to run everything about Ruby’s case because when the woman hands Emma information regarding Billy’s employment at his second job, the first thing she notices is who the owner is.

Albert’s Automotive & Boat Transports. Owned by one Albert Spencer.

Of course once she gets out from living under his thumb, she’s almost immediately thrust into investigating his company.

She always knew there was something wrong with his company and now it’s led to someone’s death. A very innocent someone at that. So she starts collecting every piece of information she can find about the company through both legal and illegal means. Employee lists, registered vehicles, routes, customers. If it appeared on the internet at any point in time, she nabs it.

From the tip of things, the company operates like a well-oiled machine. Not a single bad review, no late arrivals, not even a scratch on any vehicle. All of which shouldn’t be suspicious but are. No company is that perfect, no matter what measures are in place. Especially when only one employee has ever been recorded as taking a sick day.

Just over two months ago, one Barrie Rogers is recorded as going on an extended medical leave. No reasoning as to why, no doctor’s note or incident report. Just a flag in his closed file. Her gut tells her that Billy’s death runs deeper, that there’s so much more going on and that Barrie Rogers is connected somehow. She will find out.

The first course of action she takes is visiting the scene of the crime.

A little over a year after Billy’s death most of the blood in the alleyway is gone though some stains are still visible. The sight churns her stomach.

She’s passed this alleyway more times than she can count, perfectly placed smackdab in the middle of her route from the old apartment to Henry’s job at the docks. The first few weeks after Billy’s death, when the stench of blood and other bodily fluids permeated from the tiny space behind the police tape, she’d hold her breath, avert her eyes, and speed walk right by it. Knowing Ruby and what she’s shared about Billy, she feels bad about that now.

“This feels… familiar,” Hook says behind her as he looks around the alleyway.

“That’s great,” she says, her tone odd and distracted. As much as she’s going to help Hook remember who he was and what’s keeping him tethered to this world, she needs to keep her focus on Ruby’s case. Cops breathing down her client’s neck is never a good sign but at least this time her gut agreed with her initial thought that Ruby is innocent.

“No, there’s something about this alleyway…” Emma goes to ask him to be quiet as she reviews the area when she notices the look on his face. His eyebrows press together in deep concentration as his hand ghosts over the brick wall marked with the last of Billy’s blood. 

“Do you think you knew Billy somehow? Maybe you shared the same haunts?” 

She sucks in a breath at that, closing her eyes and mentally chastising herself for the accidental pun. She simply wanted to ask if his ghost perhaps ended up at the same places as Billy before it became tethered to her. When she opens her eyes, though, it’s like Hook hasn’t even heard a word she’s said. “Hook?”

The man in question stands stock still, frozen on the spot with his eyes wide in horror. “I know this alleyway,” he repeats absently. “I’ve been here before…”

Approaching him slowly seems like the best course of action as his head swivels this way and that, taking stock of the area. Her hand reaches towards him, stopping just short of the arm she knows she’ll go through, and says as calmly as she can, “Hook, maybe you should leave?”

He looks up at Emma with a fear-stricken expression consuming his features, finally noticing her presence. Gazes locked, his fear slowly melts away and he coughs, shaking his head and scratching behind his ear. “Apologies, love. I don’t know what came over me.”

She eyes him warily as he rotates his neck. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Positive!” he says with the fakest grin she’s ever seen. He doesn’t want to dwell on whatever just happened and she isn’t one to push so they move on. “What - uh - what exactly are you looking for here?” She watches him wave his hook hand around before tilting his head and investigating a pile of trash from afar.

“I don’t even know,” she says. “I guess I was just hoping something would come to me. There’s no cameras that catch this alleyway. I used to live in an apartment building a few blocks down and the police always had a tough time catching crime here. They installed a camera a couple times but it kept getting knocked down.” She sighs, eying the wall where Billy spent his last moments and turns to leave.

“Are you positive there’s no cameras?”

“Yeah. Come look.” Emma motions for Hook to follow her to the edge of the alleyway and she points out the different cameras on the nearby storefronts and explains their vantage points. “Anyone that lives around here knows there’s no cameras to catch the actual alley.”

“You’re not afraid of being here during the day?”

She releases a humorless laugh and shakes her head. “They might not catch the crime but during the daytime, those cameras will catch whoever’s leaving with ease. Unfortunately for Billy, he was killed at night.”

“Hm…” Hook hums to himself. He turns in a circle, looking up at the balconies with interest.

“Don’t even bother,” she says. “None of the residents heard or saw anything.”

He ignores her though and keeps looking, stepping back towards the mouth of the alleyway. He stops a few feet away from a second floor balcony where flower pots circle the edges, blooms falling through the railing.

Hook turns back to her in glee and points up. “Swan, is that what I think it is?”

Emma hesitantly steps closer. She’s learned not to raise her hopes too high in the middle of a case but his joy is contagious. Eying him warily for another moment, Hook raises his eyebrows at her and she rolls her eyes and looks up.

Right into the lens of a hidden camera.

Bingo.

*

“I can’t believe you knew to look there,” Emma says breathlessly as she rushes up the stairs of the apartment building. “How did you even figure that?”

“A pirate knows all the best hiding spots, love,” he teases with a smirk that she can’t even find it in herself to be annoyed with. It’s endearing, almost, to have him by her side as she works the case. He’s handling things like a champ though she guesses there’s quite a bit of intelligence required to come out on top of a band of pirates and lead them successfully.

When they reach the desired apartment, Emma knocks in quick succession against the wood, glancing at Hook apprehensively. The wait couldn’t be more than a few moments but it stretches like years. Taking care of bad guys? No issue. Having to deal with everyone else? She’s not the biggest fan of.

Probably why most of the PTA at Henry’s school hates her.

The wide oak door is dwarfed by the large man that opens it, though he does so only fractionally. He stands tall, built wide, and long curly hair frames his face. He only lets part of his face be seen as he crouches behind the door. Voice skittish, he calls, “What do you want?”

Sparing only a glance at Hook, taking note of his inquisitive expression all the same, she says, “My name is Emma Swan and I’m a private investigator. I’d like to speak with you about something your camera might have caught.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he rushes to say before moving to shut the door.

Emma sticks her foot out to stop the door from fully closing. “Your camera may have caught a murder and by helping me, you can put a guilty man behind bars so he doesn’t do it again.”

The man eyes her, scrutinizing everything he sees so she jumps at the chance again.

“Look, I could have gone to the police to tell them and let them take your camera and whatever else from this apartment that might be deemed as evidence, like your computers,” she says, pointing to the elaborate desktop setup behind him, “Or you can let me in, we review the camera footage, and if it has what I’m looking for then you can make me a copy and I won’t say a word.”

Unsure what to do, he steps from foot to foot before sighing and opening the door wider. “Fine. Just – don’t touch again! The things here are precious collectibles.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she says with a fake grin. Hook follows in behind her, shoulder going through the door which makes the pirate grit his teeth. She shrugs a sorry in his direction before standing at the man’s desk. “What’s your name?”

“Family calls me Tiny.”

“For the irony?”

“No,” Tiny says in all seriousness. “Because I’m the smallest in the family.”

“Oh.”

“What am I looking up?”

“I feel like I’ve been here before too…” Hook says as he looks around the room. He walks around, inspecting the collectibles as Emma gives the details of Billy’s death. When Hook stops on a particular item – a pirate whose sword looks recently glued on – Emma inquires to both stranger and ghost. 

“What’s up with this?” she says, pointing to the figure. Tiny rushes over and gently directs Emma away from the display.

“That, ma’am, is a one-of-a-kind original concept Captain Hook.” He grumbles to himself once back at his desk. “Someone broke it and I finally found the sword the other day. Now, I have the video you asked for. An undercover cop came by about three months ago asking for the footage too. Didn’t even know I had it. But I can make you a copy.”

“What’d the cop do with it?”

Tiny shrugs. “I’ve got no idea. Seemed like an upstanding dude but I haven’t heard anything since.”

Emma drops it at that, knowing that the legal system, like other government systems, doesn’t always operate like it should. She drops herself down into the chair besides Tiny’s and listens as he explains that the video is graphic and sickening to watch. He says he won’t pull any tricks on her and just give her the exact copy if she feels she can’t stomach it. But she’s never done anything without being able to vouch for it first so she shakes her head and insists he presses play. Tiny must have already seen the video, probably with the undercover cop, and turns his head away. “I can’t watch it,” he says quietly with a shake of his head.

The video is grainy for a few moments before the picture becomes clear. The camera’s night vision mode turns everything to green and black hues but Emma spots a young man she can only assume to be Billy in a mechanic’s jumpsuit standing against the alley wall.

Billy checks his watch, impatiently tapping his foot on the ground until another figure enters the video feed.

Albert Spencer.

The bastard himself comes towards Billy irate. She can just barely make out the way their mouths move in the silence but she understands that Spencer is questioning the disappearance of some drugs, apparently, something which Billy has no clue about. Spencer grows angrier and angrier by the second as Billy grows more defensive until Spencer grabs the young man by the neck and slams him into the wall. She sees the glint of metal on the feed and watches as Spencer spews nasty words to Billy, the younger man choking out more denials, before Spencer slices his neck, stepping back before a drop of blood can touch him. Instead, he spits beside Billy’s rapidly dying body, a pool of blood forming under him, and walks out of the alley with his head down and no one the wiser.

He left Billy to die amongst trash while he walked free without any remorse.

Until now.

Revulsion doesn’t even begin to cover the feelings swirling in Emma’s mind after watching the video. Her gut always rebelled against Albert Spencer, something in the way he held himself that made her wary. For all her jokes about the man murdering someone, she never thought she’d actually see it.

Bile rises in her throat and she excuses herself to the kitchen after swallowing it down, pacing back and forth as she fans herself. Hook follows her, standing in the doorway like a pillar of strength she can collapse into if need be. Not that she could, because of his whole ghost predicament, but the sentiment slows her racing heart. As terrible as the situation is, his unyielding support makes all the difference.

Disgust, frustration, injustice, heartbreak. The list goes on and on but she keeps a single-minded focus on securing the video and making her own copy in case the one from Tiny ever falls into the wrong hands. Just holding onto the video evidence feels like a weight is lifted off of her shoulders with a heavier one dropped in its place.

She sucks it up, giving Tiny her thanks once again, and leaves to go back to the house with Hook following silently behind her.

“You’ve been quiet,” she comments.

“Doesn’t this feel… wrong?” he asks, gesturing to the DVD.

She almost corrects him, almost explains the functions and ability of a DVD when she realizes that he can read her like an open book. The same discomfort she feels is reflected on his face. Neither of them seem to be a fan of holding onto graphic video evidence of murder.

“Listen, I don’t like having a copy either. But we need a backup in case going to the cops doesn’t work.” 

Preparing herself for a lengthy discussion about financial influence and politics and how that plays into the law system, Hook just nods his head and drops the subject. 

“What? No counter?”

“On a matter much less grave than this, you can count on my opposition,” he teases before sobering. “I trust you, Swan. If you say this is necessary then it is.”

“Oh. Okay,” Emma says, dumbfounded. “Got it. Thanks.”

No one besides her kid has ever placed their trust in her without question or without demanding she prove herself. Hook stands beside her like it’s the most natural thing to do, the obvious choice, and her breathing becomes stuttered before she regains control over herself.

*

That night, as Emma waits for a reply from Ruby about the evidence, she joins Hook at the bay window with two tumblers of rum. 

“I don’t even know if you can drink this but… This is all the cabinets had and I feel like we should embrace the nice night,” she says when she takes her spot beside him and places a tumbler in front of Hook. 

“This is my rum,” he says incredulously when he catches a glimpse of the label. “You just stole my rum!”

“Not stealing if you’re dead.”

“Oh, but it still is.” He grins at her, one of those damned eyebrows raised in amusement as he waggles his finger at her. “I knew there was a bit of pirate in you.”

She blushes under his praise and shrugs her shoulders, turning to look out at the ocean. Hook leaves his drink untouched.

When she glances at him from the corner of her eye, he remains deep in thought. Being in the alleyway and Tiny’s apartment seemed to be triggers for him and she wonders what’s going through his mind. He hasn’t said anything about what he possibly remembers but she can’t blame him much for that, not when she’s been less than forthcoming with her own past.

“Thanks,” she begins. He turns to face her suddenly in surprise and uncertainty and she takes a deep breath before continuing.  “For having my back about the DVD. It’s not an easy choice and I’m grateful you didn’t fight me on it. Even if you don’t agree.”

“The right choice is rarely the easiest one,” Hook says. “I understand your reasoning. Truthfully, I’d have done the same too.”

The smile that breaks onto her face is small but no less soft and genuine. Henry always had her back but he’s a kid. Sometimes she just needs another adult to back her up and support her. She knows David would want to hand everything over to the police at once, make sure that there’s no other copies around, but her own past with law enforcement leaves her less than trustworthy. It’s part of why she left bail-bonds.

Tilting her head back and swallowing her rum in one gulp, Emma licks the remains from her lips before placing the tumbler down onto the windowsill. She crosses her arms as she feels herself taking down the brick walls around her heart.

Friends are few and far between in her life. She has David and his wife Mary Margaret, she reaches out to Will every once in a while though she’d call them more acquaintances than friends, and then there’s Ruby who she might be able to add to the list.

God, how sad is that? Having more fingers than friends.

Out of everyone she’s met, the parents of Henry’s friends and the sources she gets to know, the only people who know a fraction of her past are David and Mary Margaret. Even that is just the bare minimum since David gave her a ticket for a past-due inspection when they first met. Letting people in is not an easy thing for her to do. When she was younger, she’d throw her trauma and issues at whoever tried to get close, scare them off before they could hurt her. Then Henry started to grow up and understand pieces of what she was saying and she locked that instinct down immediately. He looked at her like she was his hero and she couldn’t let go of that image, of being something good to someone.

It wasn’t until he was 14 that she sat him down and told him the ugly truth about everything - her days in the foster system, her run-ins with law enforcement, Neal. She really should have given her kid more credit because he understood and told her it changed nothing. The thought makes her want to cry all over again.

So she takes a shuddering breath and looks up at Hook, his gaze questioning but patient, and tells him everything.

She tells him about being abandoned as a baby, about the Swans and the Langstons and Ingrid and every foster home in between. She tells him about Neal and the watches and how receiving the twenty-thousand dollars in jail was the second and only good thing he did for her, Henry being the first.

She tells him of their money struggles and no one wanting to hire a teen mom with no GED, of nights in her car and crappy apartments until she finally got a break. She tells him of Graham, the one man she just started letting into her life a few years ago only for him to be killed on the job by a rogue cop who had her hand in everything.

She bares her soul but doesn’t have the courage to look him in the eyes as she does so. His ghost may be tethered to her but she’s sure there’s ways for him to avoid her after if he wants. He can disappear and she’ll never have to see him again. If he rejects her, she doesn’t know if she’ll recover. 

The thought twists her insides. 

Since when did she give so much power to the ghost of a centuries-old pirate captain?

“I believe I may have been a law enforcement officer.”

Her head snaps to the side to look at Hook as he runs his thumb back and forth over his bottom lip. “What?”

He shakes his head and she can feel the confusion coming off of him in waves. “Everything about that alleyway and the apartment felt too… familiar. Like I’d been there before looking for the same clues. Recently, at that.”

She raises her eyebrows dubiously. “What? You think you might be the undercover cop Tiny mentioned or something? How does that explain the Captain Hook getup then?”

“I don’t have an answer for that.”

Head bent low as he examines the hook on his hand, Emma tosses a life preserver to drag him from the storm brewing below the surface. “Hey, maybe you’re onto something. Maybe that’s how you knew to look at the flower pots on Tiny’s balcony.” He offers her a small grin but the defeat is still etched onto his face as his fingers trace the hook. Trying again, her hand hovers over his bicep, close enough that she wonders if he can feel her heat the same way she can feel the cool emanating from his ghostly form. “What else do you think you remember?”

His eyebrows pinch together and Emma can just imagine him finding his way through the fog of his memoires.

“I don’t think I had a happy childhood but… I think I had a brother.”

Truthfully, there’s not much further they get than that for her laptop loudly alerts them to a new message in her email.

Hook rushes over first, effectively ending their conversation by letting her know Ruby’s gotten back to her.

It’s a simple response, thanking her for finding the evidence needed to put Billy’s murderer away and saying that she’s available to meet up tomorrow around eleven at Book & Bistro before bidding the other goodnight. She sends her a confirmation before turning to Hook.

Back at the bay window, he stands with his back to her and his fingers clenching and unclenching at his side. She’s almost hesitant to disturb him but she knows how consuming dark thoughts can be and whatever memories he is slowly getting back, she can tell they aren’t good. “Hook?”

The man in question turns and gives her a wide, fake grin. “Well, I’m glad to have been of service to you and Miss Lucas. Hopefully Billy can be at peace now.”

“Hook,” she says softly and steps closer to him. “Do you want to talk about – ”

“ – You should get some rest, Swan. It’s been a long day.” He gives her a stiff nod, the fake smile still plastered on his face, and turns back to the window.

The cold that washes over her has nothing to do with the way his shoulder brushes her chest and everything to do with the fact that, after opening up to him, he’s shut her out. 

Rejection has never stung her quite so badly.

She bites out a short goodnight, ignoring the rustling of his duster and the call of his voice as he says her name, every letter dripping in remorse. Instead, she quietly makes her way to her room, envisioning an imaginary ‘temporary’ sign hanging over the door that blinks bright red like every motel vacancy she shuffled her and Henry through in their early days.

A reminder to herself to not get too comfortable. Not at the house that she’ll have to leave some time in the future and not with the ghost pirate who needs to move on.

*

Silence fills their every stride heading to Book & Bistro the next day. Hook has tried to apologize more than once earlier that morning but she couldn’t stomach the thought and avoided it at every turn. If there was one thing in life that Emma can proclaim she’s the best at, it’s running.

Ruby waits at the same outdoor table they sat at just a week ago and she offers Emma a mimosa as a greeting. Hook sits silently at her side and sends her a look, practically challenging her to drop her purse through him again, but instead she takes the DVD from inside and places the bag at her feet.

“This DVD has everything you need to clear your name. It has proof of Albert Spencer murdering Billy,” Emma says, holding it up. Ruby reaches a hand out to grab it but Emma pulls it back just slightly. “Listen, you can do what you want with it but watching this? It’s not going to do you any good. Trust me.”

“I - I don’t want to watch it,” Ruby says. Red lines her eyes, only faintly visible beneath the thick black eyeliner and Emma knows instantly that the meeting has been weighing on her as much as it has them. “I just want to do what I can to bring him peace and put Spencer behind bars.”

“He’s here.”

Emma does a sharp turn to her side, finding Hook with a faraway look on his face. “Who’s here?”

“Is that Billy?” Ruby asks, sitting up straight as her eyes begin to water. “I can feel him. Is he here?”

Hook nods. “Yeah,” Emma relays to Ruby. “He’s here.”

The experience that follows is one that Emma will never be able to replicate or explain. Hook and Emma work as the bridges connecting the living world to the dead. She can’t see Billy the way she can see Hook but she can feel the way his embrace wraps around Ruby. 

“He wants to tell her hello,” Hook starts, his eye line just above Ruby’s head. “And that every time she’s felt him, he was there.”

Emma takes a deep breath, waiting for Hook’s nod before she tells Ruby. The woman seems to melt in relief at the words, eyes fluttering under the threat of tears as she reaches one hand to her shoulder. She can imagine them together now, Ruby sitting at a table with the man from the video behind her, his hands on her shoulders. Grins lighting up both their faces as they converse with friends. Then she blinks and she’s left staring at a broken-hearted woman only just beginning to heal.

“He says that he’s sorry he’s put her through this pain for the past year,” Hook continues, still looking at Billy. “That he wishes more than anything they could have followed through with their dreams and he could have married her. He thinks she looks great in white.”

