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snowbellewells · 3 years ago

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Story Update: “The Lawman, the Thief, and the Outlaw” // Chapter Four

I sincerely did not mean to keep anyone waiting this long for another chapter, but all I can really do is apologize and try to be more prompt from here on out. It is summer, so maybe I can actually manage that! ;p

***So many, many thanks to @kmomof4 for being such a super second set of eyes on this and catching silly inconsistencies, logic lapses and typos for me. I’m indebted for your help and encouragement. ***

Summary: Sheriff Killian Jones has done his best to leave behind a troubled past and bring law and order to the town of Blanchard Ridge. However, when he upholds his duty in the face of the most feared and dangerous outlaw gang in the area, allies are few and he dreads trapping them in the same situation he finds himself. The small Western town is about to become a powder keg, and one lawman, his deputies, and a resourceful woman too stubborn for her own good are all that stand in the way of bloodshed and lawlessness…

Previous chapters can be found here on Tumblr: Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

Or on AO3: Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

Chapter Four

The rooster’s crow the next morning came much too soon for Killian’s liking; especially since, though he would admit it to no one, he’d gotten little sleep or relief from his mind racing with possibilities for how the house of cards stacked precariously around them might come tumbling down at any moment. Once he heard Scarlet’s voice jibing and laughing at Smee about how maybe they ought to fit him with his own apron he cooked so well, Killian roused himself reluctantly. Usually, he had to make sure Will didn’t lie abed, so if he was up and about his usual antics, Killian had almost certainly overslept.

The whole place did smell exceptionally good, Killian conceded, breathing deeply of the mouthwatering aroma of thick-sliced ham sizzling away on the small hob installed in one corner of the jail and the aroma of coffee already brewed and hot in the kettle over the fire. Smee did know what he was about when it came to the vittles, and it had saved them all a hefty amount of change that he would almost certainly have been taking across the street to Mary Nolan’s establishment otherwise.

The deputy in question was at that moment swatting at Will with his spatula; the younger man dodging him easily, when Killian made his way over from his bunk to fetch his mug off the hook on the wall. “Morning, mMates,” he greeted blandly, abruptly canceling the odd game of tag and gaining a reciprocal greeting from each of his deputies in turn as Smee spooned fried potatoes and ham hot off the griddle onto the plate he then held out to his boss automatically.

“Thank you kindly,” Killian spoke sincerely, cutting his eyes to Nightshade, who was pointedly ignoring them. “Did he eat?”

Smee shook his head, clear affront and irritation on his flushed, round features. “Not even a nibble, Cap’n,” he answered, as Killian had expected. It had been the same for the whole of his incarceration.

“Don’t let it trouble you,” he offered with a shrug. “You’ve done your part and then some, offering him good meals - better’n he’d get out there on the run with his gang. He’ll eat when he’s good and hungry, or he won’t, it’s none of our concern.”

The older man was still grumbling to himself as he shuffled in his rocking gait over to ladle out his own grub and back over the worn floor to sit down across the table with it, using his fork to dig in with relish and leaving them to eat in contented quiet for several minutes. Will had already headed out to the head of the street, the other end of town from where they were located at the jail, and the entrance into Blanchard Ridge proper. Killian would spell him for the afternoon shift once lunch was past; no one should spend the whole day out in the full sun as they would be there. By the same turn though, ever since they’d brought Nightshade in from the stage robbery three days prior, they had found it only sensible to keep watch for any unfamiliar faces, suspicious types, or known associates of Malcolm and his cronies entering or leaving the town limits. They were already outnumbered and rather stationary targets. Pan Malcolm knew exactly who they were, where they were holding his trusty lieutenant, and had a fierce desire to make his move. The last thing they could allow themselves was to be ambushed or taken unawares along with the poor odds they already faced.

Passing Smee the list of supplies he’d begun the previous evening, Killian stood, stretched, took his hat from its peg by the door, and placed it on his head, then told Smee to add anything he could think of which they might need if hunkering down completely for some days. He stepped out into the morning air, and his eyes scanned the sparse morning travel - a buggy here and there, coming in to visit the general store or to see the farrier or blacksmith. A few folks here and there spoke briefly to one another before continuing on their way, but it seemed a normal, calm morning in the small outpost. Of course, he had thought as much yesterday as well, before all hell had broken loose, and he studied the street and the darker mouths of alleys as his gaze traveled down the street, but naught seemed amiss.

It was only as he turned once more from his perusal, that he noticed Miss Emma Swan emerging through the swinging door of Nolan’s boarding house across the way, seemingly seeking a bit of sunshine and fresh air to start her day. Almost against his will, Killian allowed the golden sheen of her hair to emblazon his sight, appreciating the way it fluttered in loose waves on the breeze, not yet gathered up for the day in the tightly intricate knots and chignons women seemed to favor or deem proper. Her eyes were closed and a soft, almost unconscious, smile curled her soft, pink mouth upward at the corners, merely savoring the light, cool breeze.

Before he realized he had done so, Killian was down the steps and walking across the hard packed earth toward her, as if drawn by a string. Blinking, he tried to reason that he needed to make his rounds of patrol and see that all was well anyway; the inn and restaurant were as good a place to begin as any. But that was an excuse. He was pulled right along in her direction, the last sort of trouble he needed. Regardless, it would have done him little good to try fighting the compulsion. It was too strong to even want to resist, and he was already halfway across the dusty street. Short of stopping in the middle of the road and aimlessly changing direction like a lost calf, his wisest course was to keep moving forward.

With all the surrounding noise- hoofbeats, a broom on wooden planks further down the walk, the clatter of dishes behind her in the boarding house kitchen- Miss Emma Swan did not seem to hear his approach, with her eyes closed and her face tilted up to drink in the early sunlight as it was. Not until he cleared his throat and wished her a ‘good day, Miss Swan’ did she startle and see him standing before her with a playful smirk quirking the corner of his mouth, eyes sparking in mischief. After how much she had taken him aback at their first meeting, he admittedly enjoyed catching her off guard for even a second.

Nodding curtly, the blonde beauty before him recovered quickly from her surprise. “Sheriff Jones,” she clipped, her voice clearly attempting nonchalance, but her body turning slightly to angle toward him, as if working under the same sort of compulsion which had pulled him across the street moments before.

Killian noted the tight composure she was working to project and couldn’t help wondering guiltily if she was still trying to appear calm and unflustered, or if he had done irreparable damage by bringing up her accused crimes in the wanted poster. Though she seemed well able to hold her own - he had no doubt she could fight as fiercely as her namesake protecting its nest were she provoked - Killian found himself wishing to take back any hurt or offense he might have caused. It might well be wishful thinking, but he wanted desperately to believe the claims of cheating and theft were false. Something behind the dazzling green of her eyes spoke of a pain and loneliness he felt echoes of in the hollow of his own chest - the need to trust, and yet having no one to turn to for it.

Vowing to get to the bottom of the situation, and hopefully clear her name and put things right between them, Killian tipped his hat to her politely, lingering on the sidewalk with her, rather than continuing on his way to speak to the Nolans. “I hope all has been well for you so far, here in Blanchard Ridge,” he offered kindly, attempting to stick at least somewhat to his self-assigned task as well.

Emma Swan tilted her head in consideration before raising her chin and then tossing her hair over her shoulder as she sniffed, “Other than being falsely accused and manhandled by local law enforcement, it’s been lovely.”

Oh, she had that tart tongue sharpened this morning! Killian nearly sputtered in surprised reaction, almost taking the bait as well, but managed - just barely - to keep his cool, sidling right up beside her to whisper in her ear, his warm breath rustling the soft, downy flyaway of her hair, his own blood rushing at the shiver he saw run through her in reaction. “Come now, Darling. I’d hardly label it manhandling, or harassment, when you were the one hoping for it to carry on…”

Sucking in a harsh gulp of air, Miss Swan lurched away from him instinctively, eyes wide and mouth gaping, shock coloring her features a mighty fetching pink indeed. He’d known he was toeing a line with his words, true as they were, and had intended to get a rise out of her. Still, her quickly furtive glances at the mostly deserted morning street around them and the narrowed gaze she aimed at him certainly didn’t disappoint. It took her a moment to recover her voice, mouth opening and closing soundlessly several times before she placed her palm directly in the center of his chest and gave him a shove for emphasis once she managed to sputter, “Speak for yourself, Sheriff! I’ll have you know that was nothing more than a momentary lapse, and certainly not something to be spread about or repeated at my expense.”

“Momentary lapse, eh?” he repeated doubtfully. “Next you’ll be trying to convince me you could return a kiss that passionately and claim it was a one-time thing.”

She tipped her chin higher still in defiance, returning with a huff, “It was a one-time thing. If I had harbored any doubt in the matter, you’re now doing a fine job of erasing it.”

Killian found himself merely staring back at her, wordless in the face of her quick retorts yet again, a habit which was rapidly becoming unsettlingly familiar where she was concerned. He removed the wide-brimmed hat he wore to run his hand across his brow and back through his hair awkwardly, just barely resisting the temptation to scratch nervously behind his ear; a tell he knew a player like Emma Swan would pick up on easily and revealing just how off his game she had put him.

Needing to regain some control of their exchange rather than retreating tail between legs as it were, he turned the tables rather more abruptly than he might have normally. “Doubtful a Sheriff should consort with a card thief anyway,” he tossed back. The minute he did, the hurtful barb grated on his tongue, making him wince at his own ungentlemanly conduct - exploiting a weak spot he knew to cause her distress. Accurate and earned or no, had he not just vowed to get to the bottom of the situation, learn the facts, and try to reach an accord between them? Why did he seem to find himself doing the opposite of his intentions whenever he got near this woman?

Indeed Swan pulled back, coming stiffly to her full height and putting several feet between them on the mostly empty boardwalk. A clouded expression swam into her normally clear green eyes, turning them murky as a still, mossy pond. Her chin wobbled the slightest bit, her head shaking minutely in dissent at his words. Then, however, her entire aspect hardened - mouth thinning as she pressed her lips together firmly, her back ramrod straight, her shoulders drawn up as if braced against being struck. Those expressive eyes narrowed, as if in refusal to give anymore away to him, and in a low hiss, almost under her breath, she struck back with equal force. “Serves me right for thinking you might be different! That we might be able to understand each other. You’re just like all the others, only see what’s right under your nose…” She sniffed suspiciously then, and Killian’s heart smote him that it might be due to held back emotion, though she passed it off well as haughty indignation. “Why don’t you take another long look at your beloved wall of handbills? See if you don’t find one for Walsh Baum. Maybe then you’ll put two and two together!”

Seething, she stood there, practically nose-to-nose with him again, though he couldn’t have said when she moved back in his direction, her shoulders rising and falling noticeably with her harsh breaths. He sensed she wanted to turn on her heel and march off with the last word won. Yet, by the same turn, she refused to back away and give him even the inch it would take her to do so. Oddly bemused, Killian found himself half aching to apologize for his words spoken in poor form, and strangely tempted to grip her tense upper arms and haul her forward to kiss her thoroughly, finishing what they had started upstairs in Nolan’s hall the day before.

Before he could do anything foolish, Killian withheld judgment on whether it were lucky or not, his attention was arrested by the regular, steady cadence of a horse traveling down the main thoroughfare toward them. Realizing almost belatedly, that while he and Miss Swan had been facing off, the activity on the street had all but disappeared. There was a sort of hushed expectancy in the air, as if the townsfolk who had been out beginning their day were watching from hidden safety and waiting with held breath to see what would happen.