Ruby laughs when Emma tells her this, grabbing a napkin to dab at her eyes. “He used to tell me he dreamed of our wedding day,” she tells her. Emma smiles sadly and reaches a hand over to her, the other woman squeezing it appreciatively.

There’s a pull in her gut and Emma turns her head to Hook’s ghost to find him already looking at her. Genuine heartbreak fills the cracks of his features but more overpowering is the stronger, pure emotion that takes over him as he speaks Billy’s next words directly to her.

“He just wants her to know that she has done more for him than she will ever know and he will always be grateful for that. That she burst into his life like a ray of sunshine and chased away his dark days. He doesn’t know what’ll happen next but the very best part of his life and death was loving her.”

Emma chokes out the words through her tears, not able to take her eyes off of Hook’s sad expression for one moment. They stare at each other quietly until Ruby softly asks, “Did he move on?”

Hook clears his throat, smiling over Ruby’s head and nods to Emma.

“Yeah, Ruby,” she says. “He’s at peace.”

*

The ordeal is incredibly draining for the three of them so they say goodbye fairly soon after, Emma giving Ruby the card for David’s line at the station in case she needs anything in regards to Billy’s case.

Hook is quiet at her side, more contemplative than the tentative hostility that surrounded them this morning, and she takes strength from having him beside her through it all.

“I’m sorry,” she says once she gets out of the car at the house. “For how I acted last night and this morning. You aren’t obligated to tell me anything.”

Hook shakes his head, holding up his hand and hook in a motion of surrender. “No, Emma, it's I who should be sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you like that, especially after everything you told me. It wasn’t good form.”

“Hey,” she offers up, “we’re all allowed our secrets.”

“Would you be willing,” he asks, “to hear mine?”

*

They walk over to the bulkheads lining one side of the property and she promptly sits down, taking off her shoes and dropping her feet into the cool waters of the Atlantic. The feeling is replicated when Hook sits beside her and his hand covers her own. Not for the first time she wishes to know what his skin would feel like against hers. Was it soft and smooth? Or was it rough from his many hours on a ship?

Or from his hours handling a gun, if his theory of being a cop is right.

“I had a brother,” he tells her. She nods, remembering his words from the night before. “I think I orphaned him.”

“What do you mean? Like you killed your parents?”

“Father. And I didn’t kill him.” He releases a ragged sigh and scratches the back of his ear. “My father abandoned me as a boy. He pulled our ship into port without tying it down, ran on foot while I slept, and left me on our boat to go adrift back out to sea. I was found by fishermen a few days later, dehydrated and starving in the middle of the Celtic Sea.”

“Wounds made when we’re young tend to linger,” she repeats his words back to him in a whisper and he huffs out a humorless laugh.

“I was never quite able to let go of that betrayal. When I got word that he’d come to America, I had to find out. It took a few years, but I did find him. He was tucking his son, my little brother, into bed and whispering the same promises to him that he said to me. I heard him through the window that he’d never hurt him. Then he turned off the light, closed the door, and proceeded to throw a drug party in the living room.”

“What’d you do?” she asks.

He shrugs, blinking rapidly. “I don’t remember much. I think I called the cops because they took the bastard away.”

“And your brother? What happened to him?”

“I refused to take him,” he says. The words that leave his mouth are watery and Emma looks over to see tears in his eyes.

Even ghosts can cry.

“I told myself that I wasn’t in a position to take him in but I knew it was more that I was too angry and bitter. That I’d look at my little brother and hold everything my father did against him.” He takes a deep, labored breath. “I have many regrets in my life, I can feel that for certain, but this is the one I regret the most.”

She eyes their hands, how their pinkies interlap, and she wishes she could give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “The right choice isn’t always the easiest,” she says. “But I choose to see the best in you because of how you feel about your past.”

“And I you.”

They share a grin that’s broken by the sound of a car door slamming and Emma realizes that in the chaos of the last week, she forgot what today was.

“MOM?!”

“Henry,” she whispers happily to herself.

“Your boy?” Hook asks and she nods quickly. “Go say hi. I know you’ve missed him.”

She gives him a smile of thanks before rushing to her feet and around to the front of the house. Violet’s father waves from the car before he backs out of the driveway and Emma laughs at the look of awe on her kid’s face.

“Can we really afford this?” he asks her as he continues staring at the house.

“Don’t jinx it, kid,” she laughs. She can’t help but pull Henry into a tight hug, not caring for a moment that his heavy bags slam against her thigh. “I missed you.”

His words are muffled against her shoulder as he says, “I miss you too, mom. But now you’re squeezing me and I can’t breathe.”

“Sorry, sorry!” She steps back and takes a good look at her son. He’s only been gone for six weeks but it feels weeks longer. His skin has a healthy glow to it due to California’s sunshine and she can spot at least four more notebooks peeking out of his duffle bag than what he left with. A part of her wonders if he grew in the time he’s been gone but that’s when she knows she’s going crazy. “How was it?”

“Mom, it was the best. Thank you so much for letting me go! I learned a lot like how… to…”

“Henry?” Her face pinches in confusion as Henry trails off, eyes set on a point beyond her shoulder. “You okay?”

“What’s Killian doing here?”

She cups his face in worry, forcing his eyes to look into hers. “Kid, who’s Killian?”

But Henry steps back in confusion, looking over her shoulder again and pointing at something behind her. “He’s Killian.”

Emma turns in growing confusion, only spotting Hook’s approaching figure but no one else.

“Killian!” Henry calls out next and Hook stops short, staring at the two of them. She can make out the concentration on his face before he begins to blink in quick succession, shaking his head for a few moments. A look of clarity falls over his features before he answers hesitantly.

“Henry?”

*

“Tell me again how you two know each other?” Emma asks once the three of them make it into the house.

“Killian works at the docks for Albert’s Automotive & Boat Transports. He’s off on Wednesdays and does Pirate Storytime as Captain Hook for the local library on his personal ship. He gives me cash on the side to help out,” Henry says like it’s no big deal. Instead, he has a greater focus on filling up his plate with every food item she’s recently purchased. Apparently his writing camp didn’t feed him.

Emma sighs. “That explains the pirate costume at least.”

“And how are you able to see me, lad?” Hook – err, Killian asks. Henry only shrugs his shoulders, spraying crumbs everywhere when he speaks with his mouth full.

“I can’t believe Killian is the ghost.” He swallows, swiping his mouth with his arm. “I didn’t even know you died.”

Killian sits up straighter at that. “No one told you I died?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Emma interrupts. “Can we back up for a second?” They look at her and she raises her eyebrows, demanding confirmation. “Did you just say Killian works for Albert’s Automotive & Boat Transports?”

*

As if things couldn’t get any more convoluted, it turns out that she was right – Albert Spencer’s second business - the car and boat transport business - was a front for drugs. And murder, considering Billy’s situation.

“A few months before Billy was killed, I was able to go undercover in the company under the alias Barrie Rogers,” Killian explains over their table. “It was suspected that Spencer hid drugs in the framework of cars and boats he promised to transport for customers and my mission was to find evidence of it. Then a chuck of the drugs on one transport went missing.” Looking at Emma, he explains, “I think it was on a car that Billy towed. He didn’t steal them, some low level guy Smee did. He could find anything that wasn’t supposed to be found. But Spencer wouldn’t hear it and, unfortunately, Billy got killed.”

“So you were investigating the alleyway and went to see Tiny, right? You knew there had to be something that was missed,” Emma concludes.

He nods. “Spencer went there all the time for his illegal activities, so there had to be something. One day when I was checking it out, Tiny was watering the flower pots and I spotted the camera.”

“So what happened to you?” Henry cuts in.

“Yeah,” she adds. “Spencer reported Barrie Rogers as on an extended medical leave. Do you think he hid your body or something?”

Killian shakes his head, straightening his shoulders as he tenses from the memories. “No. Because I don’t believe I’m dead.”

*

It turns out that nearly three months ago, Spencer’s paranoia began to eat at him. He felt like someone was close to uncovering his entire operation and his other deeds, namely one concerning his former employee Billy. He sent the dogs on Ruby, digging up her tragic romantic past and using that to evade cops' noses. Except the paranoia remained. He believed someone under him was feeding information to the authorities.

It was unfortunate for Killian that Spencer’s paranoia correctly zeroed in on him.

Everyone else under Spencer had been affiliated with him for years. They all got a piece of the pie, perks of seniority apparently, and Killian was the only fresh blood of the group besides Billy.

So Spencer sought him out one Wednesday a little over two months, watching as Killian did his weekly storytime for the library and waiting until he was alone with his guard down. 

The old man walked onto the ship, red in his eyes and fire in his veins. He accused Killian of trying to take down his whole operation, something Killian vehemently denied to save his own life. More accusations came flying out of Spencer’s mouth, some on the nose and some so wildly out there that it made Killian laugh.

Then Spencer threw the first punch.

“I don’t remember much of the fight, too much adrenaline and pure instinct,” Killian says. “The pirate costume is about 90 pounds of dead weight and wouldn’t let me put up the fight I wanted. I think he knew that. All I can remember is a searing pain at the back of my head.”

“How do you know you didn’t die of a brain bleed?” Emma inquires.

The possibility that Killian isn’t dead, that this is just some apparition of his living self projected out into the universe for some reason or another, is almost too much for her to bear. She refuses to get her hopes up, refuses to think that it’s still possible for him to fix what he regrets.

That it’s possible he might still want to be in her life when he’s back to himself.

“I remember now I have an older brother too, actually,” he tells her with a small smile. “He’d be raising hell right now if I was killed and there’s no way a smart lass like yourself would have missed that.”

“So what happened to you?” Henry asks.

“I don’t know. But I think the best place to start is at Liam’s.”

*

Henry whines over the fact he can’t go, like he’s six instead of sixteen but Emma reminds him that one stranger is hard enough. “He doesn’t need two people he doesn’t know talking to him about his brother,” she explains. “Especially when said brother is currently a ghost or spirit or whatever.”

“Killian,” he pleads to next, giving the ghost-spirit-pirate-cop his best impression of a puppy dog face. “Don’t you think this could be a great learning experience to add to my pirate adventure book? The one inspired by you?”

“Oh, you play dirty, lad,” Killian says, his words dripping with amusement. One side glance at Emma’s stern expression sobers him up and he nods his head to her as he tells Henry, “I think you should listen to your mother though.”

Liam lives on the other side of Boston, a modest townhouse near the water. He keeps the front impeccably manicured and his grass a vibrant green even under July’s unforgiving sun. A sleek white car sits in the driveway and the front door is open with only the screen door preventing any bugs from entering.

“How well do you think this is going to go?” she asks as she stares down the house.

“He’s going to think you’re mad,” Killian admits, though he’s straining his neck from inside her VW bug to inspect the area.

“Great.”

From the little Killian’s told her about Liam since regaining his full memories, his older brother is as stiff and strict as they come. If good form were a person, it’d be Liam with no tolerance for nonsense, which, if he answers the door, is going to be all he gets from Emma.

The man that comes to the door is tall with broad shoulders. Short curly hair sits atop his head and Emma can see the family resemblance between him and Killian when her eyes meet his and they’re the same striking oceanic blue.

“Can I help you, lass?”

Emma sucks in a breath and steals a glance from Killian at her side as he lets out a breathy call of his brother’s name. 

“Hi, you don’t know me but my name is Emma and I’m a friend of Killian’s,” she starts, catching his interest. “Can we talk?”

Liam eyes the area outside the townhome with suspicion, eying Emma too before glancing behind him. “I have somewhere to be so you have to make it quick.” With that, he unlocks the screen door and lets her in.

“Thanks for taking the time to speak with me.” The townhome looks a bit like a disaster, if you ask her. For how well-kept the front looked, she anticipated the same orderliness on the inside. But there’s a pile of clothes on the couch and a duffle bag by the door, toys strewn through the living room, and containers upon containers of tupperware on the kitchen island.

“How do you know my little brother?”

“Younger brother.”

“Younger brother,” Emma corrects on instinct after hearing Killian utter the words. Liam gives her a look and she smiles apologetically. “Sorry, it’s like I can hear him in my ear.”

“Very funny, Swan.”

“But, um, I actually stole his shot of rum at the bar.”

“Oh really?” Liam inquires, not believing her for a moment. “What kind?”

Her mind flashes back to the bottle she stole from his liquor cabinet and the tastes that danced on her tongue for hours after, wondering if that’s how Killian would taste. Ignoring the flush overcoming her, she says, “Mount Gay’s 1703.”

Liam hums noncommittally. “What do you do for a living, Emma…”

“Swan,” she tells him. “I’m a private investigator.” He hums again.

She subtly looks to Killian for help but he’s running his hand through his hair and muttering curses under his breath. All she wants to do is ask him what’s going on or to grab his hand so she doesn’t feel so alone but Liam grabs her attention first.

“Miss Swan, while I am sure you enjoyed extracurricular activities with my brother, he is going through a serious matter that I won’t discuss with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am sure that your career path helps you in finding out intimate details about your subjects but I will not be sharing anything about my brother with you.”

Emma scoffs, crossing her arms as she lets her fury brew deep in her gut. “You know, for all the talk of good form, your brother never mentioned you were such an ass.”

“Emma,” Killian whispers from beside her. “Love, he won’t believe us.”

“Oh yes he will,” she mutters to herself.

Liam continues to eye her, not at all helped by her half-seen asides with his brother. “You need to leave, lass.”

“It’s a lost cause. Let’s just go,” Killian urges and she swears she feels the metal of his hook at her elbow but she shakes him off.

“I am not leaving,” she tells them both though she remains in a staredown with Liam. “I need to know what happened to Killian.”

“I am not telling you anything. Now leave.”

“Emma, come on.”

“NO,” she shouts, uncrossing her arms and turning towards Killian. “I won’t leave until your thick-headed brother listens to us. Damn it, Killian.”

It’s not until she faces Liam again, face pale and eyes wide in frantic worry, that she realizes her mistake. To the outside observer, she just yelled at thin air.

“Fuuuuck,” she groans to herself. “Damn it.” Taking a fortifying breath, Emma steps up to the kitchen island, focusing on Liam on the other side, registering the steak knife he clutches in his hand. “I am going to sound crazy and I know it but I just need you to hear me out and not because you think I’m some one night stand of Killian’s but because I am his friend and I care about him. I moved into his house – ”

“ – You’re David’s friend? The one I’m subletting Killian’s house to?” Liam cuts in.

“Yes!” Emma shouts excitedly. “And you see – ”

“You need to move out of there right away.”

“What.”

“Either you leave and move out right away or I’ll call the police and get you for harassment and trespassing.”

Killian groans to her side and she knows it’s been shot to hell so she doesn’t bother hiding it as she asks him, “Got any other ideas, Hook?”

“You’ve done so wonderfully that nothing else is coming to mind, darling.” She rolls her eyes at his sarcasm and sets her shoulders back. Liam is looking for a fight and that’s all she’s done her entire life. He will have to arrest her to get her out of here.

“I know I sound insane but when I moved into your brother’s house, he started to appear to me like he was a ghost. I thought he was dead but we just found out that he might not be. Where he is, we don’t know. But we’d like to so that he’s not wandering around lost like a ghost. I know it sounds as far-fetched as you can imagine but it’s the truth.”

“All you’ve proven to me is that you’re a stalker and insane,” Liam growls. “Now leave before you wake my daughter because I don’t want her to see this.”

“Tink?” she hears Killian ask to her side.

“Who’s Tink?” she asks him but Liam jumps in at the sound of the name.

“Tink? You’re not really that deranged that you’re dragging Tink into this too, are you?” Liam questions with narrowed eyes and a white-knuckled grip on the knife.

“Tink – she’s his wife,” Killian explains. “She passed away two years ago. She’s here though.”

Emma licks her lips nervously as she looks back at Liam, realizing just how badly she is playing with fire. “Killian says your wife is here.”

“Bullocks. I’ve had enough of your tales,” Liam starts but Emma backs away, repeating the words that Killian’s telling her.

“Tink says she’s always around and watching over you and Delilah. She says that when you find glitter on one of your ties, it’s her letting you know she’s with you. Or when Delilah finds a four-leafed clover in the backyard. She is always with you and will be forever,” Emma chokes out. Red-faced, from grief or anger, she’s not sure, Liam swallows hard. “She says that she knows you’re not as happy as you were before but that she’s so proud of how you’re keeping things together for Delilah.”

“Stop it,” Liam growls.

She sucks in a breath and shakes her head. “Tink knows how strong you’ve been and she says to remind you of the friends you have and of your brother, that you’re not doing this alone.”

Through gritted teeth, hatred consumes every word as he says, “You better shut your mouth, lass.”

“She says that she used to kiss your eyelids every night before bed because you’re her angel,” Emma tells him in a rush. Devastation hits Liam like a train and he gasps, dropping his knife. Speaking through her own tears, she adds, “Tink says you’ve been her angel for so long that it’s her turn now.”

Head dropped to his head, Liam whimpers, “Get out.”

Emma looks to Killian helplessly, the man looking as wrecked as his brother, and she opens her mouth unsure of what to say. “I – ”

“I think you’ve caused me enough pain,” Liam growls out, eyes bloodshot. “Not only are you reminding me that I will have to pull support on my brother in mere days but you have to bring my wife into this too?” She’s too stunned to speak so she can only watch as Liam keeps himself from drowning in grief by latching onto his anger. “The very last thing you can do is leave.”

She turns in a hurry, flying past the toys in the living room and the clothes on the couch and rushes outside, the screen door bouncing off of the frame. “Don’t you ever come back!” Liam shouts to her retreating figure.

Paying him no mind, Emma goes to the bug, sliding into the driver’s seat and buckling up before Killian’s spirit has the chance to catch up. She turns the key in the ignition and pushes hard on the gas pedal, jolting the two of them out of there.

“I had no idea he’d react like that. I’m so sorry, love.”

Emma shakes her head, wiping the few tears that escaped with the back of her hand. “It’s not your fault he’s an asshole.”

“He’s grieving.”

“Doesn’t give him a right to be an asshole.”

Killian sighs, “I know. I’m sorry to have put you through that and not gotten anything in return.”

“What do you mean?” she asks him. The corner of her mouth darts up in a small smile as she says, “That gave me plenty.”

*

How does one tell a spirit that the body they belong to is in a coma? That they’re relying on life support that’s going to be pulled soon. If there’s a guide for it, Emma would’ve liked to know.

Telling Killian comes through a rush of words as she explains her theory. Of course, denial sets in quickly.

“My brother would rather die than do anything to harm me,” he protests. “He would keep me on those machines for as long as possible.”

“Do you have any other explanation?” Emma says. “I mean Killian, come on. You got in a fight, hit your head, you’re balancing between the world of the living and the world of the dead, and your brother just talked about pulling your life support. All signs point to a coma.”

He shakes his head, pacing the length of the living room as Henry plays his video game. “Like I said, Liam wouldn’t take me off life support. Not willingly.”

“Hey,” Henry cuts in. He pauses his game and leans over the back of the couch to face them. “Did you sign a release form or something when you became a cop that dictated your medical wishes? He could be forced to follow that.”

“How do you even know about something like that?” Emma asks, coming over to ruffle his hair. Henry rolls her eyes but grins up at her and she feels herself soften to the core.

“Like every emergency service drama on TV right now has a plot about it.”

“Fair enough.”

“Now that you mention that, I may have.” Killian uses his hook to brush hair off of his forehead and she wonders how often he wears it. He’s clearly comfortable with it, and he declared during their first meeting that he uses it as his left hand, but she wonders about the story behind it. The one story they haven’t gotten to yet.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out…”

*

It takes three hospitals before Emma is able to find the one Killian is resting at. Visiting hours are close to ending and she doesn’t know if she can stomach a night of uncertainty so she books it. 

Getting put onto the visitor list is not her favorite moment, especially when it comes to dragging her kid into it, no matter how willing a participant he is.