Turning toward the approaching noise, he faced three riders, the one in the middle riding slightly ahead, while the riders flanking the first on either side remained just a step or two behind. He recognized the first rider, slight with russet-tinged sandy hair and a deceptively youthful face sitting straight in a feigned appearance of height and mass atop a striking buckskin. Pan, his mind growled in vengeful warning, wanting to pull the evil imp from his perch unceremoniously and see him crushed in the dirt.

Instead, he straightened, looping his hand over his gun belt in false ease, making certain to draw attention to his pistol, worn at the ready. “Pan,” he greeted roughly, matter-of-fact but far from welcoming. “What are you doing here?”

He knew the outlaw to be just twisted enough to immediately zero in on any weakness an opponent possessed. Anything - or anyone - a person showed concern or affection for became a target in the blink of an eye. Still, Killian could not keep himself from subtly moving to lean against the doorframe, with seeming nonchalance in the hope of inconspicuously blocking Emma Swan from view. When Malcolm glanced back over his shoulder with a nod for his two henchmen, Killian rapidly cut his eyes to Miss Swan with a fevered urgency, attempting to gesture wordlessly for her to slip behind him into the boardinghouse and out of sight.

Stubbornly she jerked her head ‘no’ in response, though thankfully she remained silent as she stood her ground. He couldn’t decide if she truly didn’t grasp the potential danger or merely didn’t wish to heed him. For his own part, Jones merely found he was almost desperate to keep her from attracting Pan’s attention. All things bright and shiny attracted the brigand for his own use, and the Sheriff feared that Emma Swan could all too easily be considered both.

Thankfully, whether she finally sensed the tension in the air and how the peaceful, relative quiet of the morning street had turned to eerie, absolute silence, but he could see the change on her face when she grasped that he was not simply ordering her about on a whim, but that the men before them were not ones to be crossed.

Despite the disagreement they had been enmeshed in mere minutes ago, her eyes held his for several anxious beats of time, and though he felt he should know better, KIllian would have sworn he saw fearful concern in her eyes for him. Another blink, and the moment passed. She faded backward through the open doorway into the boarding house and out of sight. Killian found, to his own troubled surprise, that her escape from Pan’s notice alone made it easier to draw a full breath into his lungs, square his shoulders, and move back across the street to meet the outlaw leader in front of the jail.

His nemesis had already caught sight of him and waited, seemingly at his leisure, for Jones to approach.

Killian let none of his apprehension or concern about how many others might be with the outlaw unseen or what sort of calamity Pan meant to incite show in his face or bearing. Instead, he merely stood before them, feigning for all the world a casual - if wary - curiosity as he looked up to stare into Malcolm’s face and asked, “Just what brings you into our town this morning?”

The jovial, disquieting expression of mirth didn’t fade from the outlaw’s face for a second, if anything, his insidious smile grew and stretched like the spidering cracks spreading out from a fissure in a leaking dam. Raising his bandolero, he let it fall off his head, to hang down his back until needed again, secured by a string. “What indeed,” he intoned smoothly, at last dismounting quickly, slippery as a fish, to land on the ground. His henchmen did the same, though more slowly and with a strange air of invulnerable certainty between them. Gaston, Killian had heard the one called before, when previously trekking into the saloon and blacksmith shop on his gang’s errands. Some French Canadian trapper who was lured into more and more dubious mercenary work as his traplines ran dry of his accustomed prey. At some point he had joined up with Malcolm and his gang, the raiding and looting serving his purposes just fine, and making for rather impressive backup muscle. The other Killian had only heard called James; he spoke little, but a cold, cruel smile was said to cross his lips before the gang attacked, a vicious smile that brought no light to his eyes. Seeing them both flanking their boss now made Killian especially vigilant, awaiting attack on their part.

“Why indeed?” Pan drawled, strolling forward as if he had all the time in the world to stand facing Killian on the steps of the building. “Why I’ve come to check on my man you’re holding here, Sheriff. Naturally, I intend to see that you’re treating him humanely.”

“You’re one to talk of humanity,” Killian challenged hotly, thinking of the savagery and carnage in the aftermath of the last strike Pan and his men had mounted against a stage coming through and its passengers.

“All the same,” Malcolm reiterated silkily, almost relishing Killian’s abhorrence. “I do mean to speak to my lieutenant. Mr. Nightshade is, after all, still a human being due his rights. If you don’t aim to see reason, Jones, and negotiate his release with me, then you can be damn certain I’ll see he’s receiving food and shelter, and not suffering any abuse.”

Killian chose not to justify that insinuation with an answer, though a disgusted grunt escaped his throat without his even attempting to stop it. The muscle in his cheek clenched visibly at his holding his tongue so tightly not to retort that Pan, Nightshade, or anyone in their gang had long ago thrown off their humanity, that he had seen Nightshade’s work firsthand and it was nothing short of the signature of a monster. Rising to the outlaw’s taunts - in truth, showing that their violence could still upset him after all these years - would do no good, and the last thing he wanted was to entertain the fiend.

By this time, Will had come to the door to meet them, looking out the peephole to ascertain Killian’s permission before swinging the solid portal open and showing he had heard the last bit of their exchange with his affronted growl. “Abuse?” he scoffed, no attempt to check the vitriol Killian felt roiling in his own gut too. “He’s bein’ treated better’n a vicious animal has any right to expect.”

Killian gave his deputy a sharp jerk of the head, in indication that such tirades would have no effect. But Malcolm’s eyes practically shone with glee as he paused while Killian quickly searched him for any hidden weapons, the leering pleasure at the raw nerve he seemed to have prodded reflected clearly in his expression.

“Oh, you have found you a fiery one for your second, haven’t you, Jones?” he chortled, unconcerned that he was now surrounded by three armed men in their own space as he crossed the threshold. He nodded as if to himself before adding, just loud enough for Killian to hear. “Reminds me of you, back when we first met… though dear elder brother kept you on a bit tighter leash.”

Killian jerked his head away, refusing to even look at Pan Malcolm’s gloating face while he dared speak of Liam. His teeth ground together so hard while he fought for control over himself, his voice, and the roaring in his veins, that he felt the pain. Breathing a deep, harsh breath out through his nose, he turned back to level Pan with the sort of dark glare he’d once struck fear with before donning a sheriff’s star. “You’re wasting time with your jibes,” he spoke low and evenly, but with a veiled threat in his tone. “Get over there and say your piece to Nightshade. Prisoner’s only allowed fifteen minute visits, and your clock is ticking.”

He turned his back on Pan then, moving several steps away to gather himself more fully, knowing both Smee and Will had their weapons at the ready and eyes tracking their adversary if he tried anything. The ache inside howled as though he had been sucker punched in an open wound. Malcolm might as well have reached in and squeezed his bleeding heart with grubby fingers bringing up Liam so callously. And the man knew it. Though he might feel as though he were gasping for breath, brought to his knees, he could not afford to show it.

Malcolm spoke in lowered tones to his man through the bars, and though Nightshade said little in response, the heavy-lidded ease that crept over his face did little to soothe any concerns Killian harbored for Pan’s intentions. The prisoner nodded his understanding at intervals, and though Killian did attempt to see if he could make out any plans or directives, a word here or there- quite probably purposefully dropped- were all his ears could catch.

Before he could warn the outlaw leader that his time was up, Pan pushed himself away from the bars, bidding Felix a cryptically bright farewell.

Coming to stand shoulder even with Killian’s once more, he spoke with a cavalier sort of insouciance, a roll of his neck as if to say it made little difference to him, Pan offered, “Sure you won’t see things my way once more, Jones?”

Killian glowered at him wordlessly, his stony silence making clear his answer needed no deliberation.

“Have it your way,” Pan chuckled lightly, even affecting a sorry sort of shake of the head, as if he hated to see it go this way. “You know we have more man power, more fire power. We’ve got the town surrounded, Sheriff. Those Marshalls can’t help you if they can’t get in, you know.”

He paused, as if savoring the pall he’d cast over the room, reveling in the dread realization that he spoke the truth. “Just what are you hoping to prove?” he continued. “Are you willing to die over one outlaw’s punishment?”

Tsking in mock dismay, he leaned into Killian’s space. “One would have hoped you wouldn’t be so foolish,” he murmured with a sadness anyone could see was feigned. “It must be something in the Jones blood that leads them to spill it needlessly.”

Before he knew what he was about Killian had lurched forward violently, fisting the front of Pan Malcolm’s fine shirt in his good hand and tightening his grip enough to cut off the other man’s airway. Pressing him firmly against the doorpost he seethed, fire in his eyes. “Possibly you can’t understand honor - you’ve never shown a hint of it. Now, get out of here before I throw you in the other cell, and let me worry about the Marshalls and this town,” he warned.

Slipping from his grasp as easily as a wet eel, Pan only grinned, a feral light twinkling still in his eyes. With a tip of his hat in a mockery of politeness, he slipped out the door with the parting shot of, “Be seein’ ya, Sheriff.”

Tagging a few who might be interested: @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @thisonesatellite @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @stahlop @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @wefoundloveunderthelight @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @xsajx @thislassishooked @thisonesatellite @shireness-says @profdanglaisstuff @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @let-it-raines @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @eala-captian @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @drowned-dreamer

#cs au mc #cs western au #rio bravo movie au #the lawman the thief and the outlaw #chapter four #cs ff

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donteattheappleshook · 2 years ago

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His - A Captain Swan AU Chapter 4/10

Summary

Mature widower with good home wishes to make acquaintance of a hardworking girl or widow. No children. Object matrimony.

When Emma Swan flees scandal in New York to marry a man she’s never met in Storybrooke, Montana, she doesn’t have any illusions of finding love. But when she’s picked up at the station by Killian Jones, it finds her regardless. Despite sharing his home, his bed, and his heart, she can never truly be his.

Read it on Ao3 (where my italics work...)

Catch up on Tumblr 1 2 3

Thank you thank you thank you @elizabeethan and @the-darkdragonfly for all your help with this fic! the best pocket friends and besties an girl could ask for!

******

Part 4

“There you are,” Killian smiles when she finally comes outside to meet him.

She’d stood in the kitchen for a long time, turning the comb over between her hands as she considered it, tracing her fingers over the flowers. She wanted to wear it. Of course she did, it was beautiful, a gift from someone who had cared enough to notice that she’d coveted it. But she didn’t know what it would mean to wear it. Was it just a simple gift from one friend to another, from a son to his father’s wife? Or was it something more, something inappropriate that she couldn’t even let herself consider.

“Oh, you found it,” he says, then frowns as she continues to turn it over in her hands. “Is something wrong?”

She shakes her head no even though there is - or at least, there could be. “It’s lovely. You shouldn’t have.”

“Of course I should. I haven’t given you a wedding present. I know there wasn’t time for a celebration or gifts so I thought you should have at least one.” Emma lets out a sigh of relief. A wedding present. A gift to celebrate her marriage to Brennan. Something perfectly sweet and acceptable. She feels silly, idiotic even to have read more into such a kind gesture.

“I hope it’s alright,” he adds when she doesn’t answer. “It’s only that I noticed you admiring it in the shop…”

“It’s perfect,” she promises and his anxiety begins to fade.

“I just thought you might like something nice. I know that you must have left behind a far more glamorous life for rude cows and nothing but fields and mountains. A bit of a step down, I’d assume.”

“I like the fields and mountains.” She gives him a small, hesitant smile. “Your family and your home aren’t a step down. My life in New York wasn’t nearly as glamorous as everyone seems to think it was.”

He considers her for a moment. “I suppose I don’t know much of your life before you came here. You just showed up one day in your pretty dress from the big city and sent the whole town aflutter,” he smiles.

She returns it as best she can, wondering how much of that life she’ll be able to keep secret, if the scandal will follow her all the way out here. “Thank you for the gift, Killian.”