“His brother doesn’t like me,” she explains. “We got off on the wrong foot and he never got over it. But Liam’s been dodging my calls since Killian went MIA and I could never find out why. Killian’s my fiancé, just tell me.” She looks away, willing the tears she fakes so well to come to her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mutters as she reaches for a tissue.

“Please, can we see him?” Henry pleads next. “He was supposed to be my step-dad and teach me how to sail his ship.” His bottom lip wobbles and Emma glances behind her to see Killian just as impressed with her kid’s acting skills as she is. Definitely something to look out for in the future. And maybe he should consider a career in acting with these theatrics. “Please,” he continues, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “At least let me say goodbye.”

The nurse relents at that, adding their names to the visitor list and directing him to their room.

They’re just feet away when she hears the doctors conversing inside and stops Henry from entering.

“... with the minimal brain activity to start, what we wanted to see was an increase, not a decrease. I suspect that he’ll lose total brain activity within the next few days,” the doctor says. She can hear the faint scribbling of notes and wonders if he brought a nurse with him or a class of residents. The idea that Killian is being used as a teaching tool while he fights for his life churns her stomach. “His brother is aware of this and has agreed to honor the affidavit Mr. Jones signed when he joined Boston PD.”

Unable to stomach any more, Emma strolls into the hospital room with Henry following hesitantly behind her. Killian is slowest and last to enter, keeping his eyes averted from where his body lays in the center of the room.

“Excuse us,” the doctor and his group of residents say, nodding to her before leaving the room.

Once they’re alone, Emma’s eyes find Killian’s body.

He’s pale with a healing cut on his cheek, just below his eye, his right hand set in a cast and the stump on his left covered with a sock to keep blood flowing. His black hair lays dull and flat against his head and the Killian in the bed has less weight than her ghost Killian, a feeding tube sticking out of his side as the main source of nutrients for the last few months.

“Wow,” Henry says. His eyes dart between the ghost and the body, not sure who he should address.

“Aye,” he says solemnly, finally making eye contact with his own person.

It must be weird, she thinks, to see yourself laying stock still in a hospital bed. To know that your actual body has been bed bound while your soul has been galavanting freely. The detachment that comes with it must be freaking him out.

His fingers stick out of the cast, slightly more swollen than she anticipated, but she reaches out still to hold his hand like she wished to do on the bulkheads.

“Swan?” Killian rasps out.

“Hmm?” She turns her head in his direction to see him holding up his hand in amazement, staring at his fingers.

“I can feel that.”

Disbelief overwhelms them, coming out in short puffs of laughter, growing only when Henry comments, “I guess hope isn’t lost for you after all, Captain.”

Their laughter comes to an abrupt stop, however, when they hear security being called over the loudspeaker and Emma feels fear strike her to her core. “They know,” she whispers and the three of them quickly rush out of the room, blending into the small crowd of visitors also leaving their floor. Getting caught would do them no good, especially when they don’t know how to help Killian yet.

*

“So why do you think we can see you and no one else can?” Henry asks over a slice of pizza once they get home.

“Your mother and I had theorized that it had to do with the house but that doesn’t seem to be right otherwise Liam would see me as well.”

Emma frowns, sipping from her glass of rum. “Do you have any unfinished business? Something tethering you to the world of the living while your body’s in a coma?”

Killian just shrugs. For the first time since she’s met him, he is without his leather duster and vest, his rolled up sleeves and unbuttoned shirt a delicious tease that Emma needs to stop focusing on. “Not that I can think of, at least nothing that can be changed.”

“Not regretting not giving me boating lessons?” Henry teases.

“Of course I regret I didn’t start that sooner,” he jokes back. He glances up at Emma for a moment and she feels his eyes on her mouth. “I have regrets about things like that. But those are ones I have after the incident, not ones I held before it.”

“What about your brother? Your other one?” she asks.

“Ah, yes, well, I had looked into that,” he says. “I can’t remember the name for the bloody life of me but I contacted a private investigator and I don’t think they ever found him.”

“Good thing that’s what I do,” she says with a grin. “Come on, try me. Same last name?” she asks as she strolls over to her laptop, bringing it back to the kitchen table.

“Aye.”

“Let’s see what we can find,” she says with a grin. The grin that immediately drops when she opens her laptop and her emails are the first thing she sees. Pinned at the top is her correspondence with one Mr. Jones. What had been her white whale.

The same Mr. Jones that is sitting beside her?

She opens the latest email from him and checks the sender.

mrkjones@email.com

“I think we just solved more than one mystery,” she says to herself.

“What are you talking about?” asks Henry, a new slice of pizza hanging from his mouth.

“I believe Killian’s the Mr. Jones I’ve been emailing for the last two years.”

*

Liam Jones II, like his older brothers, lives near the water in Boston. His apartment building is one of the older ones, an odd architectural design that scared buyers away in the 80s but is coming back as hip nowadays. It’s clear the community takes pride in their odd buildings and homes and work together to keep things looking clean and fresh.

Emma parks the bug across the street from Liam II’s apartment, right in front of the seaside park. She watches as Killian’s younger brother weeds the flowerbeds and an older man watches over with a fatherly grin. They tease one another back and forth, the comfortable familiarity between them a balm to Killian’s broken soul.

“I wish I had been able to apologize for how I wronged him,” he whispers to Emma. She swears she can feel his breath dance across his lips as he leans over the center console, gaze set firmly on his brother. “I don’t regret arresting our father, but I do regret the pain I’ve caused the boy. Perhaps if I told Liam then things would be different but I will never know.”

“I think the fact that you want to apologize shows how you’ve grown,” she says when she recognizes the start of a spiral into self-loathing. “You can’t take back the decisions you made but you can do better. At least you can know that he’s happy.”

He gives her a small smile and nods before politely asking her to leave. She takes one last look at the apartment building, swearing the older gentleman smiles at her as they leave, and she brings him home.

*

Henry waits for them on the porch steps, grinning wide as Emma gets out of the car. “There are tons of fireflies tonight.”

“Did you get started without me?”

The grin he gives her lifts her mood tenfold from the gloomy car ride back and she can’t help but respond in like.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Let the competition begin!”

“Hey! Cheater!”

“Not a cheater, Swan, but a pirate.” Emma turns at Killian’s voice behind her, smiling softly at the grin on his face. “Turns out his mother isn’t the only one with some in her.”

“I’ll just wait for your admittance of being a bad influence,” she teases. He smirks but doesn’t deny it. At least now she can surmise where her kid picked up his dice tricks from.

“So what is this competition he’s bellowing about?”

Emma watches Henry running around the backyard and calling out numbers like he’s her little boy all over again and her heart warms at the sight. “When he was little and I couldn’t afford a lot of games, during the summer, we’d have a competition every night to see who could catch the most fireflies. If I won, he went to bed early. If he won, I had to let him read until he fell asleep.”

“Who knew pirates could be such bookworms?” Killian teased but Emma only raised her eyebrow.

“I’ve seen your study, Hook. You’ve got more books than I’ve seen in a library.”

“Come on, mom!” Henry calls from the side of the yard. Only his head sticks out from behind the house and she watches as he snatches another firefly, yells his number, and then lets it free. “Stop flirting and start catching!”

She rolls her eyes at her kid’s antics and turns to Killian. “Wanna try?”

“Oh, I’ve never – ”

“What? Never tried catching fireflies?” she asks, stepping away for a moment to gently capture one in her cupped hands. She can feel his eyes on the line of skin that gets exposed from her jumping capture and thanks every god and deity she knows that her blush is hidden under the dark of the sky.

“I don’t even know if I can catch one in my state,” he whispers regretfully.

She whispers back, “You won’t know if you don’t try.”

Checking that the firefly is still in her hands, she looks up to ask Killian if he’s ready only to be floored by the soft look he gives her. There’s such an open tenderness to it that she feels her jaw drop slightly, her own eyes searching the depths of his. The yearning in her chest is almost unbearable and she feels it mirrored in his gaze.

For so long, they’ve been hurt by life and left alone. They have been let down by those they trusted and even disappointed by themselves. With each other, there’s no judgment. Understanding runs deep in the bond that connects them and Emma has never felt herself so at peace with someone before in her life.

She finds herself standing at a cliff’s edge and imagines a hook in her hand, the tall, dark, and scruffy pirate by her side. Her heart in his hands and his in hers.

“Ready?” she asks breathlessly, not even certain she’s asking about the firefly anymore.

He looks at her with such admiration that she doesn’t even notice his hand brushes the hair off of her shoulder, the murmuring of his comment about a glowing angel. Instead, she focuses on the way his lips firm one word a few moments later, so confidently and with such finality that she feels her knees go weak.

“Always.”

And so they jump.

*

The bay window has become their seat, she realizes. They gather in front of it that night as they have already done so many times before and stare at the ocean. If he were sitting there in his body, their knees would brush with every movement they make. Instead, she gets to see how the moonlight shines on his form and wishes she could see it for real.

“If tonight was your last night on Earth, what would you do?”

She’s not sure what prompted the question but now she hangs on every second for his answer.

“Probably teach you how to do the right tile design upstairs.” She rolls her eyes as they both chuckle at the memory before she leans back against the wall, eyeing him under the moonlight as if she could commit the image to her memory.

“Seriously, what would you do?”

“Exactly this.” He says it with no hesitation, no joking tone. Pure sincerity dances across his face and it steals her breath away. “I’d spend every moment right here. With you.”

If he were here, for real, she’d kiss him. She’d kiss the holy hell out of him and then probably drag him upstairs to her room. His room. Their room?

Or she’d kiss him and then cuddle against his side in the bay window, listening to him point out the constellations overhead.

Or she’d hold him close in the tightest embrace she could manage and never let him go.

If he were really here, there’s so much more she’d love to do but he’s not so she settles for resting her pinky over the ghost of his and smiling wide at him, her heart beating so loudly in her chest she swears he can hear it.

“Sounds perfect.”

*

Waking up the next morning is disorienting.

Her back hurts from where she fell asleep in the bay window and her neck has a kink in it. She rubs the sleep from her eyes as the rising sun blinds her, calling out, “Killian?”

The lack of response has her sitting up straight and pinching her eyebrows together in worry. Killian doesn’t sleep, not in his state, and he’s always been around when she wakes up. Calling his name again, she feels relief begin to flood her system at the thumping on the stairs only for fear to grip her heart when it’s just Henry.

“Is Killian with you?” she asks in a hurry, rushing over to the stairs.

Henry eyes her fearfully. “No, I thought he was with you.”

“Shit.”

The two of them fan out across the house and the yard, calling out Killian’s name with no response. They meetup in the kitchen, panting and sweating from the summer heat. “Where did he go?” Henry asks.

Like an ice bucket has been dropped over her head, Emma feels her face fall. “We need to get to the hospital. Now.”

*

Emma and Henry rush through the halls of the hospital, their visitor stickers haphazardly stuck to their shirts. Everyone else moves at a slow pace like someone they care about isn’t dying and it leads to more than a few run-ins, not that she cares.

These people are fine and Killian is not.

Once they reach his floor, she sees Liam standing outside of Killian’s room with his head down.

“Liam!” she calls out in desperation, Henry following at her heels. “Please, Liam. Please tell me you didn’t do it.”

“Emma, bloody hell,” Liam says, dropping his coat to the floor and pulling her into his arms for a tight hug. “I’m so sorry for how I acted the other day. I’m so sorry for not believing you. I’m – ”

She pulls out of the hug quickly, examining his red eyes and she feels her heart drop. “What – Is Killian okay?”

“They just turned off the life support machines.” His voice cracks as he tells her and all she wants to do is punch him, yell at him, throttle the man for not holding on a little bit longer for his brother. 

“Is he dead?” Henry asks brokenly from her side. She reaches an arm out to rest around his shoulders and pulls him close.

Liam swallows and glances at the room, the faint sound of a heartbeat echoing in the space over the quiet chatter of doctors and nurses. “Would you like to say goodbye?”

They slowly enter his hospital room, the gleeful state of before being replaced with grief. Henry rushes to Killian’s side and gently places a hand on his elbow as they remove the breathing tube from his throat. Emma is slower to come over, waiting until almost all of the machines and wires are gone with the exception of the tracking of his vitals.

“I wish we had more time,” she whispers to him.

Her fingers trace his cast down to where his own are exposed and she grips them as tight as she can. She wants him to feel in his last moments, to know that he wasn’t alone. She just hopes he knows it was her by his side.

She can hear Liam waiting at the doorway and she accepts that she has no right to prolong her goodbye. His brother has been by his side his entire life, has respected his decisions and has offered him more than she ever could. She’s just a woman who was able to see him during his time of limbo.

“Goodbye, Killian,” she whispers before leaning down and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth.

Waiting for a moment, she hopes to see his eyelids flutter open, for him to greet her with a smirk and those twinkling blue eyes. But nothing happens and the monitors remain the same. “Come on, kid,” she whispers once Henry finishes his goodbyes. He comes to her side and they walk over to Liam, thanking him for giving them this.

“I really am sorry, lass. You have no idea,” he whispers. Emma doesn’t say anything in return, just gives him a sad smile.

Before she can take another step, one of Killian’s monitors starts to go crazy, the beeping sounds taking over the chatter of the medical staff still inside. She turns in awe, standing still as nurses rush in from the hall and bump into her, muttering about how signs of brain activity are increasing and it looks like he’s waking up. She doesn’t know if it’s a miracle or if it’s the last bit of strength before his death, but she feels the hope in her chest rise.

And then nurses are ushering her and Henry out of the room, closing the door behind them, and she’s left with nothing.

*

He’s awake and recovering, the email said. She’s read it enough in the weeks following her getting it that she remembers the words within by heart. His scans are good and the doctor says that aside from some abrasions and his cast, he looks as healthy as can be. 

I asked about his time in the coma, if he remembers anything, and so far nothing. His mind is a bit fuzzy at the moment – he keeps mentioning Tink – but he doesn’t remember you.

I’m sorry, lass, Liam wrote to her. He’s staying with me for the time being if you’d like to see him. Don’t worry about the house, you can stay there as long as you need. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.

She hasn’t though. Reached out, that is. It’s been three weeks and she’s been focused on making sure Albert Spencer is brought into custody for the murder of Billy Angus and the assault on Killian Jones, undercover officer with the Boston PD. Watching him being brought in wearing handcuffs in front of a dozen cameras felt like sweet justice, but only for a moment.

Moving boxes fill the living room of the blue seaside house, her and Henry’s belongings once again being put in cardboard. The U-Haul truck sits in the driveway and she’s determined to fill it with as many boxes as she can before Henry gets home from work.

She signed a 7-month lease on a small cottage twenty minutes north. She figures it will give her enough time to find somewhere permanent to settle down without being assaulted by memories of Killian and what could have been. Henry thinks she’s being ridiculous, and she probably is, but Killian remembers Henry. They developed a bond from his time at the docks before everything happened, something Emma never had until he ended up in a coma. She can’t face him and see the lack of recognition in his eyes. For certain, that would be the thing that breaks her.

Standing up, she grabs a box of knick-knacks and makes her way to the moving truck, cursing the sweltering August air. Maybe they should consider moving to Alaska; Boston was never supposed to be this hot.

“Need a hand, love?”

Emma stumbles down the porch steps and promptly drops the box at her feet, thanking every god and deity that nothing fragile was inside. Breath catching in her throat, she looks up to see Killian standing at the U-Haul, dark jeans, white shirt, and a plaid button-up gracing his figure instead of the pirate leathers she’d become so accustomed to.

“You know,” he starts with a smirk, casually strolling towards her. “I was going to ask why you never visited but I see you wanted to skip town before I could call out your tilework.”

She huffs out a laugh in disbelief, eyes stuck on him as he stops in front of her. “I thought you couldn’t remember me,” she whispers, hating the way her voice cracks and her vision gets blurry with tears.

“You, I remember perfectly. Just had to give me a few weeks,” he says, grin widening with every moment as she feels relief flood her body. “What I don’t remember, though, is the kiss from an angel that woke me.” She blushes under his gaze but can’t fight the smile forming on her lips. “Now, that isn’t fair, is it?”

“Would you like me to refresh your memory a bit?” she asks, quirking her eyebrow up to match his.

For the first time ever, she feels his arms wrap around her waist and she can run her fingers through his hair like she’d seen him do so many times. She revels in his touch and he closes his eyes under her attention.

“Every day,” he whispers in the happiest voice she’s ever heard from him.

So she does.

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Being Ghosted (1/?)

Summary: "I dare you to sit alone in the Storybrooke Cemetery until after midnight." Who knew a game of Truth or Dare would become an issue of life or death?

A/N: Much thanks to @kmomof4 for giving this a once over for me. This checks off the cemetery square of my Bingo card and the next part (coming soon) will earn me a BINGO!

Rated T for now / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!

Part One

I dare you to sit alone in the Storybrooke Cemetery until after midnight.

Emma Swan hated her friends.

Why couldn’t they have dared her to something more typical of a college student on Halloween? Why not dare her to slam a beer, or kiss one of the random guys that had crashed the party, or go streaking down the quad?

Because they obviously hated her as much as she hated them.

Okay. Maybe hate was too strong a word, but still… she had unfriendly feelings toward them at the moment.

A curse slipped from her lips as she tripped over one of the flat gravestones that littered the area of the cemetery closest to the public park. She’d decided it would be best to not park her bright yellow bug at the actual entrance of the cemetery, seeing as visiting interred loved ones after dark wasn’t exactly permitted.

After traipsing through the treeline that separated the public park from the cemetery with nothing more than an old flashlight and its quickly dying batteries - leave your phone in your car. You have to be completely alone - it was no wonder she’d nearly lost her footing. There was practically no moon and the faint solar powered grave lights adorning a few of the headstones did little to illuminate more than the names and dates of those long passed.

Trudging a bit further into the center of the cemetery, Emma found a tall headstone to rest against. She spread out the blanket she’d brought with her, sat down, leaned back, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“This is stupid,” she muttered, refusing to let the intrusive, ridiculous, superstitious, completely irrational thoughts currently parading through her mind make a home there.

There was nothing to be creeped out about. There was nothing scary or unnatural about a graveyard. All she had to do was sit here for…

A frustrated sigh huffed from her chest. Without her phone, how was she supposed to know when midnight was?

There was nothing for it. She’d have to go back and get her phone so she could keep tabs on the time. There was no way she was staying out here a second longer than she had to, and not because she was scared, or creeped out, or had chill bumps already forming on her arms. Nope.

Leaving her blanket behind, Emma set off back towards her car. She’d only managed to walk a few steps when the flashlight batteries finally gave up the ghost… so to speak, plunging her into darkness.

Slapping her palm against the infernal thing in the hopes of reviving it, Emma let out another expletive.

“The fuck am I gonna do now?”

“Good question,” a voice said from behind her.

Emma screamed and spun around. The face of a strange man, being illuminated by his own flashlight shining up from beneath his chin, had her stumbling backward. If not for his quick actions, she would have tumbled over the back of a headstone and probably landed on her head. Instead, she found herself wrapped in his embrace, having pulled her back onto her feet in just the nick of time.

“Whoa there, lass,” he said, adjusting her in his arms to ensure she was steady. “You don’t want to go joining these poor souls before it's your time.”

Attempting to wriggle out of his hold, Emma straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “Let go of me.”

He did as he was told, staying close for a moment to make certain she was sure on her feet before stepping over to where she had left her blanket.

Gathering it from the ground, he held it out to her. “Best not linger here, love. The cemetery is no place for the living after dark.”

Taking the blanket from him, Emma’s eyes narrowed at the man - the handsome, heart-flutter inducing, accented lilt that could make her toes curl, while giving off an air of danger that just made him an impossibly more appealing type of man. Dismissing the erratic beat of her heart as something simply caused by the fright he’d given her and not the lop-sided smile and smoldering eyes currently fixed her way, Emma hugged the blanket against her chest and demanded to know, “What are you doing here then?”

“I work here,” he informed her with all the confidence and authority of a practiced liar.

Because it was a lie. Or half-truth at the very least. Emma could always tell.