Killian nods, hesitating as though he can tell she’s keeping something from him, but he only smiles again. “Would you still like to see some more fields and mountains?”

He takes her along the property line, walking the length of the fence, the other side of which, he explains, belongs to the Mills family. “She gets very austere about borders. She’s tried to report us to the sheriff a few times for encroaching on her land,” he rolls his eyes. “Best to avoid her if you can,” he cautions.

He walks her along a creek that he explains is also a property line - that he and his brother used to play here when they were children and hiding from chores. They’d make ships from paper or sticks and race them down the stream until one of their parents found them. “It’s still a good spot to swim on a hot day.”

They come across a herd of cattle, Robin and David waving to them from astride their horses. “What are they doing?”

“Making sure nobody steals them.” Her eyes widen. “And catching any that run off.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

He shrugs. “From time to time.”

“Where’s your father?” Were these not the fields he was speaking of?

“Plowing around the back pasture. He prefers to work alone most days. Happy to complain about the lack of help though,” he rolls his eyes. “At harvest we take on a few temporary workers.” A somewhat awkward silence settles between them as she wonders how often Brennan complains about Killian not being able to help with farm work. “Come on, I think you’ll like this place,” he promises, gesturing further out across the field.

He takes her to an orchard, rows and rows of trees in full bloom offering a little shade from the day’s heat. It’s beautiful, brilliant green everywhere, deeper than the fields and the hills, spotted with pink and yellow. “This was mine and Liam’s favorite place when we were boys. We used to see who could climb the highest. The sweetest fruit grows at the top.”

Emma smiles. “Who won?”

“Me, of course.”

She laughs. She should have expected that. “My friend Lily and I used to climb the apple trees that grew behind the orphanage and sneak some back to our room. We always got in trouble for it though.” Her smile doesn’t fade at the memory. It was always worth it.

It’s a moment before she realizes she’s mentioned the orphanage, something she usually doesn’t tell people about, and he’s watching her carefully as they walk between the branches.

“Well, there’s nobody to get you in trouble for it here,” he says. And maybe she imagines the challenge in his words, in his raised brow, but regardless, she decides to rise to it. “What are you doing?” he asks, smile amused as she kicks off her boots.

“What does it look like?” She takes hold of a low branch. The trees aren’t very tall, nothing like the ancient pines that she can see growing in the mountains, but she’s out of practice, heaving herself up clumsily. The last time she did this she didn’t have a corset.

“Emma…” Killian laughs as she continues to climb. “Be careful.”

She scoffs. “Afraid I’ll beat your record? Or was your bragging about your climbing skills just talk?”

“I’ve got one hand!” he laughs and she rolls her eyes. Alright, it’s a decent excuse. She continues, making her way up to the higher branches, until any higher would be too thin to support her weight, and shimmies out onto one of the sturdier ones, reaching for the ripe peaches that grow above her head.

“Catch,” she calls, picking one and tossing it down to him. When he catches it with ease she throws down a few more and beams at him. Emma takes a moment to enjoy the world from up here, the sun brushing her skin in patches between the leaves, the breeze warm and the air sweet. It’s the freest she’s felt in a long time. For a few minutes, she feels like herself again.

“Are you stuck?” Killian teases from below.

“No,” she answers immediately, almost offended, before realizing… she might be.

He chuckles. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” No.

He huffs another small laugh, rubbing one of the peaches on his shirt and taking a bite, waiting. “You know,” he says after a few moments. “I’d hate to leave you out here but someone has to make dinner if you’re going to spend the night in a tree.”

“I’m fine,” she says, snippy against his teasing. She just needs to figure out how to get down from a tree without breaking her neck or hiking her dress up in front of a strange man. She probably shouldn’t have climbed the damn tree in front of a strange man in the first place. “Just… turn around,” she orders and he smirks but does as she asks.

Right. Well, the tree isn’t that tall anyway, she reminds herself, throwing a leg over from where she’d been straddling the branch and sitting, looking down warily. It’s not that high.

Killian whirls back around at the sound of her small shout, reaching her just in time to see her land on her ass on the soft grass.

“Are you alright?” he demands, kneeling next to her and placing a hand on her shoulder, then her cheek to make her look at him. He looks a little frantic and she almost laughs.

“It was nothing.” She notices his empty arms then. “Did you drop the peaches?”

He looks back at the small pile behind him. “I thought you were hurt.”

“I risked my life to get those!”.

“I thought you said it was nothing,” he smirks.

“That was before you threw them away.”

Killian laughs, shakes his head and stands, retrieving the fruit and handing one to her as she makes her way back to her feet. “Here.”

“Thank you,” Emma says, dusting her hands off on her dress before taking the peach from him.

“What are you going to do with all of these?” he asks, arms full of the fruit she tossed.

She picks another few from the lower branches, makes a basket from the top layer of her dress and tucks them in it. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll make a pie.”

“You know how to make pie?”

Oh, right. “No. But there’s a recipe in Granny’s book and I think I could figure it out.”

“One afternoon with the woman and you’re ready to take over her business.”

“I’m not afraid of a challenge,” she shrugs.

“Oh, I know,” he teases, stepping closer and her breath catches at his nearness. His hand lifts to her hair and the corner of his mouth pulls up as her heart races traitorously. Then he plucks a leaf from her braid, holding it out in front of her with an amused smirk and her face flushes in embarrassment.

It’s all in your head, she reminds herself. Stop imagining things as more than what they are - things that aren’t even there.

“Should we head back?” he suggests, flicking the leaf away. Then his expression grows more hesitant. “We can circle around to the eastern field if you’d like to see my father before he comes in.”

Emma thinks of the way Brennan had dismissed her offer to visit him this morning and his unpleasant mood before he headed out. “Let’s not bother him. I should get started on dinner anyway.” A better meal than yesterday’s is her best shot at improving the impression she’s made so far on her husband. By Killian’s silence as he agrees and leads them back in the direction of the house, he’s likely also remembering his father’s harsh rejection.

“What do you grow out there?” she asks to break the awkward quiet that’s grown between them.

“Wheat mostly. There’s corn as well but it’s for the livestock and doesn’t take much tending.”

“I thought it might be nice to start a garden,” she suggests hesitantly. “Grow some vegetables in the patch out front. It would make it easy to tend while I’m working inside.” Emma looks at him out of the corner of her eye to try and gauge his reaction. If he thinks it’s a silly idea then there’s no chance Brennan would support it. But his son might be able to convince him to agree.

“I think that’s a brilliant idea,” he smiles. “I could help you dig it up - if you need help.”

“Help would be great, thank you.” She’d already planned ahead, ordering vegetables that grow easily from the store today that she could use for meals and then keep the scraps for replanting. “You’re sure you don’t mind? That Brennan won’t?”

There’s concern in the way he looks at her. “You don’t have to ask permission to build a garden on your own land, Swan. It’s your home too now.”

“Right,” she answers, knowing he means it but not so sure she believes it yet. She thinks that if it were only him, then she would already be beginning to feel she belongs. But it isn’t, and she doesn’t, as badly as she may want to. Wanting for something to do, she takes one of the peaches from her skirt and takes a bite, surprising herself and Killian when she lets out a stunned, “holy shit.”

Killian’s brows raise in surprise before he bursts out laughing as she flushes deep red at her language. Mouth still full, she forces herself to finish chewing and swallow before she explains. “I’m sorry. It’s just, you weren’t kidding. These are amazing.”

“Aye, well don’t eat all of them,” he warns. “I was promised pie.”

“Yeah, well, you might have to go climb some trees if you want it that badly.” She slips one into her pocket.

“Are you stealing peaches?”

“It’s for Jewel.”

“Swan, that animal is big and lazy enough. She doesn’t need your help growing so large she can’t fit through her stable door.” He shakes his head. “Wasting perfectly good fruit on a horse, really.”

“I thought this was my home now,” she argues, catching her smirk between her teeth as she uses his words against him. “Doesn’t that mean these are my peaches and I can do what I want with them?”

He laughs, something in his smile softening the teasing humour they’d fallen into. “Aye. It does.”

***

She makes one of Granny’s recipes for dinner, roasting meat, potatoes and vegetables the way the old woman had shown her that morning, adding herbs in generous quantities that she’d given Emma from her own stock. Herbs, she thinks, she’ll have to keep some to plant in her garden as well. She smiles a little as she cooks, thinking of the little patch she’ll dig up, the friends she made today, her stomach churning with anticipation tonight rather than nerves as she waits for the men to come in to eat.

While her husband offers no compliments for the meal she serves, he doesn’t complain. Eating without comment, he mutters about the lack of help he was given today in the field - most of it directed at his son who, along with the farmhands, have been nothing but flattering in their opinions about their dinner.

“You could hire another farmhand,” Killian tells him, another old argument from the sigh with which he suggests it.

“With what money?” Brennan snaps.

“The money you bring with you to the tavern every night.”

“I know some lads in town looking for work,” Robin suggests.

“I’m not paying for more help. I pay you two enough that I shouldn’t have to!”

“It takes two of them to mind the cattle,” Killian reminds him. “We can’t risk losing any more like we did last year.”

“So I should just do all the work myself?” he argues. “What use are two farmhands who spend all day standing in a field and a cripple son who sits around reading books and calls it work?”

“I could help,” Emma offers quietly, hoping to diffuse some of the tension, hoping to find another way to be useful.

“With the field?” Killian asks, but Brennan scoffs.

“Look at her. She can barely lift a bag of flour let alone handle a plow.”

“You said you wanted help,” his son reminds him.

“Aye, help, not a woman who I’ll have to bring back when she faints from exhaustion.”

“Father.”

“What? It’s not women’s work.”

“I’m not sure what other option there is if you don’t wish to hire someone or let Mrs. Jones help,” Robin points out as politely as possible.

“I’m not sure I asked for your opinion, Locksley.”

“No you just want to complain about not having the help you refuse,” Killian mutters and Brennan’s fist comes down hard on the table, jarring her. David sets a gentle hand on her arm, comforting, but she can also feel the suggestion in its weight: don’t get involved.

“I won’t abide being talked down to in my own house by my son and the help,” he spits, standing brusquely, grabbing his jacket. “I’ll be at the tavern. Spending my coin however I damn well please. You best not be here when I get back,'' he warns them, slamming the door behind him and leaving the room in silence.

“I didn’t mean to -”

“You didn’t do anything,” Killian says before she can finish apologizing. “It’s his own pigheadedness that-” He stops, takes a deep breath, calms himself.

“Sorry, Mrs. Jones,” Robin sighs. “We’ve ruined your perfectly wonderful dinner.”

“No, I’ll just…” She moves to gather their plates, flustered and needing something to do. “Does… does anyone want dessert?”

The resounding yes makes her smile despite the tension, turning away to hide her flush, busying herself with serving plates of peach cobbler - pie had turned out to be beyond her skillset after all - bringing them to the table. The discomfort that had built over the course of dinner slowly dissipates as they eat, Brennan seeming to have taken the anger out the door with him.

When Locksley and Nolan have retired for the night, she broaches the earlier subject carefully with Killian. “Do we really need another farmhand?”

“Aye, probably,” he admits, setting dishes down in the washbasin despite her protests that he doesn’t need to help her clear the table. “But the work gets done without one. I don’t know how much longer he can keep it up though with the state he’s in - it used to take three of us.”

“What state?” she asks and he presses his lips together like he’s said too much. “Is he ill?” she asks, remembering his coughing fit from this morning.

“The doctor hasn't found anything wrong with him. He just says that he needs to cut back and give his body a chance to recover or he’ll run himself into an early grave. ”

“The work?”