Letting out a quiet hum that expressed her doubt, she clocked the way he pawed at a patch of skin behind his ear before glancing around them as though he expected someone else to make an appearance.

Was there someone else in the cemetery with them?

“Look, love,” he began, his tone a bit tighter and more urgent. “I really must insist that you leave here at once. For your own good. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” Emma scoffed. “I don’t even know you.”

“All you need to know is that if you stay here you’re putting yourself in danger.” Before she could pull away the man grabbed one of her hands. “Here,” he said, placing his flashlight in her palm. “Take this and get back to your vehicle.”

“But you still haven’t told me what you’re…”

Her words fell away, choked out by shock and a fresh swell of fear. When she’d cast the beam of the flashlight after the man who was quickly rushing away, she caught sight of a mound of freshly dug earth on the other side of the cemetery. A shovel was sticking out from the pile and she could barely make out the dark chasm of the grave that had been newly exposed.

Was he some sort of grave robber?

Emma turned on her heel and made a beeline for the trees. Her only thought was to call the police, but before she reached the boundary of the cemetery a cold gust stole her breath away. A shrill shriek forced a ripple of terror to tremble down her spine and a silent petrified scream tried to force itself from her lungs when a ghostly figure of a woman manifested right in front of her.

“Get down!” the man shouted and Emma turned in time to see him brandish a shotgun.

Dropping to the ground, a blast went off overhead and she felt small, hard pellets rain down on her as another shriek pierced her ears.

“Are you alright, love?”

The man hauled her to her feet, and unlike the last time it was Emma who now clung to him, her hands holding fast to his upper arms as she tried to reconcile what had just happened.

“W-What was that?”

“That,” he said softly, his gaze filled with obvious remorse as he confirmed her worst nightmare. “Was a ghost.”

“A g-ghost?” Emma shook her head. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am deadly serious,” he said, brushing the substance he’d fired from his shotgun off her head and shoulders.

“A ghost,” Emma repeated, her mind still grasping for reality as her grip remained tight around his bicep. “Who… whose ghost? How did you…? Is she…?”

“Her name was Cruella,” he told her. “She died in the 1920s and has been haunting the park since her family home, which used to reside there, was torn down in the early 80s. Haven’t you heard the stories?”

“About de Vil Park?”

The man nodded as Emma searched her memory for the tales people often told about the public park. It had been donated by the family whose estate had once been the central landmark of affluence until a murderous scandal had tarnished the de Vil name. The mansion had fallen into disrepair and was ultimately condemned and bulldozed, the land left to the city for public use and made into a park.

Emma had heard stories about people refusing to walk their dogs there, something about the trails making the animals skittish or aggressive. There had been a public health scare when she was in middle school. One fall several kids had been bitten by varying animals - squirrels, a raccoon, and maybe a possum? - and one of them contracted rabies. Most people avoided feeding the animals in the park, fearing attacks, and although after dark activities were allowed, few went there after sundown.

“Is she the reason that animals act strangely there?”

“Aye,” the man said, his eyes casting about and the muscle at his jaw pulsing. “More recently though, she’s taken to tormenting a local woman who unknowingly purchased one of Cruella’s fur coats from an antique store.”

“And you’re here to…”

His eyes cut back to hers, locking on with an intensity that had the same breath stealing effect as the ghost - for different reasons obviously - and causing her to nearly miss the vow he uttered in a low, gruff timbre.

“To put a stop to the bitch. For good.”

“How?”

His reply was cut off by another screech and drop in temperature.

“Bloody hell! Get behind me, love.”

Emma did not hesitate, clinging to his back as the apparition appeared. With practiced skill, he opened the shotgun chamber, loaded two shells, snapped it shut, aimed, and fired a spray of something that made the ghost vanish once more.

“What was that?” Emma asked, following at the man’s heels, his destination becoming clear as they approached the freshly unearthed grave.

“Rock salt,” he answered. “It won’t destroy a spirit, but it does act as a deterrent, forcing them to dissipate briefly.”

“What does destroy a spirit? How does one kill something that’s already dead?”

“You have to salt and burn the bones of the person,” he said matter-of-factly, reaching into a duffel bag and pulling out a canister of salt. “And any earthly object the spirit might be tied to.”

Jutting his chin down towards the grave, the man turned her attention to the ghastly scene six feet below. The lid of her coffin had been pried open, the decaying, partially skeletal remains of Cruella de Vil exposed to the elements for the first time in a hundred years. She’d been laid out in a black gown and once luxurious fur, her fingers and neck draped in jewels, and her hair, still attached to patches of skin affixed to her skull in contrasts of black and white, had been fashioned in a split bob which had been popular in her day. At her feet rested a well kept, white fur coat with black spots, and Emma could only surmise that it was the very coat he’d mentioned moments ago.

A shower of salt crystals rained down on the corpse and coat, followed by a flood of lighter fluid. Emma’s nose wrinkled at the fumes wafting up from the grave, and she finally tore her eyes away from the body when he warned her to step back.

She complied while watching him dig a lighter from his pocket and held her breath when he flipped open the cap and set his thumb against the flint wheel. Another angry gust swirled around them and Emma was too late to call out a warning when the ghost of Cruella appeared once more.

“Look out!” she screamed, but the spectre already had the man by the throat. Hoisting him off his feet, she slammed him against a nearby crypt, his face turning purple from the crushing force against his windpipe. His hands desperately clawed at fingers he could not touch and his eyes began to roll back in his head. With great effort he managed to croak out, “Burn her!”

Emma scrambled about on her knees in the grass at the foot of the grave, knowing he’d dropped the lighter there when the ghost attacked. With shaking hands she flipped open the cap and swiped at the flint wheel futilely a few times before a flame finally sparked. Dropping the lit lighter into the grave set off a cacophony of screeches, shrieks, screams, and wails. Emma covered her ears and balled herself up as a means of protection. Wind whipped around her, the chill of the air and the cries of the ghost causing her to shake violently.

An eerie silence fell over the cemetery, broken only by the sound of the flickering flames consuming Cruella’s corpse and a soft, aching moan groaning from the man as he picked himself up off the ground.

“Are you okay?” she asked, uncoiling herself yet unable to stand just yet, not trusting her legs to hold her.

“Aye,” he croaked, lumbering towards her. “Thanks to you, love.” Rubbing his neck, he looked down at her with awe. “You were bloody brilliant. Amazing.”

She let him help her up, the two of them staring into the other’s eyes, their chests heaving in tandem.

“So, um,” Emma began, pausing to wet her lips and noting how his gaze fell to follow the action. “What now? Is she… gone?”

“She is,” he assured her. “And we should probably vacate as well.”

“Right,” she said, shaking herself from the attraction she should absolutely not be feeling for the ghost hunting, grave digging, creeps about in cemeteries at night, dark and mysterious man.

He also broke away, scratching that patch of skin behind his ear once more before telling her he needed to fill in the grave.

Unsure as to whether she ought to stay until he was finished or leave now, a thought suddenly occurred to her, prompting her to ask, “Um… you wouldn’t happen to know what time it is, would you?”

He paused and pulled his phone from his back pocket to check, then told her, “11:53. Why?”

“It seems stupid now, but, um… I’m supposed to stay until midnight.”

“Midnight? Why midnight?”

Embarrassment prickled over Emma’s skin as she admitted, “I was dared to during a game of Truth or Dare with friends.”

The man laughed and began filling the hole once more. “Truth or Dare, huh? I couldn’t tell you the last time I played Truth or Dare.” Pausing again he pondered the thought for a moment then stated, “Actually… I’m not certain I’ve ever played it.”

With a shrug he set to work again and Emma could not fight off the compulsion to explain herself and why she’d played the childish game in the first place.

“Yeah, well. It’s my senior year of college. I graduate in May and it seemed like a fun thing to do. You know… before I have to seriously start my adult life and whatnot.”

Shut up, Emma. You’re rambling like an idiot!

The man made a sympathetic sound, another shovelful of dirt landing in the now shrinking hole, and admitted, “My adult life began the day I went on my first hunt. I was eleven.”

“First hunt? You mean…”

“Ghosts?” he supplied, when she couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought. “Aye. Although, they aren’t the only supernatural entity we hunt.”

“We? You mean there are others like you?”

“Fewer now than there used to be, but…”

His words fell away and his attention jumped towards the cemetery entrance.

“Fuck,” he muttered, quickly wiping down the handle of the shovel. “Someone’s called the police.”

Emma spun towards the entrance and saw the red and blue strobes of police lights pulling into the parking lot.

“What do we do?” she whisper-yelled at the man who was stuffing his things into the duffle bag, the wiped down shovel cast aside atop the pile of dirt he hadn’t managed to return to the grave.

“Where did you park?” he asked, zipping up the bag and taking the flashlight from her.

“At the park. Why?”

He grabbed her hand and rushed them towards the treeline. “That’s where I’m parked as well,” he informed her. “Less conspicuous that way. With any luck we can get to our vehicles and get out of here without being seen.”

In their haste, Emma nearly forgot about her discarded blanket, but they managed to locate it before exiting the cemetery. They came out of the treeline near his car, a classic 1970s Chevelle, and he wasted no time stowing his duffel bag in the trunk and stripping off his jacket and outer shirt which were covered in dirt.

“I, uh…” Emma began, unsure of what to say, but it didn’t matter. The presence of red and blue lights, preceding a cruiser that was about to turn into the park had her pivoting. “Come with me,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading them back into the treeline.

“What are you doing?” the man demanded in a frantic voice. “We can’t go back that way, they’ll--”

Emma cut him off, her fingers pressing against his lips as she urged, “Help me spread out the blanket.”

With confusion knitting his brows, he did as he was told then knelt down beside her on the now flattened blanket.

“Kiss me,” she said, causing the man to balk.

“What?”

Knowing time was not on their side, Emma grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled his mouth to hers with enough force to topple them over. He grunted as they hit the ground, but didn’t pull away when she slid her lips against his and threaded her fingers through the back of his hair. It didn’t take but another quick beat for him to catch on to her plan, and when he did, he threw himself into the ruse with great enthusiasm.

Enthusiasm and passion and heat and… oh my.

His tongue pressed against the seam of her lips and his hips shifted, settling into the cradle of her thighs. Emma groaned and pulled him closer, the taste of him and need of air making her lightheaded. His fingers grazed a path along her ribcage, his thumb tracing the swell of her breast, awaiting a silent cue of consent before he cupped her in his hand and began to knead the needy flesh trapped beneath her bra.

With one hand still held fast in his dark, silken tresses, she raked the other down his back until it reached his jeans, pulling noises from him that made the heat in her belly and throb between her legs intensify. Slipping her hand into his back pocket, she gripped his ass and lifted her hips, grinding against the rigid length that hardened further as something akin to a growl rumbled in his chest.

An honest to God whimper quivered off her lips when he pulled away, but it was quickly replaced by a sharp wanton gasp at the feel of his hot, rough tongue outlining the shell of her ear.

“Gods, love,” he murmured hoarsely, his teeth nibbling at her earlobe while he rocked his hips into hers. “Tell me your--”

“Who's there! What are you two doing out here?”

She and the man both froze at the sound of the policeman’s voice, and Emma had to squint past the shine of flashlights to make out a second officer coming towards them from the opposite direction.

“You heard him,” the second officer shouted. “What are you doing out here?”

“U-Um…” Emma stammered from beneath the man whose attention was set squarely on the first cop. “Truth or Dare?”

~/~

“Let me get this straight,” the officer said, continuing to scrutinize their IDs. “You were at a Halloween party, playing Truth or Dare, and he got dared to come out here. Then a little bit later, you got dared to join him.”

“That’s what the lass said,” the man replied in a derisive tone.

“And what is the lass’ name?” the officer questioned with a smug expression.

“It’s uh…” Furtively, the man cast his eyes to Emma’s before sheepishly reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

“You didn’t get her name before you--”

“I would have gotten it before we parted,” the man said in an attempt to defend himself and Emma was struck by the truth she heard in his statement.

“Did someone report our vehicles or something?” Emma asked, attempting to throw the officer off his questioning. “We told you why we’re out here. Why are you?”

“Someone called in a disturbance,” the officer replied. “You two didn’t see or hear anything?”

“We were a bit preoccupied,” the man quipped, tossing a smirk at Emma. “What sort of disturbance?”

“Someone dug up a grave and set fire to it. You two know anything about that?”

“Bloody hell!” the man exclaimed, his disgust and shock perfectly believable and authentic sounding.

Emma hoped hers did as well. “Seriously? Who would do something like that?”

“You didn’t see anyone else out here?” the officer asked again, his focus intently set on trying to ascertain whether they were being truthful.

“No,” they both emphatically insisted.

“Are you saying they did this recently?” Emma said, pressing into the man’s side. “While we were out here?”

The man put his arm around her shoulders and held her close, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her arm while casting a nervous glance around them. “And you’re certain they’re gone?”

“We aren’t certain of anything,” the other officer said with a sigh, returning from the cemetery to inform them, “Crime unit just got here. You two are free to go.”

Emma snapped her head towards the man who met her gaze. Before either of them could move, the interrogating officer said, “Hold on a minute.”

Joining the other officer, the cop asked in a low tone, “Are you sure? Don’t you think we ought to take them in for further questioning?”

“They’re just a couple of horny college students, not grave desecrating whack jobs,” the other officer countered. “You’ve got their info in case we need to follow up. For now, cut them loose.”

Emma did not have to be told twice. As soon as the officer handed them back their identification they made a beeline for their vehicles.

“Do you know the diner around the corner from here?” the man whispered in her ear.

“Granny’s? Yeah. It’s a popular hangout. Why?”

“Meet me there,” he said, opening her car door for her and letting her slide in behind the wheel before snapping it shut and heading towards his Chevelle.

His engine purred to life a moment later and Emma warred with whether or not to follow him. Chewing her lip, she watched his tail lights disappear and a buzzing sound pulled her attention to her phone.

Twenty-six texts and three missed calls.

Ruby: Remember. No phone!

Ruby: You better not have your phone

Belle: I hope you’re okay.

Belle: And I hope you aren’t too mad at us!

More of the same from Mary Margaret and August. A couple of texts from her brother, demanding she call the moment she’s back at her car. A few more from Ruby with links to ghost story articles. A missed call from David at 12:01. Another at 12:07. The last from Mary Margaret at 12:21.

Emma made a quick group text and sent them all a message.

Back in my car. Safe and Sound. Is the party still going? Gonna run to Granny’s for a hot chocolate then I’ll come back if you guys are still partying.

With her mind made up, Emma set off towards Granny’s and did her best to ignore the constant buzz of her phone during the short drive. When she walked through the door, the bell chiming overhead, her mystery man’s head snapped up from the steaming mug he had wrapped in his hands and a wide smile bloomed across his face.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show,” he said, reclining back in the booth and draping his arm along the back. “Thought you might have ghosted me.”

His brows danced over his eyes, his smile turning mischievous and Emma couldn’t help but roll her eyes while attempting to swallow back an amused response bubbling up from her chest. Stopping at the booth, she waved off his offer to take the seat opposite him, preferring to stand.

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted, tucking her hands into her pockets and scuffing the tile at her feet with her toe. “Would that have disappointed you?”

The man shrugged and shook his head. “Nope. ‘Cause I would have just gone after you.”

“Oh, really?” Emma said in a dubious tone. “And why’s that?”

Leaning forward, he caught her with a sultry gaze and crooned, “Because… I know how you kiss.” Resuming his previous posture, he added, “And I enjoy a challenge.”

“That would be a challenge, all right,” she replied in a taunting tone. “You don’t even know my name.”

“Your usual, Emma?” Granny questioned from the counter, pulling a grin and deep chuckle from the man.

“Emma, is it?” he cheeked. “Does my saviour have a last name?”

Rolling her eyes again, Emma answered, “Swan. Emma Swan, and I’m no saviour.”

“I don’t know about that,” he countered. “You certainly saved my ass tonight. Twice, in fact.”

“Yeah, well… you saved me first, so… we’re even, I guess.” Turning to the counter, she called out to Granny, “Can you make that hot chocolate to go?”

“To go?” the man questioned with evident disappointment.

“Yeah.” Tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, she said, “My friends keep blowing up my phone and if I don’t get back they’re liable to call the cops and I wouldn’t want them to blow our cover story, so I…”

“You can’t stay.” His eyes had dropped to the table, an expression of resignation set in his features.

“I was hoping,” she began softly, earning her a hopeful glance from him. “If you’re not busy tomorrow, I thought you might want to get lunch or something?”

He smiled up at her but it was bittersweet in its corners. “I would love nothing more. Truly. But I have another job to get to. It’s a few hundred miles from here, so I have to get on the road soon.”

“Oh. Right. Sure.”

“However,” he said, sliding his phone across the table towards her. “If you give me your number, I’ll call you the next time I’m in the area.” Sincerity poured from his forget-me-nots depths as he declared, “I would very much like to see you again, Swan.”

Emma tried to smother a self-satisfied smile and picked up his phone from the table. “So you know my name and now you want my number, yet… I have no idea who you are.”

“Fair point,” he conceded on an amused breath. Standing from the booth, he pressed in close to where she stood and took her hand in his. “Killian Jones,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his mouth and brushing a soft kiss to the backs of her knuckles. “At your service.”

With her lip caught between her teeth, Emma pulled her hand from his and punched her number into his phone before handing it back to him.

“One hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon to-go,” Granny announced from the counter, a taunting tone underpinning her words.

“Thanks, Granny,” Emma replied, ignoring the woman’s knowing expression as she took the cup and turned back towards the man, who she now knew to be Killian Jones.

“So…” she drew out in an effort to stall a bit longer. “Thank you for a most memorable evening.” Killian chuckled at that and the sound absolutely did not make her heart stutter. “And um, good luck on your next job.” Realization of what that next job might entail had her insides growing cold for a moment and she took his hand, squeezing it tightly, as she implored, “Please, be careful.”

Killian threaded his fingers between hers, entwining their hands and assuring her, “You don’t have to worry about me, love. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s surviving.”

The truth in his words did not give her much comfort. How many times had it been tested in order to be proven true thus far? Emma wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Perhaps sensing her continued concern, he added, “I’ll be careful, Swan. I promise.”

Her back pocket began vibrating once more, a deluge of texts and calls from her friends, no doubt. The buzzing must have reached his ears.

“You should go, love. Don’t keep your friends worrying about you.”

“Right,” she said, forcing herself to take a step away from him. Then another. Then another. “See you around, Jones.”

“Count on it, Swan.”

~/~

One Year Later…

“What do you mean, we released a ghost when we uncovered that skeleton in the wall?”

“Exactly what I said, Neal! We’ve got an angry spirit in the house and we need someone to help us get rid of it.”

“Who the hell is gonna help us get rid of a ghost, Ems?”

With a long suffering sigh, Emma admitted, “I just might know a guy.”

Part Two

[exhaustedpirate]

another late contribution for this year's CS Supernatural Summer - hopefully it'll be worth your while ! i clearly lied last year so i'm posting the long-awaited second chapter of last year's entry today. you should definitely check out the first chapter before.

i hope you like it and feel free to share your thoughts!

thank you so much to @th3capta1n for being my beta

Summary: Ever since he was a boy, Killian Jones could see ghosts. Some were kind, others were a nuisance and rarely, he found the worst of them. This time he meets a woman who remembers nothing, except her name. Together, they’ll find out her story and help each other.

Word count: 7211 words  

Rating: Teen and Up

tag list: @thisonesatellite @profdanglaisstuff @winterbaby89 @stahlop @winterbythesea @sotangledupinit

read on AO3 | read the first chapter here and AO3

Chapter Two The Swan

“Alright, can we all just calm down?” 

Killian stepped away from the table under the looks of barely contained excitement from Emma and Henry. One of them should have a leveled head and it apparently fell on him.