“Aye… and the rum.

“Oh,” she says, looking towards the door where her husband just left for the tavern.

“I’m sorry,” Killian frowns, pinching his brow. “I keep speaking without thinking tonight.”

“I… is it serious?” she presses, fingers curling into fists, nails digging into her palms as she considers the possibility that her husband - who’s already not a young man and was supposed to provide her with a home and security - may be drinking himself to death. “Should I be worried?” A terrible fear of finding herself a widow so soon after marrying creeps through her, of being left again with nowhere to go like so many times before.

“Hey,” Killian says, reaching for her hand, opening it and keeping it in his. His thumb runs over her knuckles soothingly. “You don’t need to worry. He’s too stubborn to let death get the better of him. And should anything happen…” His finger brushes against her palm as if unwittingly. “You won’t be left alone,” he promises. “I’ll take care of you.” Her heart catches in her throat at his words, racing at the declaration before he quickly corrects himself, dropping her hand. “I mean, we will. Liam and I. We won’t leave you to fend for yourself.”

Emma’s smile is awkward as he reaches to rub at the back of his neck, clearing his throat before announcing that he should probably get the animals settled for the night. She watches him leave, the feel of his calloused fingers against her own still lingering like a reminder.

Stop imagining things that aren’t there.

‘I’ll take care of you.’

***

As she lays in bed later, staring at the ceiling, her husband’s side empty for the second night in a row, she reflects on how drastically her life continues to change in such a short period of time. A week ago she was Emma Swan, governess to a wealthy family in New York. Yesterday she was Emma Jones, wife of a farmer twice her age. And today, she’s married to a farmer twice her age who’s ill from a vice he won’t give up that may leave her as just Emma again, widowed and alone. Only she won’t be alone - Killian had promised. But the thought of losing her husband whom she’s only just met, whom she’s so determined to win the respect and appreciation of, is troubling to say the least.

There’s so much she wishes she had known before she made those vows to a stranger she still doesn’t know. So many things she wishes she’d thought to ask, too focused on fleeing her own heartbreak to consider that the life that awaited her may hold even greater challenges. Maybe she should have stayed in New York. Scandal would have walked in her shadow, and she’d probably never have been able to find another employer, but she’d have had her freedom, the option to walk away. Instead she’d chosen to run.

So when her husband stumbles into their room hours later, reeking of drink and slurring before collapsing, unconscious on the bed for the second night in a row, Emma wars with the mixed feelings of relief and despair that toil within her. This is not the life she’d have chosen for herself, but she did choose it, and now alongside her regret is a desperation to hang onto it less it be ripped from her hands too soon. It’s not the sort of fantasies she’d let herself dream up when she was young, and even for a little while when she thought Neal loved her. But for all the turmoil and uncertainty, there’s goodness - things and places she’s becoming accustomed to, a routine she’s learning to settle into, people she’s growing fond of - and she’s not ready to lose it just yet.

***

When she makes her way downstairs the next morning, she’s not surprised to find Killian already in the kitchen, the smell of coffee wrapping itself around her and warming the room. In fact, as she’d tiptoed quietly across the hall so as not to wake her husband, she couldn’t fight the anticipation of another morning of quiet conversation, of lighthearted teasing and banter before the sun could shine through the windows and bathe them in reality.

The few solitary moments alone she’s had with Killian have been a godsend in these overwhelming first days in Storybrooke. And while she promises herself it’s just relief at having a friend, someone she can talk to - confide in even - the way her heart runs rampant in her chest when he looks up and smiles at her like he’d been anticipating her arrival too, leaves her a little less certain.

When she notices the cup left out on the counter for her next to the kettle, she tries not to read into the considerate gesture. He was late picking you up because he stopped to help Granny, she reminds herself. He’s considerate of everyone. That’s just the kind of man he is.

“Good morning,” he greets, moving from the counter to the table, setting down a fresh loaf of bread and butter and taking a seat. The kitchen still smells like baking and she knows he made it himself. “Breakfast?” he offers. “There’s eggs on the stove as well though you might have to heat them.”

Emma gives him a mirthful smirk. “Have you left me any of my duties?”

“I thought I would give you a hand - so to speak,” he grins, waving his prosthetic. “That way your morning is clear.”

“Clear for what?” she asks, taking a seat and helping herself to bread. His is better than hers and she’ll have to ask him for some advice on that. Though, from the way she can see the muscles of his forearms shifting under his rolled up sleeves as he moves, his hand nearly twice the size of her own, she thinks it might have more to do with kneading and brute strength. She busies herself with picking apart her breakfast, forcing her attention away from him.

Killian leans in conspiratorially. “I wondered if you’d like to come with me to the bookshop today.”

“Yes!” she says too quickly, giddy like a child at the thought of joining him in town again, of not being stuck in the house alone doing chores all day. “Do you think Brennan will mind?”

“Mind what?” her husband demands gruffly, joining them earlier than she’d expected given his condition last night. He’s slightly more alert than he was yesterday and she thinks perhaps he may still be drunk. Brennan takes a seat at the table, waiting expectantly before demanding, “Am I supposed to serve my own damn breakfast?” with an annoyed frown at her.

Emma hurries to the stove, warming the pan and getting a plate ready. She can see Killian about to say something but she shakes her head. She doesn’t want them fighting again, not this morning when she so desperately wants him to agree to let her go.

“Mind what?” he repeats, eyeing his son suspiciously now.

“I was offering to show Emma the shop today. It might be worth it for her to learn how to run the place and handle the books should we ever need the extra help.”

“What, you planning on going somewhere?” he demands.

“No. But if you need an extra hand in the field at harvest I can free up Locksley or Noland and watch the cattle.” Emma can predict his comment and clearly Killian can too, adding, “I can sit on a horse one handed.”

Brennan grunts as she sets his breakfast down in front of him. “Like I said, so long as the cooking gets done and the house is kept I don’t care what you do.” Despite the sting of his indifference, she beams at Killian over her husband’s shoulder. “Don’t know how you’ve got the time though. If you’re short of work there are cows that need milking and eggs that need collecting and those bloody chickens don’t catch themselves. I suppose you spent your days whiling away where you came from but there’s no room for laziness on a farm.”

She gives Killian another pleading look to stay silent when she sees his temper flaring and to her relief he doesn’t speak, only clenches his jaw and fist, glaring at the table. “Of course not,” she tells Brennan, placatingly. “I won’t go if it gets in the way of my chores.”

They sit and eat breakfast quietly, the lack of conversation loaded and awkward, until her husband stands, finished with his meal. He walks out without a word as he had the day before, no goodbye or see you later or kind word for his new wife. Emma sets to cleaning up, bringing the dishes to the sink. Killian helps her without comment and she doesn’t argue with him this time, too disappointed to care. She shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up.

When they’ve finished, Killian holds out a towel, hanging from the tip of his hook with an exaggerated bow and it makes her smile as she takes it. “Come on,” he tells her. “We don’t have much time to waste.”

“What?” she frowns.

“We’ve got cows to milk and eggs to fetch, and honestly I’d be fascinated to see if you could catch a chicken - or at least I’d very much like to watch you try. We’re short on entertainment around here,” he smirks and she flicks the towel at him, making him laugh as he twists out of the way. He pulls out his pocket watch. “We still have about an hour until we need to leave to open the shop.”

Emma can’t fight the way her grin splits her face. She could hug him. She nearly does, but instead catches her lip between her teeth, nodding excitedly and letting him lead the way outside. For all the uncertainty this new life has brought her, all the anxiety, it’s nice to know she’s got one thing she can count on. Her fingers fiddle with the comb in her pocket, tracing the flowers carefully. He pretends not to notice when she slips it into her hair.

******

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#captain swan #cs fanfic #cs ff #cs smut #eventually #cs angst #always #pining idiots #cs au #western au #mail order bride au #sort of #with a twist #a chapter where nothing really happens....

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years ago

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Finally reading all the @cshistfic entries, and wow, what a way to start! Award for Hottest Killian Jones Introduction goes to @profdanglaisstuff

The Outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan)

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a schoolteacher, respectable and respected in the small town of Haven, Wyoming. She does her job and minds her business, but she has a secret. One that brings meaning to her dull life and excitement to her restless soul. One that she knows could end at any moment.

Killian Jones is a man with a powerful enemy and nothing to lose. He’s prepared to sacrifice every bit of that nothing for the sake of his revenge.

Or, at least, he was.

I am THRILLED to be here, kicking off the @cshistfic Historical Fics event! I’ve always loved reading romances set in the past and Westerns are a long-time favourite. Given how deeply entrenched the Western genre is in American culture, it’s funny to think about how a) most of it was made up for dime novels and, later, radio and television shows and movies, and b) the actual historical period that we call the Old West only lasted roughly thirty years—from the post-Civil War westward expansion under the Homestead Act to around the turn of the 20th century. This fic is set right around the end of that time—late 1890s to early 1900s—in the waning moments of the open range and the “lawless” frontier and the start of the modern era with its trains and barbed wire and cars and world wars. I’ve tried to capture a bit of that sense of transition in the story, mostly with the way it ends.

Huge thanks to @shireness-says for coming up with and running this event, and to @thisonesatellite for Just Being Her.

Words: 4.9k Rating: T Tags: Western AU, historical, outlaw Killian, schoolteacher Emma, all the historical detail, I did so much research for this

on AO3

The Outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan):

The hour was late, afternoon edging into evening in the town of Haven, Wyoming. ‘Town’ as a designation flattered it, this tiny settlement tucked back against craggy and striated formations of rock and nestled amongst ragged brush, being, as it was, scarcely more than a handful of rough-hewn cabins, a church, a general store, a blacksmith and livery stable, a saloon with its attendant whorehouse, and a school.

The store and the smithy did the town’s most active business; unsurprisingly, seeing as they were the only examples of either within the radius of a good fifty miles. The residents—those who lived within the town’s scant limits—were certainly insufficient in their numbers to support either one, but the owners of those ranches that lay outside the town, they and their ranch hands, their wives, and their daughters, frequented both with pleasing regularity.

The general store doubled, as such establishments generally did, as a post office, in which capacity it served as the sole tenuous link between this stark western land and the fashionable cities of the east. The Sears and Roebuck catalogue and that of Montgomery Ward, both prominently displayed beside the till, were tattered and well-thumbed, and the monthly mail delivery never came without piles of brown-wrapped parcels containing the latest in fashion and technology from the wider world—hints at the wonders promised by the new century.

Very little of this prosperity touched the actual residents of Haven. The lives they lived were hard ones, scratched from unforgiving soil, but they were good folk, honest and hard-working. They lived simply and piously and for the most part happily. They tended their gardens and their livestock, read their Bibles, loved their children, and whenever possible sent those children to school.

The Haven school, a single room with two windows, one on either side, and a disproportionate bell-tower on the roof—both this tower and the bell it contained were gifts from a local rancher, who considered them a better use of his money than blackboards or books—was located well away from the town’s main street. It had no fireplace, only a tiny, smoky, potbellied stove, and in the warmer months no breeze blew through the unglazed windows. The pupils sat on simple benches and copied their lessons onto slates that sold at the general store for rather more than their parents could comfortably afford; lessons their teacher laid out for them on a thickly-whitewashed wall with a piece of charcoal, the dust of which stained her fingers and her clothing, and embedded itself beneath her nails so deeply there were times she felt she’d never be free of it.

This teacher’s name, the one she used, was Miss Emma Swan. A solitary and self-contained woman of about twenty-six, far too pretty for a schoolteacher most said, and if pressed these same would likely agree that teaching was not what folks might refer to as her calling. Though none could deny that she did her best and was kind to the children—a thing not always guaranteed from schoolmarms—she exuded such a restless air, an impatience with the tedium of her job and the pace of life in Haven which she did not trouble to conceal, that it was a subject of great curiosity amongst the residents why she continued to stay there.

“I have my reasons,” she would say, whenever anyone dared to broach the subject, “and those reasons are my own.” There it was and there it would remain as far as Emma was concerned, and as the townsfolk knew her to be a courteous woman but one who never minced her words when riled, they declined to press the issue.

Keep reading

#cs fic #cshistfic #cs western au

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allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 · 6 years ago

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Captain Swan Western AU - inspired by Colin O’Donoghue as JJ Sneed

It's been you and me right from the very start, And every job we ever pulled, I'd always done my part.

#captain swan #cs au #cs aesthetic #jj sneed #Dolly Parton's Heartstrings #au #western au #cs aesthetics #aesthetics #yeah we haven't seen much of him yet but i'm jumping on the bandWagon Train lol #and i picked those particular cowgirl photos because her jacket was red but then i decided to make it all sepia tone instead #and of course the bowler hat is there lol XD #also all photos were from pexels.com except that hat itself which i placed over a table photo from pexels #kayla's aesthetics #my aesthetics

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the-captains-ayebrows · 7 years ago

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Five Verbs (3/6) - To Refuse

A/N: Heyyyy... it's been awhile. So, here's a quick recap: In our last chapter, Emma was settling in to life at the Jewel of the Range ranch. She and Killian have developed a rapport and routine, but the simmering attraction to her new boss was getting a little too much to handle. He took her into town for a night out, and as much as she tried to find someone else to help her 'scratch the itch' we all knew whose bed, er, couch she'd end up on at the end of the night. But that was just a one-time thing, right?

Spoiler alert: SMUTTY SMUT ahead. I'm not sure when an M rating turns into an E, but this might be pushing it. Saddle up.

~13K words

Catch up (or refresh your memory) on Tumblr [Ch1] [Ch 2] or AO3

To Refuse - In order to feel like you can consent, you also need to feel like you are allowed to refuse. It isn’t a matter of only saying “No”, but also “Not now,” “Not yet,” and “Not like this.” Give yourself permission to tell a friend, “I’m not ready to talk about that yet,” or, “I’ve got too much on my plate right now.” To tell your lover, “I’m not comfortable with that,” or, “Let’s try something else.” Saying no and establishing boundaries is an essential dimension in a relationship.

“Twenty minutes ‘til housekeeping. C’mon!”

Giggling girlishly, she darted inside the shabby motel room after him. Showed him the dream-catcher the previous occupants had left behind. Delighted herself in the amusement she saw in his warm brown eyes.

“Anywhere you want to go, babe. Pick a point on the map or else we’ll just keep driving until we find a home.”

She looked down at the map he dropped on the bed in front of her and felt his arms wrap around her waist, the warmth of his body soaking into her back.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Her breath hitched at the way his hand dipped dangerously low on her abdomen. “I want you, Emma. Just you.”

She wanted to look into his eyes to see the truth of his words shining back at her, but his hands began to roam her body, his tongue tantalizing the delicate skin behind her ear. She knew she should stop him, but every sensation was so new, so exciting. It felt so good to be wanted, but…

Emma furrowed her brow in confusion. His hands- they didn’t feel like she remembered. His voice was softer now. A different timbre. Her heart began to race. She couldn’t see him. She needed to see him. This was different, this wasn’t how it went.

She tried to turn in his arms, but found herself lying on her back on a couch, her head cradled on someone’s arm, hot breath on her neck. She turned her head as he raised his and saw not brown eyes, but startling crystal blue…

Emma’s eyes sprang open and she sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp, struggling to control her breathing. A dream. It was just a dream. The covers pooled around her waist, leaving her shivering as the sheen of sweat covering her body began to cool in the night air.

What the hell?

Her brain loved to torment her with her last good memory of Neal, that part was familiar enough. Her first time. The first time she ever felt free and happy and wanted. The only time she ever said ‘I love you’ to a man. The last time she let a man lie to her.

The dream always started with the good stuff and ended with her getting loaded into the back of a squad car. Funny how it sort of blurred over the little details. Like Neal stepping out to see if he can swipe a pack of cigs from the gas station on the corner and never coming back. Like the knock at the door that wasn’t him, but the police. Like the watches stashed in her bag. Emma slid her hands up over her face and into her hair, scratching at her scalp as if she could scrape the images from her head.

She huffed a sigh. As it usually did, the dream left her beating herself up with the same old questions. Were the signs there and she ignored them? Was he just that good of a liar? Maybe.

Emma flopped back down against her pillow and pulled the covers up to her chin. She’d told him about her superpower. How she could always tell when someone was lying to her if she was looking them in the eye. He’d rolled his eyes about it at the time, used to tease her about believing in magic shit like that. Funny, though, how he got less and less inclined to look her in the eye.

But what the fuck was up with tonight? Why would her sleeping mind change the ending? She rolled onto her side burrowing further under the blanket. Oh, she could think of a reason.

She sighed heavily remembering the way Killian had held her, kissed her. The way he’d looked at her afterwards. Neal had looked at her that way once. Graham, too. As much as she hated that dream, she’s glad in a way. It was a good reminder to her. Not to trust anyone. Not to get too close to anyone. They let you down or let you go. A home is for other people, not her. Emma didn’t regret last night. She just needed to remember not to let Killian get under her skin, as much for his sake as for hers. How hard could that be?

Emma glanced at the clock on her nightstand, cringing at the glowing green numbers. Too early to get up, but too late to go back to sleep. She flopped onto her side, facing away from the clock again in a childish attempt to ignore it and get at least a little bit more shut-eye, but restlessness pulled at her. Despite the softness of her bed, she couldn’t get comfortable, mentally or physically. She struggled against herself. Her mind yelled at her to shore up her defenses. Stop thinking about Killian, or at the very least remember that she’d be leaving soon. That whatever she did with him had an expiration date.

Her body, however, had other ideas. Her skin flushed at the memory of Killian’s calloused hands caressing her. Her nipples tightened at the thought of his lips and tongue pulling and teasing them. Emma allowed her fingers to trail down her stomach and slip inside her underwear, heat pooling between her legs as she indulged the fantasy. She was embarrassingly wet just from the memory of how he’d made her body feel, legs shaking even though her own hand was a poor substitute for his touch. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out his name as she came all too quickly.

By sunup, Emma was… well, freaking out might’ve been an overstatement, but not by much. She called Snow, hoping to catch her before she left for work.

As soon as Snow greeted her with a far too cheerful hello for 7:00 am, Emma launched right in. “I hooked up with Killian.”

There was a muffled coughing sound and Emma briefly wondered if she’d actually made her friend choke on her tea. “Oh! Um… why?”

“I don’t know. It’s been awhile? I was feeling good? Or actually, not good. I was kind of mad at him? But then he was all smirky and ‘you couldn’t handle it’ and I don’t know…”

“Did it mean anything?”

“No! I mean, he’s my boss and we’re friends. I guess. Sort of. It was just a hookup. Like third base, tops.”

“Okay… well, have you talked to him about it since it happened?”

“It just happened last night. And I was hoping to avoid the whole talking about it thing.”

“Uh huh. But you were hoping it would happen again.”

“Maybe. It was pretty damn great.” Emma groaned in frustration. “I don’t know.”

“Emma, you need to talk to him otherwise things are going to get weirder and weirder between you. Not to mention he’s your boss. That makes it more complicated. He could get the wrong idea about what services he’s paying you to do.”

God, that had never even occurred to Emma, but no. Killian wasn’t that guy. She wasn’t sure why she was so certain about it, but she knew it in her bones.

“No. No, it’s definitely not like that. He’s not like that.”

“You still need to talk about it like adults to make sure everyone is on the same page.”

Emma relented with a sigh. “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks for being my mom-friend.”

“My pleasure. And Emma? It’s okay if it did mean something. You know that right?”

“Aaaannnddd then you go and ruin the moment. Talk to you later.”

--/--

Emma took a little more time than usual getting dressed after that, still turning over everything Snow had said in her mind. Her friend was just so annoyingly rational sometimes. Always trying to insist that Emma be an actual grown up. Ugh. Adulting sucked.

When she’d brushed her teeth so thoroughly her gums nearly bled and had braided and unbraided her hair four times, she couldn’t stall any longer. Emma wandered down the stairs to the kitchen hoping that maybe Killian would already be out in the barn getting ready for morning chores, but no such luck. He sat at the breakfast table, a picture of domestic tranquility complete with a half-drunk cup of coffee at his elbow and his phone in his hand, thumbing at the screen. He looked up when he heard her approach, and her step faltered.

He was wearing that t-shirt she hated. The one that had probably been navy at some point, but now was the soft grey-blue of a storm cloud. She hated the way it pulled taut across his well-toned shoulders. Hated the way it set off his eyes, the golden ring around his pupils nearly glowing against his blue irises like the sun bursting through after the rain. Hated most of all the way she wanted to rip the shirt off of him and slam his arrogant ass against a wall and find out exactly what that cluster of freckles on his neck tasted like and…

Okay, yeah. Maybe Snow has a point.

Emma didn’t even bother fixing herself a cup of coffee. She sat right down across from him at the table. Better to get this over with quickly.

She took a deep breath. “SnowsaysIhavetotalktoyou.”

Killian cocked his head to the side and set his phone down on the table. “Come again?”

Aaaand isn't that just the issue. Fuck my life. “Snow says we have to talk about the thing. That we did. That thing.”

It would have all been so much easier if his eyes didn’t twinkle at her like that.

“Ah, so you told your friend about me?” A grin tilted the corner of his mouth deepening the dimple just beside it.

“Shut up. But yes, I told my friend and she made me promise that I’d talk to you, so… yeah.”

Killian leaned back in his chair almost too casually. “There’s nothing really to talk about, love. We’re both consenting adults. We obviously have a certain chemistry. You're a red-blooded woman with needs, and I was more than happy to lend a hand as it were. Despite the well-intentioned moralizing of our best mates, I don't see anything wrong with us having a bit of fun from time to time. Do you?”

He stood, taking his mug with him, and raised a teasing eyebrow at Emma as he passed her on the way to the sink. She rolled her eyes in return, then stood and followed him. She noticed he’d used the plural ‘mates’ and the implication it carried that David had said something, too, but she couldn't even begin to deal with that thought right now. Better to stay on message.

“So you don't think it's weird at all to, you know, have sex with your boss?”

Killian placed his mug in the sink and turned to face her hitching a thumb on his belt. “Swan, if you think that was sex then the American educational system really is as questionable as they say.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Aye, that I do, and I don't mean to play word games with you, so let me be clear.” He stepped toward her looking her squarely in the eyes. “I enjoyed our dalliance very much and I’m rather certain you did, too. As I said, I think the two of us can have a lot of fun together. The other night was just a taste, and when I finally take you-”

“When?” Emma scoffed. The nerve of this guy. The gall. The-

“Yes, when. When I do, I want to take my time with you. I want to touch every inch of that creamy skin until I’ve mapped out each place that makes you moan, and oh, shall you moan, darlin’. I want to hear it.” With another swaggering step, he edged into her personal space. “I want every sigh and curse and keening until you shout my name as you come around my fingers again. Want to feel the way you squeeze me, all hot and tight and wet. But I won’t be done with you. Not by a mile.”

Emma’s breathing sped up as she swayed involuntary toward to him, the velvet purr of his voice going straight between her legs. She should stop him. Tell him to fuck off or call him an arrogant bastard or shit, do something besides lick her lips and-

“What next?” she asked, a hitch in her voice. He raised a dark eyebrow at the sound, but she pretended to ignore it.