“There is a mysterious book written in a completely foreign language that conveniently appears exactly when we need it and you’re not even the slightest bit suspicious?” His nervous expression didn’t seem to dissuade his audience as they just smiled.

“It’s clearly a magic book.”

“It’s magic, Mr. Jones!”

He exhaled a defeated sigh as he threw his head back.

“Magic? That’s your justification?”

“Mr. Jones,” Henry crossed his arms with a completely unimpressed look that almost put his mother’s to shame. “My gym teacher is a mermaid and a werewolf serves me hot chocolate every Friday. Magic is the only explanation.”

There was a satisfied smile on Emma's face as she mimicked the boy’s pose.

"So, Mr. Jones." Emma's use of his last name called his attention to her. "Do you have any other easily explainable issues or can you take a leap of faith and see what's in that magical book?"

A leap of faith. As he looked between Henry's eager eyes and Emma's worriedly excited expression, he thought he could. That it would take the sheer belief in a centuries old ghost and a 10-year-old boy to get him to believe wasn't lost on him.

"Fine." Killian sighed amused at the excitement clear on Henry's face. He turned a reassuring smile to Emma's steadying breath. "Let's see if the magic book has some answers."

“Yes!” Henry was quick to reach for the book while rushing around the desk to sit at Killian’s chair. 

“You said it was written by Alice Jones?” Killian asked as he stepped to Henry’s left side.

“Do you know her?” 

“Alice was my mother’s name, but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her write a book, much less in a language she didn’t speak.”

“Maybe it’s your ancestor?” Emma offers. “I have been dead for a long time.”

“My mother named me after my grandpa, maybe it’s the same?” 

Killian’s fingers stroke the ring still clutched in his hand trying to rationalize their suggestion. “This situation just gets curiouser and curiouser.”

“Maybe I should read the book?”

“We should see what Alice Jones has to tell us.”

Killian nods. Trusting a mystery book seemed to be the least crazy thing for him today.

There is a story that no one knows, the story of the Princess and the Huntsman. Of how they fell in love and wished for happily ever after. The story that no one knows but me.

“I can see now why you’re so dramatic.”

Killian rolled his eyes at the teasing kid - and the snickering ghost - despite the uptick of his lip, gesturing for him to carry on reading.

Misthaven was a kingdom of peace and prosperity and it had been so since before my youth. Its people loved their royalty and they loved them back. Those good times didn’t last for long. I remember my mother’s solemn face as she returned from work - a handmaiden to the Queen must be her confidant, but even she couldn’t keep Queen Snow’s worry to herself. 

Ships with black sails threatened to surround Misthaven’s borders; black armored knights terrorized provinces; a menacing cloud of dark magic frightened everyone.

No powerful villain stepped forward to claim such attacks and no accomplice confessed. The Queen appeared to be frightful even as she summoned every war council available.

Despite their efforts, the darkness seemed undefeatable. The fairies’ light magic barely managed to keep it at bay. The kingdom needed a solution. 

A neighboring kingdom housed a powerful King. A King whose army was unbeaten by any forces that threatened him. A King whose power didn’t compare to Misthaven’s light. A King who wanted unlimited power. King Rumplestilskin.

Misthaven was, for a while, blessedly ignorant over the imminent threat. As well as its young Prince. As for Princess Emma, she had been allowed to participate in the war councils presided by her parents since she became of age. Now, a decade after the first, she was more than ready and shared opinions with intelligence and level-headedness.

Killian could see Emma’s blush covering her cheeks and he wished he could hold her hand. He wished she wouldn’t be so surprised to hear such compliments. He wished a lot when it came to Emma.

I have been her handmaid since we were both children. I have watched her grow beside me, never feeling like less, but like an equal. I still hold fond memories of afternoons of joy and companionship. I also learned things that I will take to my grave, however her story of love won’t be one of them and for that I apologize. This I do to guarantee my princess’ rescue.

“Do you want me to keep reading, Emma?”

She seemed startled from Henry’s sudden stop, looking from the book, to the boy and back before looking at Killian. He hoped she saw the reassurance he was trying to show. She nodded.

“You can carry on, lad.”

Henry nodded and cleared his throat.

Once she became of age, there was no end to the line of suitors hoping to gain her hand in marriage. (Killian pushed down on the surge of jealousy in his chest.) However, the Queen and her Prince had married for love and they wished the same on their daughter. Every suitor she refused was led out with a tight lipped smile and well wishes. There was no talk of arranged marriages for the throne was hers regardless of matrimony.

And the Princess treasured her freedom - if not of life, of heart. Her father had started his life as a shepherd and was now the Queen’s prince consort. Perhaps an unknown sailor would have the same luck.

But it was no sailor or baker who won such honor as to hold the Princess’ heart in his hand. It was a huntsman. 

As the Princess’ closest friend and confidant, I was able to hear about their first meeting, when he was nothing but a crude hunter. How she had been out for a pleasant ride. How he was ready to kill a defenseless deer. How she didn’t quite like my reminder that her table was regularly filled with defenseless animals too. How she blushed and said her issue was his rudeness, not his eating habits. How he had finally let the animal go. How she could not stop talking about him for the next few days.

I was also able to witness their second interaction. See the Princess’ provoked by the handsome Huntsman’s quips. See how she liked his quick wit and he enjoyed the irritated blush on her cheeks. See how she gave him her name with her nose in the sky and how he smiled and gave her his. I was able to hear it all again for the next week.

During the next month, Emma would go see him alone. And when she came back, there was always something to talk about. From the annoyance she felt about him to the quiet confession about her restless heart when around him. From the way he had almost hit her with an arrow to the way he had helped her off her horse. From the way he was also too close to the way he was never close enough. From crude hunter to Graham.

“Graham…”

Her whisper caught his attention and he saw a multitude of emotions behind her eyes.

“Do you remember him?” Killian asked.

Henry had stopped reading and was now looking between them.

“I do.” Her voice quivered and when she looked at him, he saw her glassy eyes.

“Should I stop?”

That seemed to bring Emma back, the determination replacing the grief.

“No, I need to know how it ends.”

“Are you sure, love?”

“I am.” The strong tone in her voice was enough to convince him even as worry filled him.

Killian nodded to Henry who seemed to feel the same as him.

Emma wished to keep him secret. He didn’t know she was the Princess, as he seemed to have lived in the woods since childhood and she wanted to keep it as such. She wanted to keep the pressure away from their budding romance. For that’s what it was. From blushing cheeks to tangled hair. To stained riding pants. To-

“I think you should skip to the next paragraph, lad.” Killian insisted as he scratched behind his ear.

“Why? What does this mean?”

“It just means that Emma and Graham became boyfriend and girlfriend.” He screamed internally as he wished he didn’t have to have this conversation with his boss’ son. 

He didn’t have to look at Emma to see her blushed cheeks and embarrassment.

“Oohh!” Henry’s expression would have made him laugh if he wasn’t so focusedly hoping that the subject be put to rest. “I understand.”

He really hoped for this not to get back to Regina. She’d kill him faster than one can say ‘fireball’.

Their secret courtship turned into love. Her books were filled with dried flowers, one for every encounter. I was the only one who knew of their relationship. Despite her trust in her mother, Emma knew how difficult it would be to bring Graham into this life, keeping the Queen in the dark was the only way to assure the ease in their romance.

However, every good thing must come to an end. 

The threat becomes more dangerous. The dark magic encroaches them. There is no other solution. The fairies’ light magic isn’t strong enough. Emma wants to help, as she did before.

Once, when the Princess was no older than 11 years old, Prince James invaded the kingdom. A Prince from a kingdom led to poverty by its careless royalty. A Prince who wasted his years fighting battles that did not involve his kingdom and spending its money. Until his father died and there was no kingdom left to rule - its people either migrated or dead. A Prince who was the Prince Consort’s twin, since the King had wanted a child and took one of the shepherd’s wife’s twins, a mother who only wished the best for her children. A mother who accepted the deal to make sure her babies did not succumb to illness.

Prince James invaded the kingdom claiming injustice for the way his twin brother’s life had progressed while he rotted away in misery. It should have been a quick matter to resolve had it not been the dragon whose wrath James had unleashed on the kingdom. The dragon had wreaked havoc in the kingdom and as everyone watched, threatened to burn the royal family to a crisp had it not been for the burst of magic that saved them. 

No one knew exactly what happened, but the ones who saw remember seeing a bright white light coming from the Princess making her resemble a wide winged bird - a swan. The dragon was quick to escape as the wave of magic because there was no other name for it, incapacitated Prince James and his crew. Everyone clamored Emma’s bravery and songs were written and played in the streets. 

However, despite their efforts that seemed to be the only magical experience the Princess would experience. Nothing the fairies did seemed to bring forth another hint or spark from the young girl. Songs were corrected and Emma’s magical achievements were seen as a simple blessing, a power born from her parent’s true love that protected the family. They called her the Swan Princess - not only for the circumstance of her magic, but also for the fact that under her beauty hid a vicious bravery.

To say that Emma had been disappointed over her magical failure was an understatement. But so much like her family, she chose not to give up and dedicate herself to learning sword fighting from the soldiers, something she could actually grasp.

And now, just as before, Emma wants to help. She offers to join the soldiers, defend her home and her people. Unfortunately, that is not what her parents have in mind. “We can’t risk losing you, Emma”, They said. “We need a powerful alliance.” And Emma was smart enough to understand what they meant even before they confessed their plans.

An arranged marriage. Something she had been assured all her life wouldn’t happen. The tears that fall down her face are unconscious as she begs her parents for a different solution. She speaks to them, for the first time, of how her heart belongs to another even though his name is never even whispered. But Emma knows. This is her parent’s plan, the only solution that will keep her and the kingdom safe. So she accepts, even as her heart breaks.

I try to console her tears that night, to no avail. 

The arranged marriage would be to the Kingdom’s closest neighbor. A Kingdom whose King owns the strongest army. A Kingdom whose King has fathered only one son, close to Emma’s age. Give or take a couple of years. There isn’t much to say about Prince Baelfire. King Rumplestilskin shelters him from everyone, practically confined to the castle. His mother escaping a life of such imprisonment, according to rumors, by joining a band of pirates. The young man is said to be a fairly nice Prince, educated and capable.

This union would entail a merging of Kingdoms. Such creation would result in the strongest Kingdom in existence. A merging that still required more planning, were not for the desperation of Queen Snow and Prince David for Misthaven.

But Emma’s stubbornness is unrivaled. Her room is vacant the next morning when I arrive to wake her up. Nothing, but a letter. A letter explaining that she will be leaving in search of another solution. That her heart is not ready to forget her love. That despite the love she has for her kingdom, she doesn’t wish to marry someone she doesn’t love. But she promises to return, after she finds a solution or once she realizes her journey is fruitless.

At the breakfast table, the Queen, her Prince and the Princeling await the arrival of the heiress. They receive me and the letter. Their expressions are full of pain and the whole castle is sent to a frenzy as they prepare an expedition to find her. 

As a handmaiden, I am given no task except to wait for my charge. But I know I must attempt to find her. She is my Princess, but most of all, a friend, the only one I’ve ever had. The journey to that place in the woods isn’t familiar, but it takes merely a blink of an eye. But the camp is empty. The Huntsman has left - not in search of a new home but, I suspectbecause a stubbornly determined Princess has asked for his help in her quest.

The Princess has always been more than capable to defend for herself, that is without doubt. She who survives a dragon, can survive much worse. But I worry. And such worry is blinding when it comes to the ones you love.

Killian pretends not to notice Emma’s quiet sniff.

The Blue Fairy was known by all of Misthaven. If there was ever a blue star in the sky, children were told to wish upon it for she would grant their wishes if they were pure of heart. A child’s story for centuries, she seemed to be on familiar terms with the royal family. 

The Blue Fairy was, once, Misthaven’s savior. When Queen Snow was but a runaway Princess, she was the one who helped her regain her throne. Regardless of her lack of involvement now, I was sure she would still be eager to help. My worry grew when Emma hadn’t gone to her first.

Under the shade of a willow tree, I called for her. My heart was put to the test but it seemed to be pure enough. Her voice called my name and there she was, in front of me. She was the size of a human, not as small as an acorn as my mother had told. It didn’t matter, in the end. I urged for her help, to bring back my Princess safe and sound. 

Her magic was a light blue and it felt cool to the touch. I saw as she surrounded herself with magic and then sigh in disappointment as it got warmer once more. She said that my wish was a wish she couldn’t fulfill, for my Princess was no longer safe and sound. “Emma is no longer in our plane, I’m afraid she has been taken from us.” She explained and I attempted to fight my tears.

His hand reaches for hers, subconsciously. The cold feeling extends to his whole hand as he sees Emma do the same. There was no feeling of her hand in his, but there was something.

I begged for another wish. I wished for a way to save Emma. A way to bring her back to the people who loved her. My vision was filled with blue and I was able to feel the coolness of the Blue Fairy’s magic. I felt no different. “Your wish was granted. I have given you all I can to realize your heart’s desire.” It wasn’t much of an explanation.

Magic, she said, was as hard to explain as it was to understand. Their magic came from a higher entity, a Sorcerer. A powerful being capable of seeing the future. She couldn’t bring Emma back as it was far beyond her capabilities, but she had granted my wish, given me a tool that would help. I saw her when a blur of yellow caught my attention. She was sitting closer to the branches as if she had been there since I had arrived, but that wasn’t possible. I hadn't seen her.

There was an odd expression in the Blue Fairy’s face when I asked about her. Though I received no explanation except for an expression of grief in her face, I was told as to what gift I had been given. A capacity to see those who are no longer in the plane of the living. 

"How will I be able to bring her back with this?" I asked, feeling as if the Fairy's help hadn't been so helpful. "This gift will help you save the Princess." Cryptic as all magic is. I tried not to feel frustrated as I exited the willow tree. When I reached the Huntsman's camp, I saw him.

I was angry and I snapped as I could only think he had left Emma alone. He simply looked at me with surprise. Surprised, I learned, that I was able to see him. He told me how he had attempted to beg for help from anyone whose path he'd crossed, but no one seemed to see him.

He was dead.

"He was dead."

That was the only explanation. As cryptic as magic was, it seemed to work. I wasted no time asking for Emma's whereabouts. He told me that he had been killed at the neighboring Kingdom's castle when Emma and he had requested an urgent meeting with the King.

The shrill sound of a phone startled them all. Henry took a breath as he saw the name on his phone's screen.

"It's my mother." One look at the clock and he winced. "I was supposed to be in her office ten minutes ago."

"Go, lad, we'll stay here." Killian reassured the curious boy as he glanced at Emma's expression, an expression of grief that clawed at his heart.

"I'll be back." In a rush that none of the other adults could muster, he exited the library.

"Are you alright, Emma?" He gave her a moment in the silence, hoping her whirling thoughts had the chance to calm.

"I can't believe I would forget all of this. I would forget falling in love, the love of my family."

"It isn't your fault, there is clearly something else at work here."

When she looked into his eyes, his heart broke. There was pain, grief, anger. "I remember what happened, I remember why Graham died. I know who did this."

300 years earlier

His hand in hers gave her strength, strength she wasn't sure she felt. Emma needed this mission to be successful, she didn't intend to spend her life attached to someone she didn't love, burdened by duties that she never thought she had to fulfill. Her heart was still set on saving her kingdom and she would, if there was no other way, but she needed to try first.

The halls of the castle were cold, quiet and dark. There was a prickling under her skin at every step, as if she was being watched, pursued. There was an eagerness in the dark corners of the room, eager to pull you in, drag you. The great hall wasn't better - still as cold, quiet and dark as the rest of the castle. And the man sitting on the large throne was the epitome of darkness.

He wore a wide, almost mad, smile, his eyes expectant. She felt like a prey. Graham's hand was no longer wrapped in hers, but she still felt his strong presence. She had a hunter on her side, it would all work out.

Next to his father's throne, sat a young man, close to her age. Give or take a year. Prince Baelfire, of course. A curious man, he was. The darkness didn't seem to reach him but entrap him. He seemed fragile - not by choice.

“Welcome to Aur, your Highness.”

As she was taught, Emma bowed. And so did Graham, playing the part of her escort. She saw the Prince bow to her from the corner of her eye and ignored his father’s admonishing gesture in response. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit in this early morning?”

Emma swallowed at the predatorial look in his eyes. It didn’t help that there was no one else in the room but the four of them. She could sense Graham’s discomfort matching hers.

“I’ve come to discuss the agreement you have made with my parents.” She attempted to keep her voice determined, brave - all she knew she was despite the threatening aura of the room.

“Yes, Prince Baelfire and I are looking forward to this union.”

“That’s what I wanted to discuss, your Majesty. You see, I don’t wish to marry your son if there is another alternative.” She held her breath as the royal looked at her, analytical. Emma sees Prince Baelfire await his father’s judgment - no disappointment, no joy, merely expectant with a hint of fear.

“It doesn’t seem to be your decision, is it, Princess? Your parents, as rulers of the Kingdom, have blessed this union, therefore there is no other choice.” 

“I understand that it was their decision, but I am here hoping to reach another solution. The merging of our two Kingdoms won’t be easy and it might lead to complications with lineage.” As she speaks, she realizes just how complicated this deal is.

“I have no intention in merging our Kingdoms, Your Highness, so there will be no complications.” King Rumplestilskin’s smile turns wider, his eyes glinting with excitement. Prince Baelfire lowers his head at his words. Graham takes a step closer to her.

“What do you mean?” Emma was confused. There was a feeling deep in her gut that told her to run - her stubbornness was unrivaled. “My parent-”

“Your parents made a deal with me. I would help them with their threat in exchange for you marrying my son.” His giggle was manic and caused shivers down Emma’s spine. “They were so desperate, poor things, that they didn’t question my intentions.”

“And what are your intentions?” 

“To take over Misthaven, of course. You’ll marry my son ensuring lineage and after your parents mysteriously pass away, I will be free to reign Misthaven as I see fit.” 

“And what makes you think I will let that happen?” There was a scowl in Emma’s face as she balls her fists.

“There is nothing you can do about it, dearie.” Rumplestilskin rises from his chair, a far more threatening presence than she expected. “You underestimate my power.” He makes his way slowly to her. “Who do you think has been terrorizing Misthaven in order to make this happen?”

“It was you…” She whispered, reluctantly surprised. “But how? You don’t have magic. Especially not magic as dark as that.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” Emma tried not to feel like a caged animal as he began walking in a circle around her. “But I made a friend, a friend who does indeed wield such magic. A friend whose plans match mine.”

“You won’t get away with this, I promise you that.”

Her threat lost its power at the King’s loud laugh. He seemed relaxed as if she posed no danger to his plan. And she believed it, it made her feel small. She wasn’t accustomed to being made to feel small.

“There is nothing you can do, dearie.”

With a snap of his fingers, dark tendrils wrapped around the two visitors. While her restraints seemed focused on her wrists, Rumplestilskin had Graham by the neck. As strong as he was trying to be, he was no match for such powerful magic.

“Please, he has nothing to do with this, just let him go!” Emma kept her eyes on the King’s hoping he wouldn’t see exactly how much it hurt to see Graham suffer as he was. 

But she couldn’t help it.

She could pinpoint the moment he noticed, the way his smile widened and his tongue ran through his teeth - like a crocodile preparing to eat his prey. Her heart hammered against her chest praying to every entity she knew for their safety.

But no one was listening. 

There was a crack and a heavy body falling to the ground. Her heart stopped. Her future destroyed in a second. The love of her life gone. There was no stopping the distraught cry that exploded out of her. 

She didn’t notice how she had freed herself until she had her arms around Graham’s lifeless body. Her tears had landed on his unmoving face. And there was silence around her. She saw the King’s unconscious form laying on the floor as well as the absence of dark magic. A burst of magic, it seemed, to save her.

Unfortunately, not to save her from heartbreak, as she continued to hold a dead Graham in her arms. Her hands caressed his face and she felt it growing cold under her touch. She wished, more than anything, to have him open his eyes, to have him smile at her one more time.