“Next as you lay quivering, I would kiss my way down your stomach, perhaps a bite here and there. Leave my mark under one of those perfect breasts, or maybe...” One last step and they stood face to face, her feet between his. He rested his hands low on her waist, thumbs sneaking beneath the waistband of her jeans to caress the sensitive skin near the jut of her hips. “Right here. Somewhere no one else can see.”

Emma swallowed hard, fighting the urge to cant her pelvis into his touch, but he just kept talking.

“I wouldn’t taste you, not right away. I’d place a hand on each of your lovely thighs-” at this he trailed a hand down, delicately stroking her jean clad leg with the back of his fingers. “And gently work the tension out of them while spreading you wide, so I can take in the beauty of your womanhood. I bet you’ve got a gorgeous cunt, Swan, though I hardly got a proper look last night. Once I’ve looked my fill and you’re nice and relaxed, then I shall taste you. I’ll suck that sweet rosebud of a clit between my lips, and lick and nip and delve into the center of you until you’re a glorious writhing mess again and I won’t stop until you’re pulling my hair and begging me to fuck you. To fill you up over and over until I know you'll be feeling it hours later and thinking about it even longer. Those clever little fingers of yours just twitching to touch yourself at the very memory of me inside you.”

It was almost as if he knew exactly what she’d been up to in the wee hours of that very morning. Emma could feel the crimson flush extending from her hairline down her throat to her decolletage. His eyes followed it, lingering momentarily on the curve of her breasts visible at her neckline before returning his smirking gaze to her face. He paused, seeming to take a certain amount of male pride in the obvious effect his words had wrought on her. He could be as smug as he wanted, but if he bothered to check his reflection in that moment, he might have noticed that his own pupils were blown wide, eyes nearly black with desire.

Emma tried not to move under his heated stare, only carefully shifting her stance enough to give herself a teensy bit of the friction she deeply needed. This was ridiculous. At this rate they'd be literally rolling in the hay by lunchtime. But would that be so bad?

Emma stepped back far enough to get out of his reach, trying to shake herself out of the daze, but still… the man did kinda have a point. They were both grown-ass adults, perfectly capable of enjoying each other’s company without things going sideways. Well… maybe literally sideways, but that’d be something else altogether.

She crossed her arms under her breasts, taking no small amount of pleasure from the way his eyes dropped straight to her cleavage again for a moment. Guys can be so easy. She eyed him appraisingly. “Just a little fun, huh?”

He shrugged and offered her a cavalier smile. “Just a little fun.”

“There would have to be ground rules.”

Killian huffed a laugh and leaned back against the counter. “Sounding less fun now, but alright.”

“No strings. No expectations. No spending the night together afterwards.”

Killian nodded his agreement. “Fair enough. And I’ll add one more, because as you astutely pointed out, I am your boss and I don’t want there to be any question on this point. No one does anything they don’t 100% want to do.”

That was just what she needed to hear. This was definitely going to work. They were definitely on the same page. No problem. Emma smiled at him wickedly.

“So, hypothetically, what if what I want to do isn’t all that stuff you said a minute ago? What if all I want is a good hard fuck against the barn door?”

The smile that slowly spread across his face was all white teeth and dark intent - a pirate’s smile - and it sent a little thrill of anticipation through her. “Then, hypothetically, I’m at your service.”

--/--

If Emma thought there had been tension between the two of them before, it was nothing compared to the energy sizzling in the air as they went through the motions of their regular chores over the next few days. The question had changed. No more will they, won't they. The only thing left to answer was when, where and how. It felt to Emma almost like a stand-off. Neither one of them seemed to want to be the one to initiate, as if there was an implied admission in being the eager one, the one who wanted it more. Talking about wanting sex in the abstract, even sex with each other, was one thing. Actually being the first to grab onto the other and say, “I want you,” came with a certain amount of vulnerability.

What if he changes his mind? What if he doesn’t want me? What if he wants more than I can offer him? What will happen when I leave? What if-

“Swan! Shut that gate, will you?”

Emma snapped out of it and realized she’d been standing there like an idiot holding the pasture gate open long after the horses had trotted past her. She swung it closed, slamming the rusty bolt home with more force than necessary, then looked over to see Killian (and when did he become ‘Killian’ and not ‘Jones’?) swaggering up to her with that damn smirk on his face.

“Something on your mind, darlin’?”

It was easier to tease him back than admit the real cause of her distraction, so she cocked an eyebrow and put some huskiness in her voice. “Oh, you know. Just kinda tired. Someone kept me up late last night.” And there. There was the swipe of his tongue across his teeth that she was going for.

Killian ducked his head in semblance of a bow. “You’re welcome.” He turned and walked away from her, leaving Emma to roll her eyes at his back, and yeah, okay, maybe sneak a quick peek at his ass. “Now, come along, Swan. We’ve got salt licks to put out.”

With some measure of reluctance, Emma clambered into the cab of the faded blue-green Dodge. If working side-by-side this morning had her skin tingling and her mind spinning, she didn’t want to think about what sitting two feet away from him on the big broad bench seat in his pickup would do to her. Snark seemed like her best option.

“Are you sure this thing can make it off-road to where we need to go? It’s gotta be like 300.”

Cranking the ignition, Killian kept facing forward, but cut his eyes in her direction. “She’s a fair sight younger than your geriatric yellow Beetle.”

“Your truck is a ‘she’?”

“All automobiles are ‘she’s’, Swan.”

Emma crossed her arms and stared out the window. “My Beetle is non-binary, thank you very much.”

He was quiet for a minute as the truck heaved forward and began bumping along the ranch road, but soon Emma could feel his eyes on her.

“What?”

“It’s got a name, doesn’t it? Your non-binary Beetle.”

Shit. Emma kept her gaze fixed out the window and mumbled something under her breath. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed that she cared about her car. Hell, that thing had been the only home she’d had for years. It was just that this all felt a little too-

“What was that, love?”

Emma finally turned to glare at Killian, daring him to laugh. “Buttercup. It’s name is Buttercup.” Emma uncrossed her arms and gestured matter-of-factly with her left hand. “It’s yellow and I like flowers, so…”

He reached out and caught her wrist with his right hand, turning it to run his thumb over the little flower tattooed in black ink there. “So I see. Does it mean anything? Your tattoo?”

Emma gave a small laugh. Well, at least this had a safe answer even if the way he was still caressing the pulse point of her wrist felt anything but.

“Yeah, it means I was a dumb fourteen-year-old who liked flowers.”

Killian grinned as he released her wrist, and she relaxed, grinning back.

“Such rebellion in one so young.”

Emma shrugged with a wry smile. “Well, at the time it seemed like a good way to give my foster mom the finger, so…”

Emma’s smile faded as she realized what she just revealed. How the hell had that come out of her mouth? Her heart pounded and she started to retreat into herself, but Killian seemed completely unfazed by her admission.

“S’alright, Swan. I may have engaged in a bit of rebellious behavior in my youth as well.” And then he winked at her, or at least tried to wink. More sort of a semi-blink with sass, but close enough. The simple acceptance inherent in the gesture had the tension melting out of Emma’s body again.

She looked down at his hand where it curled around the the gear shift, his thumb tapping against the knob in time with some twangy country song on the radio, and for the first time she really took note of the swirls of black and red ink extending up the inside of his forearm. She’d seen the mark or part of it before, but never paid it much attention. Now she could see it was a heart with a dagger piercing it, the name “Milah” scrolled across the middle.

“Rebellious behavior, huh?” Emma tapped two fingers against Killian’s tattoo, and cracked a half smile. “Is that how you got this?”

She wasn’t sure what exactly she expected, but the sudden flash of pain and darkness that crossed his features wasn’t it.

“Aye. Something like that.” There was no rudeness to his brusque answer, but everything about his tone and body language communicated that this subject was off limits.

Emma nodded and didn’t press. If anyone could understand about having a past you didn’t want to discuss, it was her. Still, it somehow knocked a brick or two loose in her defenses that they’d now both (intentionally or otherwise) let the other peek through the keyhole in their walls. What a strange and foreign idea, that there might be someone else out there who got it.

They drove in silence for a while after that, stopping here and there to drop off a salt lick or for Emma to hop out and open a gate. It could have been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. An unspoken understanding had formed that they each needed a little space, and Emma could sense Killian was as grateful for it as she was.

One more gate led them into the field where they’d released the horses that morning, but as Killian drove over the cattle guard and Emma closed the fence behind him, the truck made a sickly spluttering sound and wisps of smoke snaked out from beneath the hood. He cut the engine and jumped out of the cab.

“SHIT!” Even from several yards away, Emma could hear his tirade clear as a bell. “No. No no no no no. Don’t you do this to me, godammit.”

By the time Emma made it to his side, Killian had the hood open and was angrily swiping at his forehead with the heel of his hand. “What happened?”

“A hose blew out and sprayed coolant all over the place. Bloody hell, this is a clusterfuck.” He slammed the hood closed with a snarl.

Well, shit. Emma knew enough about engines to know that this couldn’t be fixed in the middle of a freaking pasture. She needed to get Killian focused on problem solving instead of just being pissed. “So, what do we do? I’m guessing a tow truck isn’t coming all the way out here.”

Killian roughly tugged his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly to calm himself. “No, I’ll call Dave. Perhaps he can get out here with his dually and pull us into town. There’s a repair shop just down the street from Granny’s.”

“Okay. You call him, I’ll start walking. Someone’s gonna have to let him in the gate when he gets here.”

She turned to go, but quickly felt a hand on her arm spinning her back around. “Now hold on a minute, Swan. I’ll call him, sure, but I think I’ve got a better idea than walking.”

“Oh really? What, you’ve got a magic carpet in your pickup bed?”

“Darlin’, I could show you some magic in that truck bed, but that wasn’t what I had in mind. How do you feel about riding bareback?”

“Is that some kind of euphemism?”

“Do you want it to be?”

Emma rolled her eyes at him, then looked around seeing nothing but open field up to the tree line. “Wouldn’t we need a horse for that?”

In response, Killian placed the thumb and middle finger of his right hand into his mouth and blew an ear-splitting whistle.

Emma flinched at the piercing noise. “Jesus, Jones. Could you warn a person before-”

But then she heard it, a distant thrumming growing rapidly louder. The unmistakeable sound of hoofbeats approaching. She whirled around in time to see Roger break past the tree line, barreling toward them.

Killian smirked. “You were saying?”

Emma favored him with a half smile, tilting her head in acknowledgement. “Yeah, yeah. That was actually kinda cool.”

Roger slowed his pace as he got closer, finally coming to a stop next to the tailgate. Killian opened up the diamond plate steel toolbox taking up the first quarter of the bed, and retrieved a small bucket of horse treats. Roger seemed to perk up at the sight of it, but Killian held out a hand to tell him to stay put.

“Want to feed him one, Swan?”

It sunk in that Emma was about to have to crawl up on top of the large animal and hope to God he didn’t toss her off into a cow patty in just a minute. So, as much as those big blunt teeth and heavy hooves concerned her-

“Yeah. Anything to get on his good side.”

Killian held out the bucket and she gingerly picked up one of the odd-smelling nuggets.

“Just place it right in the middle of your palm and keep your hand flat.”

Emma did as instructed, slowly approaching Roger who gave her a couple of sniffs, then lowered his muzzle to her hand. He snuffled and nibbled far more gently than she would have ever guessed, and it was a strange and but not unpleasant feeling.

As Roger finished his treat, she glanced back at Killian to find him leaning against the side of the bed watching her intently. “Can I give him another?”