“Princess?” A too small voice from a young man startled her and she raised one hand, hoping for another burst of magic to save her - but there was nothing, not even a spark.

Thankfully, she knew where her Huntsman kept his dagger and she quickly wielded it. She kept herself embracing him, however, one hand on his face.

“Take one more step and you’ll regret it.” Her voice was shaky but her determined stare wasn’t.

To her surprise, the dagger pointed at him doesn’t seem to frighten Prince Baelfire. He approaches with his hands raised to his chest until he stops a step away from her.

“I’m sorry.” He sounds honest in his whispered words as he looks into her eyes.

Emma lets out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding and her whole being deflates as even the dagger falls to the floor. She turns back to the man laying on her lap, her hand cupping his cheek.

“If you must kill me, do so now. Your father won’t have my Kingdom.” Her voice is small, not usual for her.

“I have no intentions of killing you or of marrying you.”

That calls her attention and she looks back to the Prince.

“I simply do as my father wishes, he’s a powerful man.” He sighs as he kneels in front of her. “I have been carrying this for years.” Her eyes watch him closely as he removes a small vial from his coat pocket. “And I think it’s supposed to help you.”

“What is that?” She is wary, nothing good should come from such a dark liquid.

“I’m not quite sure, I was never fond of magic. I found it in the library. It had a note.” He removes a small paper from the same pocket which he gives to her.

She will need this.

“Who is ‘she’?”

“I don’t know. There isn’t anyone I know who would need this but you. My father won’t give up. This is all I can do to help.” He extends the vial to her.

“How do I know you speak the truth?” She took the vial even as she kept her eyes on him.

“I don’t know. But I am.” The Prince shrugged his shoulders as he returned the eye contact. She had always been able to tell when someone was lying to her. He was telling the truth.

Both turned when they heard a groan from their right. Rumplestilskin was regaining consciousness. She needed to act fast.

“Thank you.” She quickly said to the Prince as she removed the cork from the vial.

There was no time for second thoughts. It was trusting a mysterious vial with an even more mysterious message or seeing her Kingdom conquered by this villain.

With a deep breath and a final look to her hunter, she drank the strange liquid to the last drop.

Everything went black.

Now

“The potion killed you, then.” Killian didn’t know what to think, it had been a strange story. He wasn’t sure whether he’d like to hug Emma or punch someone who had probably been dead for centuries.

“I don’t think so… Remember the garden?” Killian nodded. “No other ghost has been there, I don’t think I was dead.”

“Aye, I just-” Killian interrupts himself when he turns to her. There is the wet streak of a tear on her cheek. “I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry about Graham.” His hand inches closer to hers.

“That’s alright, I remembered…”

The door opens suddenly for Henry to run inside.

“My mum is going for a meeting so I still have an hou- is everything alright?” Henry asks as he looks at Killian’s expression. The small lamp on his desk flickers on and off slowly. “Emma?”

His call seems to catch her attention. She turns to him with a small smile.

“I’m alright.” The lamp stops flickering.

“Everything’s alright, lad.” His smile is reassuring and Henry seems to deflate as he feels a more calm environment.

Wanting to give Emma a few moments to rearrange her thoughts, Killian busies himself giving Henry a resumed version of what Emma had told him.

“So that Baelfire turned her into a ghost!”

“Actually, the potion did.”

“Someone must have given that to him, someone who knew what was going to happen!” Killian swore he could see the cogs in Henry’s brain turn.

“Perhaps we’ll get some answers if we carry on reading.” Emma’s voice seemed back to normal, quieter but more herself. Looking into her eyes, she nodded.

“Aye, we should keep reading, lad.” 

“Right!” Henry quickly ran to the book that had remained open on the desk.

Graham told me what happened. How the King-

“Okay, she’s saying what we know, I’m just going to skip.” Henry interrupted.

After he passed away, there was too much. Too much confusion, too many sounds, too many colors. Once he was able to concentrate on his whereabouts, all he saw was Emma laid on the floor next to him as Rumplestiltskin paced angry. Prince Baelfire seemed to be telling him how Emma had killed herself out of grief. How she had taken a potion, a poison he assumed, how he had been unable to stop her.

“He’s protecting you.” Henry seemed surprised by the revelation.

“He didn’t seem to be as bad as his father.” Emma admitted.

“Aye, the lad had courage.”

Unfortunately, there was nothing else I could do. I couldn’t go to the castle to retrieve the Princess nor could I tell the Queen where she was. While magic is common, talking to the deceased did not seem to be something that would be celebrated. 

“Right you are.” Killian whispered. Henry turned to him followed by Emma, making him blush. He cleared his throat. “Carry on, lad.”

It was hard to see how distraught the Royal Family was about the Princess’ disappearance. The castle seemed too quiet at times and her room even emptier. But it didn’t take long to receive news. Prince Baelfire arrived at court with Emma’s body carried by a fleet of guards.

The tall ceilings of the hall echoed the Queen’s cry of anguish as she saw her only daughter’s lifeless body. The Prince with a wall of bravery behind his heartbreak, commanded the servants to take Emma to another room. Everyone was dismissed. As the last to leave, I saw as the Prince attempted to comfort his wife, even as he cried with her.

Prince Baelfire was quick to leave the castle. I, however, couldn’t stay far from my Princess. I followed the procession as they took Emma to a guest room. I entered as they did, but did not leave as they did. I touched her hand, it wasn’t cold, it was rigid, it was as if she was sleeping. Graham stood by my side, a mournful expression in his eyes as he kneeled at her bedside. I pretended not to see his sadness as he attempted to hold her hand.

“Do you want me to continue? I know this can’t be easy…” Henry interrupted, looking to where he felt Emma’s presence.

“We need to know what happens next.” Emma’s voice was determined even as she wiped a fresh tear from her cheek. Hearing her parent’s pain wasn’t easy. She then turned to Killian with a nod. “I’m alright.”

Henry turned to him when he didn’t say anything, but Killian couldn’t take his eyes off Emma’s, hoping he was able to give her some reassurance. Finally, he nodded.

“She is not dead.” The Blue Fairy watched from the end of the bed. She startled me. I had never known her to be able to appear wherever she wished. Regardless, it was reassurance. She wasn’t dead. “I was told that I needed to come to this room at this time, now I see why.” Cryptic.

With a wave of her hand over Emma’s body and a familiar spark of cold, blue magic, she seemed to have her answer. “She is asleep. A cursed sleep.” She said. The half-answers and enigmatic posture were maddening. And I said so. “She will remain asleep until someone breaks her curse.” I turned to look at Graham, but he hadn’t moved, he seemed unwilling to care about anything else but the sleeping Princess. He was dead, unable to be with her again.

“Oh, Graham…” Emma whispered.

I was determined to break the curse. Not only to spare her parents the heartache, but also because I needed her back. “You mustn’t wake her up now.” The Blue Fairy told us. I was angry, why should Emma be suffering when we can help her? “Rumplestilskin believes her dead, his plan has been stopped. Wake her now and we’d be doomed.”

“She knew Rumplestilskin’s plan?!” Killian’s fist was balled against the table as he attempted to hold back his anger.

She knew his plan, even though no one had told her! “The Sorcerer knows all, Alice Jones. He’s seen this and more and we are to follow his plan.” His plan to destroy a family? To take their daughter from her? “Yes. All is as it should be.” I cursed. I never cursed anyone before. But I did now. “I understand your frustration, but all is as it should be.” She repeated, with an infuriating calm.

The feeling of inadequacy was like a fireball in my chest. But as angry as I was, the Blue Fairy was right, Emma was safe while she was asleep. What was I to do next? “I will place a preservation spell on her body, you will urge her parents not to bury her for it will surely kill her.” Before I could say anything else, she was gone.

Bloody fairies.

Bloody fairies. As helpful as she was, the hardest part was my chore. I left Graham to his vigil. I only returned the next day, her parents having had some time to compose themselves. But still I saw the lack of light in the Queen’s eyes and the slumped shoulders in the Prince’s posture - for a stranger, they would look the image of collectedness but not for me. 

It was easier than I thought to convince them not to bury Emma. I was never fond of lying but saying that the Blue Fairy had blessed Emma’s form to withstand the course of time was nothing more than a half-truth. In a matter of days, a glass coffin was produced to hold the Princess. It was placed in the family’s mausoleum and everyday for years, the royal couple would place fresh flowers, usually accompanied by the young Prince.

The story was kept quiet. Both to ensure the Kingdom’s trust in their leaders’ safety but also to prevent any conflict between the two Kingdom’s involved. King Rumplestilskin remained quiet, his plan had failed. The dark magic surrounding the Kingdom was unable to get in. Even with Emma gone, there was too much light to let in the darkness. 

His failure drove him to madness, pushing the darkness as far as it could. Until, decades after, he was killed with a dagger through his heart. A culprit was never found and the Kingdom, as fragile as it was, accepted the new King without protest. King Baelfire would do great things. Both Kingdoms fell into peace once more.

Life had returned to normal after Emma’s presumed death. Even as the country mourned, they celebrated Prince Leopold’s milestones. 

Despite mine and the family’s desire to keep working with them, they had no need for me, not with the Princess gone. But, a year or so later, I was married. This might not seem important to you, but I discovered something. I welcomed a son soon after. A son who would grow up, as children do and would talk to entities no one else could see but me. The Blue Fairy’s gift was passed down. I was able to witness a granddaughter with the same gift.

We kept it secret, as well we could. I attempted to share this story with my kin, but I see now my time is short so I’m hoping that writing it will preserve it in its most perfect state. I understand now that I am not the one supposed to save Emma. But I hope that one of my own blood will. 

I saw her, long after Rumplestilskin was killed, after her parents passed away - one not far from the other -. She was as if no day had passed her by, still in the clothes she wore when she fell asleep. She did not recognise me, but she was the one who found me. She did not recognise me because she did not remember who she was. All she knew was her name. 

Emma.

You, who reads this book, my kin, I hope your heart remains true. For that is the only way to save her. Please, save her.

“Wow…” Henry breathed.

“Indeed.” Killian sat on his desk feeling his shoulders tight.

“I’m sorry.” Emma spoke softly, catching his attention.

“What do you mean? Why are you apologizing?”

“This was never supposed to be your burden.” Emma looked at him, her eyes a mix of apology and determination. “The only one who’s supposed to save me is me.”

“This isn’t a burden, Emma. I’ve spent years helping people like you. Apparently, generations. This is my mission and I’m gladly doing it for you too.” His smile was reassuring and he hoped that he wasn’t showing too much.

She doesn’t seem to notice as she looks down with a hint of pink in her cheeks. “Thank you, Killian, for helping me.” Her smile when she looks back at him sets his heart hammering against his chest.

Henry’s attempt at being quiet is louder than he seems to want as it breaks their moment. His cheeks are red and he tries to hide his satisfied smile.

“There’s nothing else in the book?” Killian asks, clearing his throat, hoping to get the attention off their small moment. “There seems to be some writing on that side.”

“Oh!” Henry’s brow furrows as he stares at the strange writing. Emma, he sees, has moved back to standing next to the boy. “I can’t read it.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s in a weird language, even weirder than what I just read.”

“Hmm, strange.”

The library door is opened once more, the sound catching their attention. 

“Henry?” Principal Mills calls from the door as she looks around for her son.

“It’s time to go already?” Killian can hear the pout in the boy’s voice and knows it’s there when Emma shows that soft smile that, he learns, is reserved for Henry.

“Yes, I’m done with the meeting. Come on, you have homework to do.” There is a smile on the Principal’s face too, it seems involuntary when Henry is involved.

“Fine.” He huffs as he rushes to put his backpack on. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Jones.”

Killian nods with a grin. “Master Mills.” 

“Mr. Jones.” Regina dismisses him with barely a look. As Henry reaches her, she places her arm around his shoulders and kisses his forehead.

“You may think she’s scary, but Henry knows how to soften her.” Emma quipped as the door shut behind the mother and child.

“The lad has abilities that we don’t know half of.” Killian winks.

After such a heavy afternoon, it seems odd to be in silence. There is much he wants to say but doesn’t know how to start or if he should. He shouldn’t.

“Would you like to watch a film tonight?” Killian asks quickly.

She seems to startle but relaxes almost as quickly. “In the box that has the people inside?”

“The people aren’t exactly ins- Nevermind,” He laughs. “Aye, in the box.”

“I would love to.” 

The headiness her smile causes chases him out of the door. They keep silent. There is no need for anything to be said. Nothing needed to change the quiet, light mood between them.

Of course, their plans are meant to be ruined. A short blonde woman carrying a bright pendant stops in front of them, stopping their walk. She looks at him with curious eyes.

“Are you Killian Jones?” She asks, igniting his curiosity.

“I am, who is asking?”

“The Blue Fairy wishes to speak with you.”

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "For Once, Don't Let Go"

This week's re-run is a Modern AU one shot I wrote for the @cssns event in 2020. I had not ever written much of anything supernatural involving ghosts before, and we were all dealing with the effects of loneliness and being more alone/lonely than normal during that time. Those were the themes I was exploring here. I'd love to hear what you think - if you're revisiting it, or if you're reading it for the first time. Enjoy!

*My artist for the story was @hollyethecurious and she created a stunning picset that I am still in love with!! *

Summary: In some ways, Emma Swan has always been a ghost - alone and floating through life without much to tie her to anyone or any place. However, when she wakes up in an unfamiliar old house and realizes she is stuck haunting the last place she went while alive, it takes a while to reconcile the fact that she is an actual ghost and that there must be something keeping her in the world after all. Then she learns she isn’t the only lost soul in the house. And that changes everything.

Also available on AO3, if that's your preference...

by: @snowbellewells

In some ways, she has always been a ghost. Never fitting in, never belonging anywhere. Abandoned, and so closing her heart on the need to be accepted before she could be denied. It was for that reason, on the first morning of her afterlife, as she blinked awake in a chilled grey dawn that seemed just like any other, Emma Swan did not at first realize she was no longer part of the living world.

There was a strange quiet surrounding her, as she sat up from the bed, which strangely felt much softer, plusher than hers usually did at the end of an exhausting day or the morning after when her bones still ached and her mind never felt quite rested. It was those two things combined - the unaccustomed silence and depth and comfort of the sleep she’d emerged from - that put Emma off balance. It was never that still in the heart of the city, no matter how early in the morning. There was a constant humming undercurrent, a long-accepted background noise accompanying her life in Boston: sirens, horns, the grating and beeping of constant construction, the hubbub of voices, sounds unending. If she were deeply honest with herself (which she didn’t often allow) it was part of what she loved most about the large city on the eastern seaboard; there was so much noise that she could ignore her own thoughts. She didn’t like to dwell on or analyze her motivations for choosing a job where she tracked and found deadbeats who skipped out on those they should have stayed to support. She didn’t acknowledge - not even to herself - that each skip she hauled into the nearest precinct and collected her reward for gave her a sense of satisfaction that almost dulled her unanswered questions about the runners she hadn’t ever found - the parents who left her just after she was born.

So, she was already on edge as she found her feet and moved through the room she was increasingly aware did not look at all like the one in the loft apartment she currently rented, nor were any of her things scattered around as she usually left them. Moving from the room into the hall beyond, and then down a staircase into an entry hall that she knew her small apartment didn’t possess, Emma’s mind struggled to fully wake and understand where she was and how she came to be there.

It wasn’t until she reached the front door - tall, solid wood, but nondescript and standard, nothing too out-of-the-ordinary - that two more revelations struck her almost at once. Reaching out her hand to turn the doorknob, step outside and see if the outside of the house or its surroundings jogged her memory, Emma was shocked to find that her hand wouldn’t grip the metal knob at all, instead passing straight through both doorknob and door itself, sending her sprawling forward with a yelp of startled disbelief. No matter how impossible it seemed, the rest of her followed her outstretched hand, passing through the wooden door as if it simply didn’t exist.

Blinking and stunned from where she had landed on the top step up to the porch outside the strange house she’d woken up in, it was more than a bit hard for Emma to put together what had just happened. She knew her mouth was hanging open, “catching flies” as one of her more affectionate foster moms along the way had playfully called it, but somehow her surprise only increased when she took in the place’s exterior. She did know where she was, despite being at a loss for why she would have woken up there. This was the place where she had tracked her most recent skip last night.

Furrowing her brow in concentration - and admittedly trying not to consider how she had just slipped past a solid barrier and what that might mean - Emma attempted to pull up more from her memory than that. This newest skip had proven pretty slippery; both Ruby and her seductive honey trap skills which Emma didn’t even try to match, and Mulan with her fighting ability and clever moves worthy of her Disney namesake, had failed in previous attempts to bring the guy in and moved on to more productive marks before Emma took on the case. However, she was just stubborn and competitive enough to have wanted to bring in the skip who had become a thorn in the agency’s side; plus, as he kept evading them and the court date grew closer, the price for bringing him in kept climbing. Emma had been thinking just how she might enjoy the whole week off she could afford to take once she caught this scumbag as she’d sidled up next to him at the seedy bar’s pool table and batted her eyes. She’d still been thinking it even as the jerk brushed her off and left soon after, and so she’d followed him - quite stealthily, she believed - to this place later that night. Fine, if he wanted to play hard to get, she wouldn’t play gently either. She welcomed a challenge, and this avoided the awkwardness she had to extricate herself from once honey traps were sprung anyway.

Emma was realizing now, however, that maybe she had been a little too obvious, a little too preoccupied to see that her skip might have been onto her. Had he been suspicious of her from the start, and that was why he didn’t take the bait? Or, had he known what she was truly after the whole time?

The evening dark had been falling in that strange hour where one could still see outside but surroundings were obscured, shadows lengthened and a person sometimes had to squint to find her goal. She had almost hung back, after watching her mark slip in through the unmarked door of the abandoned house at the end of a rather quiet and rundown street in an outskirt suburb. But she’d spent too long tracking the loser - and she wasn’t about to admit any hesitance or unease. Clearly the guy now had either breaking and entering or squatting in his extensive repertoire, and he needed bringing in before he expanded to something more dangerous.

That was what she was telling herself after waiting an interminable twenty minutes and then climbing the rickety steps as she’d watched her perp do. She wasn’t trespassing anymore than he was, the house wasn’t in his name, and if anyone asked… here she tried the door to find it unlocked and opening as she quietly tried it - yep, she could say it was open.

Emma had just taken a steadying breath and inched the door open enough to enter, when she caught movement in her periphery. She tried to duck, wondering wildly if the culprit had been lurking behind the door, when something long and solid swung towards her head too fast for her to avoid. It felt as though the air cracked, then crumbled around her, and everything went black…

That was all she could bring up, no matter how doggedly she tried to remember what came next. After that shattering impact was simply… nothing. And with that sickening fact, Emma knew. She was dead. Some lowlife bail jumper killed her to keep himself from getting caught. Whatever she was hit with, it was done viciously enough to mean her end.

Feeling a tremble begin throughout her legs and arms, up into all her extremities, Emma tried to fight back the swell of emotion - anger, injustice, hurt, loss that clamored to the surface. If there were any justice at all, she ought to at least be free of feeling all the painful emotion she had spent her entire adult life roughly tamping down. But really, she shouldn’t even be surprised. This wasn’t the first time she’d paid the price for someone else’s wrongs - though apparently it would be the last. The blank unfairness of it was what truly got under her skin. Was she always doomed to end up this way? Sprawled out with a cracked skull in the entryway of some old, empty house, punished just for trying to make a living and her own way in the world while exacting a little much-needed justice? No one would even miss her or know she was gone until she didn’t show up to work Monday morning, ready to gloat and collect congratulatory muffins for bringing in the mark her colleagues lost.