Killian smiled warmly at her and extended the bucket again. She took another treat and offered it to Roger. This time she expected his warm breath and tickly lips, but not-

“He’s licking me!”

Killian laughed and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Can’t say as I blame him. So, now that you two are bosom friends, what say we take a ride?”

Killian put the treat bucket back in the toolbox and grabbed an extra set of reins, clipping them onto Roger’s halter. He then pulled out his phone and made a quick call to David.

While he was busy with that, Emma wandered over to Roger’s side, petting his neck and withers. She marveled at the softness of his coat and the warmth and strength of the muscles just beneath, but soon she felt another warm body behind her. Before she could protest, Killian’s hands were at her waist, boosting her up onto Roger’s back.

She took the offered reins from his hand with a scowl. “I could’ve just used the truck’s bumper as a step.”

Probably to irritate her further, Killian did exactly that, stepping up on the bumper while holding on to the edge of the bed, then throwing a leg over Roger to seat himself right behind her.

“Aye. You could’ve, but where would be the fun in that?”

He settled in close to her, his body wrapping around hers, and Emma… had not thought this through. Killian scooted forward incrementally and gave Roger a nudge with his heels to get moving. She threaded her fingers loosely through the coarse strands of Roger’s mane to give herself something to grip. Now her ass was pressed to Killian’s groin, his chest inches from her back. Right hand on her hip, left arm circled around her to hold the reins, and just… Emma had really, really not thought this through.

If the growing tension in his body was anything to go by, Killian hadn’t either. All the energy from earlier that had dissipated in the wake of personal revelations and broken-down trucks, came rushing back. Something about the slow rolling gait of the horse beneath them and how it practically had her grinding between Killian’s legs. Something about the heat of him against her back, or the way his hand was gradually inching from her hip to splay across her abdomen. It made Emma’s pulse accelerate and her breathing shallow, a flicker of heat igniting inside her.

For a moment, Killian shifted back away from her, his hand suddenly absent from her side. It took a second to click in her mind what he was doing. She had a quick flash of insecurity before, oh… okay. Well, that was interesting. Pressed intimately together once more, she now very obviously felt the proof of her effect on him. With a little self-satisfied smile, she leaned back rocking her hips into his lap to feel his hardening length against her ass.

“Careful there, love. A man could suffocate in all that blond hair of yours.”

Trying to keep the mood light, Emma gathered her hair to one shoulder. She pulled aside her shirt collar and cast a teasing glance back at him. “Better?”

A moment of hesitation passed, another flash of oh-my-god-what-am-I-doing, but before she could laugh her implied offer off as a joke, Killian nuzzled into her neck, his warm breath making her shiver. His lips soon followed, kissing a slow, lazy path up behind her ear, each touch of his mouth tingling and stoking a growing desire within her.

Emma tightened her grip on Roger’s mane, keeping her voice as level as possible. “Eyes on the road, cowboy.” This was getting quickly out of hand, but damn if he kept kissing her like that, she might not mind if it did.

She felt Killian shrug behind her. “Roger knows where he’s going.” He traced just the tip of his tongue along the ridge of her ear making her skin prickle with goosebumps, then he leaned around to catch her eye. Her neck was immediately unhappy at the absence of his lips. “Unless you want me to stop?”

Nope. No, don’t stop. Stopping is bad. Wait, Emma. Be cool. She attempted a wry smirk. “I didn’t say that. But just…”

He resumed nibbling and sucking at her neck, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to make her forget why she was trying to argue with him. God, he felt good. There was nothing wrong with feeling good for a little while, was there?

Roger twitched underneath them, probably shaking off a fly, but the movement helped ground Emma to the here and now. As much as they’d agreed to the occasional ‘fun’, she had to keep her wits about her. “Is this safe?”

She felt the scratch of Killian’s stubble as he smiled against her skin. “There is nothing about you that is safe, Emma Swan.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and Emma forced a laugh, one last pretense that she had any kind of upper hand. Whatever. He had the hard-on first. I’m counting it as him caving.

“I meant, are we gonna fall off the horse, smartass.”

Killian tightened his arm around her in response, pulling her impossibly closer. Upper hand? Lower hand? The only hand she cared about in that moment was his on her body. She felt every lean muscle of his torso pressed to her back, the swell of his bicep against her ribs. He raised his head to whisper in her ear, his thumb grazing torturously back and forth against the underside of her breast. “You don’t think these arms can hold you? Don’t worry, darlin’, I won’t let you fall.”

Emma was glad she couldn’t see Killian’s face in that moment. It allowed her to willfully take his words at face value. No good would come of reading anything into them. Into this. Don’t think. Just let go. All she let herself think about was how much she wanted him to move his damn hand a little bit further. North or south, she didn’t care which.

As if reading her mind, he slid his hand up to fully cup her breast and at the same moment bit down sharply at the junction between her neck and shoulder. Emma moaned aloud, a spike of pleasure jolting her system, but Killian calmly shushed her. He gestured with the hand holding the reins toward Roger’s ears which were flicking back and forth.

“Now see that?” he purred in her ear, “That’s where we might get in trouble. He doesn’t care for loud noises, so I’ll need you to be nice and quiet for us.” His hand remained at her breast, alternately massaging and teasing her hardening nipple with his thumb. “Do you think you can do that, love?”

Emma pressed her lips together, stifling the dirty sounds threatening to spill from her lips, and nodded quickly. Heat swirled and bloomed at her core, and she arched her back pushing her chest into his hand, wordlessly begging for more.

Killian hummed low in the back of his throat, moving his hand to undo a couple of buttons on her shirt. “That’s a good girl.”

He slipped his rough, calloused fingers inside the placket of her shirt and under the thin cotton cup of her bra. Mmm.. yeah. Keep going, she thought over and over, softly humming in pleasure. She bit her lip hard, letting her head drop back against Killian’s shoulder as he continued to caress and knead her. He rolled the stiff peak of her nipple between his fingers, every touch going straight to her clit.

The seam of her jeans pressed too hard against her oversensitive core, the rocking movement of the horse beneath her only worsening the throbbing ache between her spread legs. This wasn’t the friction she wanted. No, needed.

“I- I need…” she breathed, tugging at his wrist to stop his ministrations. It took every ounce of her concentration to remember how to work the zipper on her jeans, distracted as she was by the way his hand now rubbed up and down her thigh. Taking him by the wrist again, she moved his hand low on her stomach, hoping he’d take the hint from there.

A deep rumble of laughter shook his chest, then slowly, one fingertip at at time, he slipped his hand into her underwear. Her hips rolled forward toward his touch, and she snaked one arm up to cup the back of his neck, needing something, anything to ground herself.

He groaned against her shoulder at the first brush of his fingers against her sex. “You’re a bloody marvel.” He murmured gently as he began to stroke her, and Emma closed her eyes, surrendering to her body’s wants. “So wet and responsive. I like you like this, Swan. All wanton and needy. Do you want to come like this, darlin’?”

Between shallow breaths, Emma nodded. “Yes.”

His fingers moved more quickly, one sliding easily inside of her. “Come on now, love, I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you want.”

Talking was the last thing on Emma’s mind and she’d probably have been furious with him if he didn’t feel so fucking good. “I want you to make me come. Right now. I need you to-”

He curled his finger inside her, hitting just the right spot and Emma was practically whining now. “I need you to keep touching me.”

“Good. So very, very good. God, you feel like heaven.” He added a second finger, stroking hard and fast and it was all Emma could do not to buck her hips and fuck herself on his fingers. “Come for me, love. I’ve got you.”

And that was all it took to send her over the edge. Emma’s world shattered and rebuilt itself as Killian slowly wound her down, her body going limp in his arms. He kissed her softly on the cheek as she came back to herself, the gesture sweet and almost chaste. Completely at odds with his dirty talk only moments ago. In fact, neither of them seemed keen on speaking, simply resting against each other. He pulled his hand back from her soaked underwear, but left it draped lightly across her lap.

Emma felt him raise his head and his back straighten. She hadn’t actually looked around since, well, since he started kissing her neck, and she was surprised to see they were almost back to the barn. As amazing and boneless as she felt (and a little awkward because holy shit I just got felt up on horseback), there was still a pleasant buzz of arousal stirring in her veins. Twice now, Killian had taken care of her needs, and today just like before, he seemed to not ask for anything in return. She appreciated that more than she cared to express. But… maybe she wanted to do something for him.

Just before he swung himself down off Roger’s back, he leaned down to speak in her ear. “Enjoy the ride, darlin’?”

Arrogant, twinkly-eyed bastard.

Emma rolled her eyes and zipped her jeans. Okay, maybe it wasn’t only for him. Maybe twice now, she’d felt his hard length pressed against her and she wanted to see for herself what he was working with. If the cock matched the cockiness. Maybe she wanted to see if she could render that filthy mouth speechless. Something like that.

She allowed him to help her dismount, hoping the wicked ideas in her head didn’t show on her face. She looked over at the barn, particularly the sturdy metal door, and remembered the saucy comment she’d made to him that morning. Oh, she knew exactly what she wanted to do. But was there time?

“How long ago did you call David?” she asked casually.

Killian pulled his phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen. “About twenty minutes ago. No worries, Swan. He ought to be here in another fifteen.”

“That’ll work.”

Before he could so much as raise an eyebrow in question, she grabbed his hand and drug him into the barn.

“Swan, what are-”

She shoved his back against the door, enjoying the resonant clang of his body hitting the corrugated metal, and swallowed his surprised “oof” as she kissed him hard. It didn’t take him long to respond by wrapping his arms around her until her body was plastered against his. Graceless and a little rough, they scrambled to get closer, for more contact. Her fingers found their way into his hair and pulled a little harder than necessary, angling his head to deepen the kiss. She could feel his growl of approval reverberating through her own chest.

Emma broke the kiss and grinned mischievously, licking her lips to catch a last little taste of him. He already looked properly fucked, hair standing on end, lips reddened, eyes dark and a little glazed, but she wasn’t done with him yet.

His handsome features shifted into his usual smirk. “Still hungry are we?”

He began to lean back in for more, but Emma pulled away, running her hands down his chest to hold him in place. She tilted her head as her hands reached his belt. “Interesting choice of words.”

Emma worked the buckle open and dropped to her knees on the dusty floor, the bulge of his arousal now right at her eye level. It thrilled her, knowing she had done that to him. Seeing how much he wanted her. She made quick work of the button and zipper on his jeans, but then felt his hand cup her face, raising her chin to look up at him.

All amusement had gone from his eyes. “Swan, you don’t have to-”

“Do anything I don’t want to do? I know. This isn’t tit for tat, Jones.” She raised an eyebrow in imitation of his smirk. “Maybe I want to show off a little.”

That did it. The twinkle was back in his eyes. Grinning wickedly, he raised his hands in surrender. “If the lady insists.”

“The lady does,” she said with a sly smile, sliding her hands inside his open zipper and over his lean hips. “Now be a good boy and hold still a sec.”

He inclined his head in imitation of a bow. “Yes, ma’am.”

Still trying to get in the last word, huh? We’ll see about that...She hooked her fingers over the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs and lowered them along with his jeans down to mid-thigh. His cock bobbed free and Emma took a few moments to appreciate the sight. Long and thick, but not so big it’d make a girl gag. Straight and pink and hard and straining just for her. Not that she considered herself a connoisseur exactly, but damn, it was a nice dick.

She smoothed her hands up the coarse hair on his thighs, and gave his ass a playful squeeze, knowing full well the warmth of her breath was teasing his tip. He gripped the wooden crossbeam behind him to brace himself.