As she passed back through the door (and no, that weird sensation of sliding without feeling past a solid barrier did not become any less upsetting or disconcerting) Emma saw the rough wooden board on the floor where her killer must have tossed it afterward and the dried blood - her own, she recognized with a shiver - that she had missed before. She didn’t want to stay there, but she felt pulled back to the upper floor where she had awakened. As if she was not meant to leave yet. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she just had nowhere else to go…

Head bowed in resignation, she mounted the stairs, but instead of going back into what had seemed a nondescript bedroom on her first glance, she moved on to the end of the hall. She seemed to have all the time in the world to rattle around this place, reflect on her loneliness and why she was still there. It couldn’t hurt to put off that depressing train of thought and find out what else was there.

Bypassing the room she’d exited earlier that morning, Emma moved toward the end of the second floor hall. Clearly the place had been empty awhile, dust tickled her nose more the more she moved throughout the house, but the color of the rich, deep wood floors, the tall ceilings and eye-catching nautical knick-knacks and framed pictures on the walls showed her the place was once well-loved and lived in with care and pride. By the time she reached the furthest door on the left, almost tucked into a corner of the house, Emma was curious in sprite of her strange situation and uncertainty.

Upon stepping in the room, Emma felt her mouth drop open once again, immediately captured by the sight of four walls of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, interrupted only by the large, cushioned windowseat under a huge picture window in the wall facing the door. There were books piled on the floor near the windowseat as well, as if to be in easy reach of whomever had sat there to read. Heavy, larger leatherbound tomes that appeared to be atlases or maps also rested on the impressive cherry wood desk in the room’s center. While all of this was stunning, with an air of warm invitation that had Emma blindly inching forward, none of the furnishings were what truly stunned her one more time in a past hour full of riveting surprises. Standing behind the desk, with back turned to the door and studying the wall of books with concentration was a tall, quite formally dressed, man. 

At Emma’s rather stunned noise, the figure turned to look over his shoulder, looking at her with dark arched brow. The gasp that had just escaped her was sucked rather inelegantly back up her throat. The man - well, fellow ghost apparently, as she could hazily see the spines of books lined up through his broad-shouldered form - was the most handsome specimen she had ever seen. His stunning bright blue eyes threatened to again steal the breath the she supposed she shouldn’t possess to begin with.

Wow, that changed things.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

Surprised in the large library that had stood silent and empty for so many long, uncounted days, Killian Jones couldn’t help scrutinizing the fair haired lass standing on his carpet. The strange haze around her let him know she was a spirit, much as he had been forced to accept he was himself. Still, some nearly forgotten and rusty echo of his former flirtatious nature rose to the surface and her surprised gaze clearly studied him up and down.

“Well, hello there, beautiful,” he murmured, a crooked smile crossing his face as he drank in her blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, and generous curves in equal measure. “You aren’t some marvelous hallucination are you?”

Those sharp eyes rolled in exasperation, the stunned look finally leaving them as she shook her head and shrugged off the compliment. “Hardly,” she snorted, taking a few steps closer to him. “Apparently, I’m a ghost.”

Her words startled a huff of laughter from him with their droll humor. Reaching up to scratch behind his ear, he managed, “Not quite what you’d pictured, I wager?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” she allowed, seeming to understand her welcome and meandering over to sit facing him on the cluttered windowseat’s edge.

Killian allowed a wry grin of his own and nod of agreement. There wasn’t much else to say, but he did understand where she was coming from. It had been rightfully upsetting, earth-shattering, and confusing when he realized he was no longer living and breathing but still wandering the rooms of his house. He was sure there had been a lot of ranting, questioning, and items thrown against the walls before he had accepted his new reality. By that measure, this lovely woman before him was handling her sudden entrance to the afterlife quite well in comparison.

She looked up to capture his eyes with her own and he found he couldn’t look away again. Her face was open, searching, almost as though she were trying to take his measure and decide if he were trustworthy. When she seemed to make a decision and smile warmly at him, Killian found himself swaying closer to her almost unconsciously, rounding the desk to stand before her as though pulled by a magnet. Dipping his head in a sort of playful bow, he offered, “Forgive me, where are my manners? I’m Killian Jones. And you are?”

She reached out her hand to shake, unaccountably grateful that she was able to feel his larger fingers clasp hers without passing through, that she somehow still felt warmth and a zing of awareness at the contact, even if none of it made any sense. “Emma…” she replied, her voice going lighter and more thready than she’d like, “Emma Swan.”

“Hmm…” he murmured lowly, a rumbling hum that she felt along her arm as he brought her hand up to place a kiss on the back of it. “And just who are you, Swan?” he mused.

Swallowing hard, she dove in with the plain truth. “Just a stubborn bail bondswoman who went after the wrong skip this time,” she sighed.

His eyes registered the sadness, the disappointment and melancholy, the resignation to this fate slowly settling over her. He wanted to say it would get better with time, but time was now a funny, nonexistent sort of thing that was impossible to measure and not much help. Instead, he took in her features with understanding and tried to offer what comfort or cheer was possible against the self-doubt, blame, and ‘what-ifs’ beginning to hover. Not only that, they zeroed in on the broken skin, dried red and the purpled bruising at her temple, clearly the killing blow that had been dealt her. His hand reached up of its own volition to touch the soft hair above the wound, a tender brush of fingertips that Emma closed her eyes and leaned into with a relieved sigh. Almost as if he knew how very rare such concern had been in her life - maybe because it had been the same for him. Whatever the reason, they lingered there, two ghosts in the golden morning light through the picture window, drinking in the first real contact either had felt in far too long.

Something linked within them in that very moment - and everything changed again.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

It would have been funny; in fact, Emma would have laughed in the face of anyone who suggested - even a week before - that she would be killed on an assignment, end up a ghost, and then meet another ghost who would soon know her better than anyone had in life. And yet, within days she and Killian had shared more than she had ever allowed with co-workers, her handful of casual friends, even foster siblings when she’d still been a kid. Granted, she didn’t have much to lose, but it was more than that. She came to learn that Killian was more like her than she could have thought possible; orphaned as a child except for an adored older brother, that brother then killed in service of the British Navy just as Killian had been preparing to finish secondary school and join his elder sibling in service. Apparently the death had been some sort of accident during a routine exercise, and Killian had been awarded a healthy settlement as his brother’s only living relative, but naturally he hadn’t wanted the payout, just his only family back. Since that wasn’t the choice before him, he had taken the money, gotten out of England, and vowed to do something with it that would honor Liam and help someone else - even if it could do nothing for his own shattered heart.

That was how he’d come to befriend a frightened young mother and her infant son not long after he reached Boston. He’d been renting a motel room on a weekly basis until he figured out what he planned to do in the long run. He took a lot of long, aimless walks in the sharp, chill wind off the Atlantic, and one late afternoon he had stumbled into the public library, hoping to warm up, maybe distract himself a bit, and instead had found Belle sniffling as she attempted to read to a fussy Gideon where they were huddled in the children’s section. It hadn’t taken long for them to become friends; easily one of the best friendships he’d ever had. And in short order, Killian had known this was how he could use Liam’s money for good. He’d found a house, invited, then wheedled and cajoled, her to move them into one of the unoccupied wings and stay with him there. It was much too big for him alone he’d argued, and he needed the company, noise and bustle of even the smallest bit of family in his life. Belle had been hesitant, feeling it was too much, too good to be true, but trying to find a living and make a good, safe home for herself and her boy, while also staying unnoticed and under the radar of her wealthy and well-connected ex-husband was becoming more and more impossible. She’d assured Killian that the man had never been physically abusive, but emotionally and mentally he had left his mark. He had been a master of manipulation, had known the law and its loopholes, could afford the best attorneys money could buy and Kilian had not needed psychic abilities to see the woman was terrified he would come to haul her back - or at the very least take her little lad away from her.

That last admission had been uttered some weeks on in their acquaintance - or at least Emma thought it had been weeks, time was hard to measure when one was no longer on a clock and the days flowed from one to another in a similar stream - one night as they sat by a crackling fire in the hearth of the long unused den. Emma had shared a fair amount of her own scars by then. She had been curled up on the opposite end of the sofa, thinking that this would be the perfect occasion for a hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon, what had been her favorite way to unwind in the evening, and marveling at the good heart this man before her possessed, be it beating still or no. Not just anyone would have done so much, given so much of himself, to help a person he barely knew. Nor kindly helped a complete stranger like her adjust to her new reality beyond the pale either.

Suddenly it seemed like there was nothing else to do but to scoot across the sofa to the other end where Killian Jones sat still as a statue. The pain in his eyes, and blame she could see that he carried, broadcast over every line and shifting shadow of his face. Emma couldn’t help but bring her hand up to touch his cheek, to trace along his tightly clenched jaw as his eyes slowly dropped to follow the path of her fingertips, watching her intently as they continued to brush softly over his skin. Emma had wondered numerous times why she couldn’t physically make contact or grasp other objects but she could touch him. Why could they feel each other so strongly? Was it because they were both ghosts? On some other plane together? Or was it something else, something a less jaded person might call Fate or magic?

Whatever the reason, she was grateful for it as she held her breath, catching her lower lip between her teeth awaiting Killian’s reaction. She found every nerve alive and anxious as she watched him, caring more than she ever had about what someone else thought. Was that the key? For so many years in group homes, with foster families, even for a time homeless on the city streets, Emma had shut the world out. She had been born and grown up without the unconditional love and care all people should know, and the natural childish illusions about people’s selfishness or the world’s indifference had been stripped away far too early. Life had turned its back on her, and she had done the same in return. She had closed herself off from emotion and learned all too well that putting her trust in others made it easy to get hurt.

But now, in this old house, with this wonderful, vulnerable spirit before her - all the feelings she had shut off for so long were breaking free. She couldn’t hold them back, and she didn’t want to. She couldn’t really be harmed, wasn’t hustling to get by, and maybe that allowed the fear to recede enough to peak over the top of her walls. Maybe it was just that - despite only knowing him for a short time - she had never met anyone like Killian Jones when she was living. If only she had, she wouldn’t have been lost for so long.

He was blinking away a tear when her focus turned back to his face in that moment. Smiling back with a tiny, empathetic quirk to her lips, Emma brushed the escaped droplet from his skin, whispering, “He found them, didn’t he? Her ex?  Even though you tried to keep them hidden…”

Killian’s head of thick, dark hair bowed, his eyes falling to their laps instead of holding hers. Running her fingers through the coarse strands, Emma ached to comfort him, to somehow lessen the weight he had lost hope of lightening. Whatever had occurred, it couldn’t have been his fault. He had only tried to give them shelter.

His voice was muffled when his forehead had come to rest on her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around him, cradling him closer in an embrace more binding and intimate than any she had ever experienced. “I don’t know for certain, Swan,” he sighed, his words rough and coming forth in choppy fragments. “It has always seemed so…  Both being expats, Belle and I came to enjoy tea… in the afternoons… I had come home early that day...had a new toy for her Gideon...and I - I couldn’t wait to show it to him. ...When I walked through the front door… I knew immediately….something was wrong… too quiet.. I walked into the kitchen… and the table was all set for tea.  But the plate of biscuits was… strewn across the table… broken crumbs everywhere… and her - her favorite teacup was shattered on the floor…”

Emma tried to take in the devastation he must have felt, the panic and helplessness, all while making soothing noises, almost sorry she’d asked him as the story was wrung from his lips bit by bit. She kept holding him, hoping that her hand stroking over his back and her fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck could give some solace. She had never longed to fix someone else’s hurt more than her own. It was frightening in the desire’s intensity, but all she could do was hang on.

“I failed them both…” Killian husked, his voice even more soft and ragged than before. “Of course… I reported them missing… but the case came to nothing… no leads turned up.  He got to them… just as she feared... “

She wished she could tell him otherwise. Her own unshed tears stung in her throat - both for the poor woman and little boy she felt as if she knew through Killian’s stories, and for his pain. Her chest ached with the anguish he had harbored for so long, feeling it as if it were her own. If she could take his pain onto herself and give him peace at last, she would do it without hesitation.

As if in response to her thought and the desire to lend her strength, Emma saw a starling light, nearly blinding her as it appeared over Killian’s shoulder.  She didn’t pull away, but she squinted trying to understand what had materialized from thin air right in front of her. It looked like...yes, it was a door. There, where an archway normally lead from the den to the kitchen, was a simple grey door, but for the brilliant white light emanating from around its edges. It couldn’t be ignored for all its radiance, and it almost seemed to beckon her near, drawing her in.

Her eyes widening, Emma forced herself to turn away, breathing in Killian’s scent from against his neck, hoping that the masculine, spicy aroma he somehow still carried, even in his ethereal state, would reel her in as it had before. She knew what must be making itself known before her, and she couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge what it meant.

Up until that very second, she would have sworn she wanted that door to appear, to pass through it and leave the cold bitterness of Earth behind. She wanted that door opening up for her to move on, but she just as surely wouldn’t leave Killian as she had been left so many times. She couldn’t abandon him.

For the first time Emma could remember, she didn’t want to change the way things were.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

She shouldn’t have thought the open door would escape Killian’s attention. The man was ridiculously intuitive and seemed to read her like the pages of a favorite book. She had not said a word, had turned back to him, focused on the muscle in his jaw working as he brought his emotions back under control, and managed to ignore the blatant signal beckoning to her until the glow dimmed and the door faded back out of existence. The archway between kitchen and den was just a curve of plaster and paint once more.

But as days passed, Emma coudn’t help worrying occasionally in unguarded moments if a person only got one door. Had she missed her only chance to move on? It wasn’t that she never wanted her peace and rest, or to know what was waiting on the other side. Yet, she couldn’t truly regret her decision either if the alternative had been leaving Killian alone, even if the consequences did trouble her mind.

So she wasn’t sure how Killian had figured it out the morning she came down the stairs to find him already in the kitchen gazing out the window over the sink and bathed in the rising sunshine. Maybe the man was genuinely able to read her mind. He was always able to tell when she entered a room, she conceded as he turned to face her, even before she stepped from the last stair. She felt him the moment he drew near her as well: an awareness, a prickling along her skin, the buzzing sensation of need and desire she had always resisted in life electrified by his presence. Maybe there was no hiding when someone was that close.

With the window and the sunrise at his back, Killian seemed almost outlined by a halo of gold. He came to stand at the counter facing her, and Emma moved to meet him, smiling easily. “Morning,” she offered in greeting, still fighting years’ worth of habitual impulses to start brewing coffee and digging throught he cupboards for cereal - sustenance that she no longer needed.

“Swan,” he’d spoken gently, calmly, but in a way that drew her up and demanded her focus. Reaching out his own larger hand to cover hers where it rested on the countertop, he went right to the heart of the matter. “Emma… what were you thinking?”

She shrugged, trying not to meet his eyes fully as she pretended she didn’t know exactly what he was talking about. “What do you mean?” she asked blankly.

He sighed, that apologetic depth of sorrow in his eyes making her swallow hard when he spoke again. “You saw the light at the end of the tunnel, didn’t you? Your door appeared… The evening we spoke of Belle and Gideon’s disappearance…” He paused, spearing her with the intense blue of his gaze and not allowing her to look away. He cupped her chin between his thumbe and forefinger, stroking along her cheek as he did so, the expression on his face begging her to help him understand. “Why didn’t you step through, Love… and go on to your reward?”

The worry and fear on his unfairly beautiful face showed that he already new exactly why she hadn’t, but he deserved the truth. Emma couldn’t give him anything less. Placing her hands over his, squeezing tightly with feeling, she leaned forward until their noses almost touched. “Killian, don’t ask question you already know the answers to,” she breathed shakily, trying to keep the tremble from her voice long enough to speak. “You must know, surely… it was you.”

His head back as he heaved a deep, rattling breath - breaking away from her as he did so. “I hoped I was wrong,” he admitted. “I don’t want to the reason. You shouldn’t be held back from your paradise because of me.”

For a moment his eyes wouldn’t meet hers as he struggled to regain control of himself. Then, he reached out to wipe the pad of his thumb over her cheek and brush the solitary tear she’d shed away. Not letting him have an out, Emma caught his eye once more. “Paradise, huh?” she tried to tease weakly, desperate to make him smile. He was breaking her heart. “You think an awful lot of me, Buddy. We both know I was no saint.”

A huff of air escaped him that might have been a disgruntled laugh in spite of himself, but he pulled her into him, almost clinging to her for several long minutes before finally breathing in her ear, “Nonsense, Emma. You were meant to be an angel. Don’t give up your peace on account of me.”

She hugged him back, but made no such promise. They would have to disagree on that, and he knew it too. They were both too stubborn to change their minds, so days went on and they went back to almost-normal without speaking of it again. Emma simply had to hope he understood. She didn’t want to argue with Killian, or to ignore his wishes. And she did want to go through her door as well, but when the time was right. She realized now that would have to be when they could both go throught it together.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

It had been March when she’d met her fate in the quiet old house, and she and Killian had drifted through the spring and summer and early autumn, growing ever closer to each other. They had sat on the porch for long hours talking without getting too hot or worrying about bug bites or sunburn; spent evenings curled together under one quilt in the large windowseat of the library watching lightning flash across the sky and thunder roll on August nights. As September came, they snuggled under the comforter on the bed, her head resting on his chest, her ear over his heart as though she could still heart its beat. If she had thought before that she couldn’t leave him, there was no way she could even imagine it again.

There was a chill in the air the September afternoon a thick, cream-colored envelope landed on the front porch, addressed with Killian’s name and a Ms. Belle French scrawled in top left corner. Emma heard the soft sound of the thick paper landing on the proch slats, and didn stop to question how it had gotten there, why the ghost resident of an supposed abandoned house was receiving mail again, but had hurried to where Killian reading in the library, letter in hand.

A more lovely autumn day had never been than when a slant of later afternoon sun lit Killian’s face as he scanned the letter’s contents, a smile dawning over his countenance as if he coudn’t believe the words before him on the page. “They’re alright,” he murmured, half to himself and half to her. “They got away… thought I should know.”  His eyes continued to skim over the handwritten lines quickly, but his beckoned her close, and stunned smile on his face and light in his eyes that did Emma’s heart good. She could see the guilt and the hurt he had carried lifting from his shoulders with each passing second as she came to perch on the corner of the desk at his elbow.  “They didn’t want me to have to harbor a secret… just missed the people who trashed the house that day, and didn’t want to continue putting me in danger…”

He shook his head in disbelief and then stood to sweep her up in his arms, spinning her around as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe, finally, he didn’t.

It was only as Killian set her back on her feet again, as he picked up her hand to kiss the back of it tenderly, and she hummed in contentment, swaying closer to him that a warm inviting light touched the side of both their faces. Turning as one, Emma recognized the sight that had graced her vision once before, but Kiliian’s eyes widened before turning to hers.  “Is that…?” he breathed, hope and uncertainty and awe blending in the question as it trailed off on his lips. 

She nodded, no words coming to her that she could speak past the lump in her throat.

“Well, then, Swan,” he smiled with the beauty and joy of a man whose heart was free at last. “What do you say we embark on a new adventure?”

“I’d follow you anywhere,” she said with a certainty she felt to the bottom of her soul. Clutching his fingers in her own tightly, she walked with him toward the door wreathed in light that had appeared in middle of the bookshelf. As long as she didn’t have to let go of Killian’s hand.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @xsajx

@teamhook @revanmetra87 @bluewildcatfanatic @jonesfandomfanatic @motherkatereloyshipper

@spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @anmylica @xarandomdreamx @undercaffinatednightmare @everything-person

@bdevereaux @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @drowned-dreamer

@kday426 @myfearless-love @eastwesthomeisbest @resident-of-storybrooke @goforlaunchcee

[ilovemesomekillianjones]

Helloooo, thiiis is the Ghost of Fics Paaaast~ 👻 Ignore the pressures of updating and writing problems for a moment and relive some of your past creations. Share with your followers: one story you are particularly proud of and why, one story that you wish had gotten more attention, and one story that you feel a more personal connection with. If none of these ideas strikes you, just share whichever fics you choose! Don't forget to share links!

I have waited two years to answer this, lol. I didn't see it till after Halloween the first year I received the message and then I forgot about it last Halloween. Without further ado:

1. One story you are particularly proud of and why

I think my favorite story I have written might be Navigating the Storm. I absolutely loved writing for the Neverland Renaissance event and this story just kind of came to me and flowed . I loved the idea of an Emma that decided to feel her feelings and express them. I needed her parents to know what Neal had done. I needed for Killian to know how loved he was. I needed Henry to be the wise little boy he always was. I needed Neal to unequivocally know that there was no him and Emma. It allowed me to write what I wanted to see from CS and those closest to them.

2. One story that you wish had gotten more attention - Instead of this, I will go with Stories that I wish I could write more for -

I wish I was inspired to write more for CS, because writing them makes me so happy. In fact, I just posted a One-shot tonight for the first time in almost a year. Alas, inspiration just does not strike me quite as frequently as it once did. I'd really like to add to either of these series, which each contain multiple chapters of unrelated one-shots all centered around Captain Swan in bed. One is the softer, feelsy side of CS and the other is the wild, uninhibited side.

Captain Swan Pillow Talk - Quiet conversations between Emma and Killian while sharing their bed

New Things - Emma wants to try something new with Killian, in fact she has many new things she wants to try with her pirate captain

3. One story that you feel a more personal connection with

If you mean "a personal connection with" as in relatability, the only story I have ever written that I can relate to on a personal level is A Step in the Right Direction. Summary: Emma has a secret that she needs to share. Will Killian be able to help her cope, will he even know she needs his help. A/N: If you don’t think anxiety and depression are very real things, do not read this story. If anxiety and depression are triggers for you, do not read this story.

Tagging @hollyethecurious @laschatzi @xhookswenchx @teamhook @hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @lifeinahole27 @whimsicallyenchantedrose

[kmomof4]

So I finally got to read my hard copy of...

And I had to come and express my TOTAL SCREAMING MELTDOWN CONNIPTIONS!!! 🎶Favorite fic of Hollye’s, favorite fic of Hollye’s, favorite fic of Hollye’s🎶 besides Dark Hook, of course... so now I’m gonna reblog this MAGNIFICENT fic pts1&2, and the outtake, The Key to a Good Ghost Story, so that y’all can come and flail with me over this PERFECTION!!!!

[snowbellewells]

@shireness-says This story was lovely! A really nice long and detailed one shot that really let us get to enjoy and feel as though we were getting to know this story’s version of our beloved characters, but also wrapped up so nicely at the end and completely satisfying. I loved younger Henry in this, and just getting to see Emma experience that stage of his life and enjoying his childhood instead of not being able to even be with him was an unexpected treat. It’s lovely too how it is Henry who first bonds with their ghost in the mirror (and it makes perfect sense too, Henry’s so open and caring and Killian was clearly so lonely and in need of someone to to care). That scene of Henry sitting before the mirror reading his book to Killian is priceless and now etched in my memory!! 😍. I really loved how you gave Belle such and active support role and let her skills in research really be an integrated help. I would have loved to see she and Emma be this close on the actual show!

Anyway, thanks so much for sharing this!!

The Man Behind Glass

Summary: When Emma Swan moved to Storybrooke, Maine, she never imagined she’d end up living out a real-life ghost story. But then again, does anyone really expect to find a cursed mirror, or the 300-year-old pirate trapped inside? Rated T. ~12.5K. Also on AO3.

A/N: I’m back, with my second contribution to @cssns! @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 is responsible for that fantastic gif above - go tell her how awesome she is, because seriously, she’s the best (if its not working, that’s my fault, not hers). As always, thanks to my amazing beta, @snidgetsafan. She’s also the best. Additional thanks to @branlovesouat and @kymbersmith-90, who were 100% responsible for the brainstorming on the CSSNS discord that led to this fic, and helped me get it off the ground.

Tagging folks that were interested or I think would like this: @kmomof4, @hollyethecurious, @winterbaby89, @courtorderedcake, @aerica13, @teamhook, @searchingwardrobes, @katie-dub, @snowbellewells, @wingedlioness

Enjoy!

“Well, kid,” Emma Swan says, apprehension coloring her voice, “looks like this is the place.”

The house isn’t much to look at, to say the least. Truthfully, most of this little town isn’t much to look at. But when Mary Margaret Nolan, an old friend from college, had told Emma about the opening for a counselor at her elementary school, she had jumped at the chance to finally move Henry out of the city and into a place where they can have something resembling a support system. The house Emma purchased is older, shabby-looking, but is in surprisingly good condition inside, albeit dusty and outdated. The previous owner had died some months before, leaving her assets to the town trust. Having no real need for a shabby Queen Anne home, the town had been anxious to sell it, and Emma had snapped it up at a bargain price, some of the late owner’s furnishings included. A lot of it’s probably going to end up carted off to the nearest thrift store in the back of David Nolan’s truck, but Emma’s hopeful that there might be a few pieces they can use. The more she can save on furniture, the better.

At the time of purchase, it seemed like there were almost no downsides - furnished, affordable, with a nice sized yard for Henry to run around in - but looking now at the crooked fence and peeling paint, Emma’s a lot more nervous. God, what have I gotten myself into? she wonders with rising panic. No one has ever accused Emma of being handy, and by the looks of things, she may have quite a few projects on her hands.

It does help that Henry is clearly thrilled by the new house, practically skipping up the front walk with his backpack and all the energy a five-year-old can muster.

“This house is so cool, Mom!” he exclaims excitedly, bringing a smile to Emma’s face despite all her worries. “Can we put a play castle in the backyard? Can my room be in the tower? Oh! Do you think it’s haunted?” Frankly, Henry seems most excited about the last possibility, which Emma will take the time to be worried about later when her schedule is more open.

Keep reading

[jarienn972]

The Inbetween - Chapter Five

Time for the next chapter of my ghostly @cssns tale! The cliffhanger that ended the previous chapter is quickly revealed and you’ll find that it is partially resolved, but our heroes aren't out of danger yet. There’s just one chapter left after this one. Once again, thanks to @kmomof4 and the rest of the event organizers for a summer filled with amazing supernatural tales and thank you @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 for the header and the character art!

AO3  FF.net  Tumblr:  One  Two  Three  Four 

What the hell just happened? Emma found herself asking for the umpteenth time tonight. There's been a brilliant burst of light and a blast of air that nearly knocked them off of the sofa, but honestly - what really happened? She had witnessed similar signs from curses breaking, whether from a True Love's Kiss or whatever the hell else broke curses around here, but this was an entirely different type of curse. Would the curse breaking to free the trapped spirits look or feel the same?

Sensing that her magic was still intact - for the moment, at least, Emma gave a quick swish of her hand to bring the candles back to life. Beside her, Killian was hunched over with his head lowered to his knees and arms still drawn tightly over his ears. "You okay?" she asked, giving his shoulder a little nudge.

Killian drew his head up hesitantly, his eyelids tentative in their opening before he dared lower his arms. "It's quiet…" he whispered, sounding befuddled by that very revelation.

"You don't hear the voices anymore?" Emma asked, hopeful the spell had been a success, but not rushing to inform David or Regina until she was certain.

"I don't believe so...," Killian replied, intently listening for any voices present aside from his wife's. "I think Regina's spell just might have worked…" His voice trailed off as Emma noticed his eyes were locked in an icy stare, but she couldn't tell what he was focused on.

But trying to figure out precisely what Killian was staring at became less important as she became aware of a presence attempting to fill the space between them. "What the hell?" she exclaimed as she felt something trying to force its way between Killian and herself, but even though she was feeling as though that same something was trying to push her away, her husband appeared oblivious to it. "Killian?" she called out to him, but he just sat there, seemingly entranced by whatever was still in this room with them. "Killian!" She shouted his name once again as a chill enveloped her.

The temperature inside the mansion hadn't exactly been balmy all night, but it now seemed to have dropped at least another ten degrees in mere seconds. She knew that all of the windows in the room were closed and even though there had been a blast of wind that had blown through the room just moments ago, it hadn't been this cold. She thought about what they could be experiencing and all that came to mind was that there must still be a spirit here that didn't cross over - one that was suddenly manifesting its presence. It was also blatantly trying to separate her from Killian by inserting an invisible barrier between their bodies, but she'd been prepared for it this time.

"Oh, hell no!" she cried out, directing her words to the unseen spirit. "Not this time, pal…" If this thing was trying to possess Killian again, it wasn't happening. Earlier, when she'd healed the majority of his injuries from the tumble down the stairs, she'd snuck in a protection spell blocking any entity from gaining control of Killian's body again. She doubted even a virus could sneak in right now and that was perfectly fine with her. She hadn't trusted Jeremiah or any of his other ghostly friends to keep their word and not take another turn at controlling the pirate against his will. A quick-thinking modification of the protective spell she'd placed on his heart long ago to prevent Gold or anyone else from taking it had been a potentially brilliant idea, but she had no way to measure its success or failure unless a ghost tried to possess him once more.

Now, with him transfixed - some sort of magic attempting to exert influence over him - she would get her answer, but if her plan was successful, it also meant that they'd be dealing with a very pissed off ghost - and she was definitely right about that. The presence she felt trying to repel her from Killian was exerting increasing force, reaching a point where the pressure was so great it actually tipped over the sofa, sending both Emma and Killian tumbling to the parquet floor. Emma recovered almost instantly, rolling off of the upended sofa and drawing herself into a ready-for-action crouch (not that it would be particularly effective against an invisible enemy). Hampered by the prior head injury, Killian didn't get up quite as quickly, struggling against the sensation of blood rushing to his already pounding skull which left him slightly disoriented. Fortunately, at least the impact with the floor had broken the trance. He toppled over onto his side in attempt to right himself, but couldn't seem to muster the strength to push himself even to his knees.

But what Killian didn't realize was that he wasn't just fighting against his own vertigo - something was intentionally trying to keep him pinned down. It took Emma only seconds to realize that the entity was still attacking him. Oh, no you don't, she thought as she propelled herself forward, grabbing a fistful of the soft, black leather that made up the collar of Killian's jacket and yanking him off of the fallen sofa. The abrupt movement caught him off-guard, leaving him slightly dazed until he regained his senses. One thing was absolutely certain though - they were definitely not alone in this room.

And this ghost wasn't playing nice anymore.

Angered, the spirit diverted its attention from the couple, instead focusing its energy on objects in the parlor - starting with small items it could easily manipulate as it worked toward larger ones. Emma's thermos suddenly became a projectile launched at her head and while it was easily deflected, there were undoubtedly going to be more.

"I'm thinking that maybe we should get out of here…," Emma suggested, although she truthfully had no idea where they could go in this blasted house that would be safe.

"I don't think that this spirit intends to allow us to leave here, Love," Killian replied as he regained his wits. "Our unseen companion is rather upset that you prevented him from possessing my being again - and thank you for that, by the way."

"So, it's the same spirit? The one who called himself Jeremiah?" Emma wondered, trying to figure out why any ghosts would have been left behind if Regina's spell had been successful. Why didn't this one cross over?

"Aye," Killian confirmed. "Tis the same entity. The other voices I was hearing earlier tonight have gone silent so it appears the others have moved on…"

"Why the hell didn't Jeremiah move on?" Emma asked as they ducked an airborne urn that sailed over their heads. "Is that why he's so upset?"

"I don't think so," Killian said, shaking his head as he strained to understand the spirit's message through the chaos. "He's quite irate, but the aggression appears to be directed more towards you than anything else."

"Damn - what did Regina get wrong that kept this one here?" she questioned as the flames of the four candles she'd just re-lit flared, the flames reaching nearly the height of the taper candles themselves before they began blending together to form what looked like a mocking face in the fire. Emma waved her hand to squelch the maniacal flames with a magically guided breeze that would once again envelope them in darkness, but both would agree that they were more unnerved by the fiery visage staring back at them than they were of the dark.

"That was truly disconcerting…," he started to say as they remained frozen in place, trying to discern where the next attack might originate. In the faint light that remained, a glimpse of movement drew his eyes upward and he immediately recognized that the motion he was seeing was the parlor's chandelier swaying - and separating from the ceiling. "Swan - look out!" He cried out as the bracket that once secured the massive light fixture to the ceiling pulled free and sent the entire metal and crystal contraption plummeting to the floor. While they managed to roll out of the way of the bulk of the fixture, broken glass sprayed everywhere along with bits of bronze shrapnel.

"I think he's gotten stronger without the competition," Emma stated as she carefully brushed away the crystal shards along with the dust and cobwebs that accompanied them. "Maybe that's what he wanted all along?" she theorized, figuring it wasn't any crazier of a thought than anything else they'd faced tonight. "I think it's time we got the hell out of this house!"

"I'm in full agreement with you there, but this spirit is not about to cooperate," Killian warned. "From what I can garner, this spectre is quite incensed, yet at the same time, he appears to be gloating…"

"Gloating? Really? Look, I'm partially glad that you can still hear him," she responded, "but I'm really sorry about what it did to you…"

"We can discuss all of that later, Love," Killian assured her. "Right now, it seems our friend, Jeremiah, is in need of a recharge. These manifestations and manipulations drained his energy, so we may have a brief window of reprieve…"

"We should head back to the butler's quarters. I don't think the ghosts have invaded that part of the property because from what I saw when I was briefly in there earlier, nothing in that area seems to be even remotely enchanted." She pushed herself up to a standing position, still wary of invasive spirits and flying objects as she searched for the radio, knowing it had fallen somewhere around the overturned sofa. Killian, still on his knees, spotted it first, locating it beneath one of the loose cushions. He leaned forward to retrieve it, wrapping his fingers around the device before he finally pushed through the dizziness and forced himself to stand.

"If you think that's the best, lead the way, Love," Killian replied, extending his arm to offer the radio to her which she accepted and pocketed, certain they would need it later. She took a few steps over to the console table where the still smoldering candelabra rested, eyeing it suspiciously before daring to pick it up. They were going to need the light, but would there be residual spirit energy accompanying them if they brought it with them? After a brief hesitation (and a struggle with lingering doubt that her magic would fail again), she wriggled her fingers ever-so-slightly to re-light the wicks.

"Good thing I healed that ankle of yours," she quipped as she lifted the candelabra from the table. "We'd better move quickly before Jeremiah regains his strength. We've got to head through the kitchen to get through the butler's quarters and I really don't want to get caught in there by a pissy spirit who can move objects…"

"There'll be no argument from me," Killian assured her as they darted out of the parlor, back into the vestibule. He unintentionally kept a fair distance between himself and the curving staircase as they dashed past it, heading down the corridor that would lead to the dining hall. "Hurry, Love," he urged. "Jeremiah isn't exactly pleased with our attempts to elude him. I can hear him cursing us - and using words far less refined than those of my crew. He isn't yet prepared to throw any more parlor tricks at us yet though."

"Good. C'mon then...through here," she advised as she grabbed his hand, practically dragging him into the dining hall towards the unfurnished square anteroom, immediately noting that its door, which had been propped open earlier, was now closed. She briefly contemplated the possibility of the door being blown shut by the blast of wind moments ago or if it had been intentionally closed by ghostly manipulation. Either way, she had no intent of lingering as she gave the door a forceful kick to swing it back open and allow them to pass through. One more swinging door admitted them into the kitchen where eerie glints of candlelight reflected off of the still shiny steel, aluminum and chrome.

Emma hesitated only for a split-second as they made their way through the room Killian would have referred to as the galley, her mind suddenly invaded by images of flying pots, pans and most worrisome - knives. She shook her head vigorously to dismiss those disturbing thoughts before yanking open the final door that would take them outside onto the covered sidewalk connecting the mansion to its caretaker's residence, whispering a silent prayer that no magical barrier would stop them and then giving silent thanks as the door opened unhindered.

"Swan, we need to move faster," Killian stated anxiously as they passed through the doorway. "We have a very antagonistic spirit here that has nearly reached full strength again!"

They sprinted the remaining few yards to the detached apartment, the dwelling which Killian not-so-fondly recalled had been the Apprentice's home - at least before he'd trapped the old man inside the Crocodile's mysterious, magic-sucking hat, all while the pirate himself had been Rumplestiltskin's unwilling slave. It hadn't been one of his prouder moments, and he sensed Jeremiah taunting him with the haunting memory. Laughter echoed in Killian's ears - evil, mocking laughter that only brought further shame about his actions. Emma noticed his brooding as she shoved the door open, drawing him out of his self-imposed trance by taking hold of a fistful of his lapel and yanking him inside the apartment's living room. She gave him an forceful, almost impolite shove away from the entrance as she slammed the door behind them, turning the deadbolt lock instinctively before realizing how ridiculous that action seemed in retrospect. A deadbolt wouldn't exactly be any barrier to a ghost she thought as she stood breathlessly pressing her back to the doorframe and then two words came to mind.

"Now what?" Emma sighed loudly before pausing to catch her breath. "Can you still hear Jeremiah? What's he thinking now?"

Killian stood in the center of the Apprentice's former living room for a few seconds, listening for the ghostly voices that had plagued him all night before realizing that no - he couldn't hear anything except his own pounding heart. "No. I don't hear him, but I'm not about to believe that or let my guard down just yet. It may just be another trick."

"Hopefully not," Emma replied, unintentionally flinching at the sound of a door slamming in the distance, certain that it was Jeremiah locking them out of the main portion of the mansion. "Earlier tonight, Jeremiah said that the Apprentice knew of their presence, but since he lived here and not in the main house, maybe the old man created some sort of barrier to keep the ghost out of his home?"

"I hope you're correct," Killian replied, massaging his aching temples as he dropped his exhausted body onto the dust-covered, faded plaid sofa. "I'm not certain how much more my head can take…"

"Maybe the Apprentice has some aspirin or something stashed around here?" she suggested, trying to determine where the bathroom might be as she hadn't made it past this room earlier.

"I'll be fine, Swan. Question is - can we leave the property from here without traipsing back through the main house?"

"I don't know, but…" Her train of thought trailed off as the radio in her pocket came to life and she heard the muffled sound of her father's voice.

"Emma? Hook?" David voice pleaded anxiously. "Are either of you able to hear me?" She suddenly realized that while they were trying to remain a step ahead of a ghost, David had been sitting out in front of the mansion, most likely seeing the flashes of light and maybe even overhearing some noises of a rather disturbing nature.

She shoved her hand into her pocket and withdrew the radio, immediately depressing the Talk button. "Yeah...we're here, Dad."

"Oh, thank goodness!" They could hear David's relieved sigh over the crackle of static. "I was seeing more of those strange lights and then, a few minutes later, I thought I heard a crash. I got out of the truck to see what was going on and when I looked through the front window, I could barely make out the chandelier laying on the ground next to an overturned couch…"

"Sorry - we didn't exactly have time to alert you," Emma responded as she made her way over to the other side of the room to join her husband on the sofa. "We've got one angry ghost to deal with here. Killian is pretty sure that the others were freed to cross over, but there's still one here - Jeremiah - and he's dispensed with all of his pleasantries."

"Well, Regina's here," David informed them, the announcement coming as a bit of a surprise to both Emma and Killian. Was she just following up to see if the spell had worked and if so, why didn't she just call David to inquire? "That ghost - Jeremiah - she thinks he might be dangerous…"

"I think we've found that out," Emma replied, perhaps a little too snidely. "He tried to possess Killian again, but I blocked him with a protective spell. I think it pissed him off just a bit because he started throwing stuff at us."

"Where are you now?" David asked impatiently. "You're not still in the parlor, are you?"

"No, we're around back - in the butler's quarters where the old Apprentice used to live," Emma explained. "If you can find a way back here without going through the mansion, it doesn't seem like this section has enough magic for Jeremiah to use so we seem to be alone. He probably has the main house on lockdown again."

"Okay, thanks," David responded. "We'll find a way to get back there because Regina needs to fill you in with what she just told me." The radio went quiet again, leaving Emma and Killian to ponder the last part of David's statement. What exactly did Regina need to tell them and did it have anything to do with Jeremiah possibly being dangerous? Just what the hell had they walked into tonight?