Emma looked up at him through her eyelashes and pursed her lips in consideration. He was nearly panting with anticipation, conspicuously silent as he stared down at her with lust blackened eyes. She pulled the hair elastic off her wrist and sat back on her heels, quickly tying her long hair back. “I figure you’re the kind of guy that likes to watch.”

She raised up again and took him in hand, licking a hot stripe up the pulsing vein all the way to the tip. The sound he made in response was absolutely obscene, if not articulate, and she watched a small tremor shake his body. Now that’s much better. Oh yeah, she could get used to this.

Gently stroking his shaft, Emma made eye contact with him again. Though she was the one about to get a mouthful, he was licking his lips, struggling to keep his eyes open as she pleasured him. She toyed with her hair using her free hand and smiled at him sweetly. “Don’t be afraid to, you know…” She tugged twice on the end of her ponytail. “Really get into it.”

And that was the last bit of warning he got before Emma took him into her mouth.

She worked him over root to tip slowly at first, licking and sucking, a little graze of her teeth every so often. When she wasn’t using one or the other to pump his shaft, her hands roamed freely. Groping his ass, the hard muscle of his thighs, even delving up under his shirt to feel the way his abs flexed and quivered.

He rocked his pelvis toward her mouth, the small rutting movement and his white knuckled grip on the crossbeam evidence of his struggle to maintain his restraint. God, the sounds he made, though. She’d actually done it. Reduced him to nothing more than animalistic grunts and groans interspersed with steady stream of incoherent gibberish that was probably supposed to be words. The occasional ‘bloody hell’. It made her feel powerful. Alive. Not to mention more than a little aroused.

Emma pulled back slightly, keeping her fingers wrapped around his shaft and only delicately licking the head of his cock, so she could get a good look at him and evaluate her progress. “Wrecked” was a cliche, but honestly the only word for it. His face and neck were flushed and blotchy, his eyes rolled back in his head, lips parted on a pained moan. He looked vulnerable and gorgeous, completely at her mercy. His hips now bucked away from the door, pleading for her to take him in again.

When he opened his eyes to look down at her, they were crinkled at the corners with the strain of chasing an orgasm just out of reach. “Swan, you are an absolute goddess.”

She could tease him, keep him on edge a little longer, but no. She wanted to see him fall apart for her. The goddess would be merciful. One corner of her lips curled up in a wry smile.

“You’re damn right. Now show me what you like.”

She reached for his hand with her free one and placed it on the back of her head. He took her lead and grabbed hold of her ponytail, using it to angle her head as she took him once more into her mouth. She hummed around his cock, savoring the silky hardness and they both moaned. He started out tugging at her hair gently at first, but when she hollowed her cheeks and sucked hard, his control finally snapped. He set a faster pace, and she moaned around him again, his desperation for her the ultimate turn on. She kept one hand at his base to keep him from fucking her mouth too deeply, and used it to twist and squeeze his shaft whenever she had a chance.

Her eyes were closed by now, but she felt him widen his stance and she knew he was close. She hollowed her cheeks again, laving at him with each dip of her head until his whole body shuddered, and he came with a groan. Her mouth filled with his salty release, and she carefully licked him clean.

As his breathing finally slowed, he slumped back against the door, but held his hand down to help her stand. Emma took it and let him pull her up, her own legs almost as shaky as his. He was smiling at her, broad and unrestrained. Dopey, happy, sleepy, a little bashful. That was what? Four out of seven dwarves in one stupid smile? Emma had used quite a few words to describe Killian Jones over the last few months, but here in his post orgasmic haze, she had one she’d never used before. Adorable. What an odd thought.

“We should…” He gestured vaguely between them with one hand. “Dave’ll be here soon.” He hitched his pants back up and fastened his belt as Emma straightened her own clothes. Once they were both set to rights again, he reached out to her. “Come here.”

She placed her hand in his and let him draw her into him. One last kiss. Tender and gentle this time and if he tasted himself on her tongue, he sure didn’t seem to mind. In fact he looked kind of… she couldn’t think of the word. Her own insides felt a little funny, too, if she were being honest with herself, but that was probably just leftover adrenaline and arousal.

Killian opened his mouth to speak, but as if on cue, the sound of a diesel engine clattered up the driveway. They sprang apart like guilty teenagers, and Emma yanked the elastic from her ponytail, fruitlessly trying to make her hair look less ravaged. Killian’s hand found it’s usual itchy spot on the back of his neck. When he finally faced Emma again, his eyes widened.

“You’ve, erm…” He gingerly cupped her cheek, thumbing at the dimple in her chin before dropping his hand. “I seem to have scruffed you up a bit.”

Emma put a hand on her face where she could feel the traces of beard burn still tingling slightly. Shit.

“Right. Um, I’ll just…” She pointed her finger but couldn’t remember which direction the house even was at the moment. “I’ll just go freshen up. I’ll open the gate on the way to the house. You and David can pick me up before you head into town.”

At that, Emma practically ran out of the barn. She wasn’t sure if she was running from Killian or to keep their dalliance a secret from their friend, which was stupid either way because this was exactly what she and Killian had agreed to and it didn’t mean anything and David probably already knew that they had... dallied or whatever. But, it seemed really, really important that she get out of there right that second.

Back in the safety of her own private bathroom, she stared at herself in the reflection of her mirror, her fingers tracing the red patches on her chin and neck. Fuckstruck. The word she’d been searching for earlier, the word that described the look in Killian’s eyes after that last kiss. It was fuckstruck. And dammit if she didn’t look the same.

--/--

Two weeks. It had been more than two fucking weeks. No, make that two decidedly NOT fucking weeks. What the hell?

Emma half expected after their performance in the barn (and on the horse, geez she couldn’t look Roger in the eye for days), that life at the Jewel would turn into some sort of pornographic montage of her and Killian banging on every available surface. And it did… sort of. They did stuff. Really, really good stuff. They just didn’t do it.

Starting the morning Killian’s truck broke down, at least once a day one of them snapped and couldn’t keep his or her hands off the other a second longer. One minute, they’d be mucking out stalls and the next, Emma’s ass was on a square bale with Killian between her legs, grinding her into ecstasy while he whispered sweet, filthy nothings in her ear. Or he’d be innocently standing at the kitchen island pouring a bowl of cereal, and before he could reach for a spoon, Emma’s hand was down the front of his pajama pants, stroking his hardening cock until he completely forgot about breakfast. Or something as simple as him grabbing her hand and pulling her into a corner to kiss her within an inch of her life. As soon as they broke for breath, he’d walk away with smirking lips and teasing eyes, leaving her wet and wanting for hours (the rat bastard), but he always finished what he started sooner or later.

Oh, yeah. Each and every instance ended happily for one or both of them. It just didn’t end in sex. They sort of came and went, so to speak. Right back to business as usual. They didn’t talk about it, but they didn’t not talk about it either. They teased, they argued. He made ridiculous innuendo, and Emma rolled her eyes. Life was exactly the same as before their agreement, just with sporadic orgasms. Perfect. Simple. Never weird. Just what she wanted.

Emma was about to lose her fucking mind.

Their dalliances or trysts or whatever the hell fancy name Killian had for it happened frequently enough to take the edge off of the sexual tension between them (he was right, they did have a certain chemistry), but seriously - why hadn’t they had sex yet?

She hadn’t tried to push the issue one way or another. Neither had he. But he wanted it, right? Eventually? She wanted it. She was almost definitely sure she wanted it. In theory.

The one time she actually thought they were going to do it, fate had had other plans. That morning Emma sat at the kitchen table, watching Killian cook. God knows what he was making. Pancakes? Bacon? She didn’t care, because he looked so damn edible. Extra scruffy, extra disheveled. Wearing those sweatpants that hung off his hips and showed every flex of his ass when he shifted his weight, to say nothing of the front view. Yep, she’d get quite an eyeful if he turned around, but it wasn’t her eyes that she wanted him to fill.

Abandoning her coffee mug on the table, Emma snuck up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, fingers creeping under the hem of his t-shirt. She pressed herself to his back, and he hummed appreciatively. Taking that as a go-ahead, she let her hands wander up the trail of hair on his stomach, coarse strands slipping through her fingers until she felt him twitch.

“Careful there, Swan, I’m a bit ticklish. You’ll make me ruin the pancakes.” If he meant his tone to be chiding, he’d failed. It sounded more like a challenge to her.

Emma extracted one hand from his shirt and reached past him to turn off the stove. “To hell with the pancakes.” He must’ve agreed because in seconds, he’d backed her against the kitchen table, plundering her mouth hungrily as if she were on the breakfast menu.

With her clinging fiercely to his shoulders, he reached beneath her thighs and lifted her onto the tabletop, never breaking their kiss and oh, God. This was it. This was finally it. Just a few thin pieces of clothing between them, none of which were doing anything to hide his arousal or hers. Her underwear were soaked. If he rutted into her any harder, they’d be testing the efficacy of cotton as a condom. It wouldn’t take much and he’d be inside her. Untie his drawstring pants, shove her ruined panties to the side and then-

“Hey, Jones! I talked to Billy at the garage this morning. Your truck will be-”

Emma froze. She hadn’t heard the door open. This was - it was - oh, shit. David looked as freaked out as she felt.

“I’m interrupting something.” Stating the obvious seemed to be all he was capable of at that moment.

Killian not so discreetly adjusted himself and glared at his friend over his shoulder. “Very perceptive, mate.”

David coughed, looking everywhere around the kitchen but at the two guilty parties at the table. “I’ll just, uh… come back later.”

Blushing redder than she’d ever felt herself blush in her life, Emma scrambled down from the table. “No, no. Don’t worry about it. I’ll, um…” she shoved her hair behind her ears. “I’ll just go take a shower.” And at that she’d scurried away with David’s embarrassed tone and Killian’s irritated one as the soundtrack of her retreat.

That was about a week ago.

Their after-dark activities had changed, too. They never fooled around at night. It kept the whole ‘sleeping over’ issue from ever arising, so that was good, she guessed. After dinner, instead of making out hot and heavy on the couch, they binge watched whatever new series had recently come out on Netflix. Who knew they had broadband streaming way the hell out in the desert?

Sometimes when they hung out in the living room after dinner, he’d sling an arm across the back of the couch and she’d kind of lean on him while they watched TV. She only did that because he was warm. Like human radiator warm. Emma had always been kind of cold natured, that was all. No big deal.

And sometimes at night, instead of taking a drink up to the widow’s walk like she used to, she’d pour two glasses of rum and sit with him in the porch swing. Why shouldn’t she? He already more or less told her he knew she was drinking his liquor, so no sense in hiding. True, the nights were getting colder as October turned to November, but it was peaceful outside and it gave her an excuse to bring her favorite old red leather jacket out of summer hiatus. The gentle rocking of the swing, Killian’s soft voice humming those old country songs, the absolute stillness that came from being so far removed from ‘civilization’… She could close her eyes and imagine that she was gliding along on ocean waves, the creaking wooden swing beneath her a ship in the middle of a vast sea. No worries, no troubles. It relaxed her. Kept the ghosts away. It’s not like she and Killian were sitting there pouring out their darkest secrets to each other. They barely spoke, really. She just slept better those nights. That’s all.

It surprised Emma, how okay she was with the friend-y type stuff. It was nice. Companionable. It seemed like a million years since she’d just hung out with a guy. Not since… anyway, it was nice. Emma loved Snow to death, but she could get a little smothery and bossy, and Killian never did that. He was simply there with a dirty joke or a casual touch. Or a less than casual touch. Not that she and Killian were friends exactly. Were they? Would it be terrible if they were?

Then morning would come and he’d look at her with the devil in his eyes and a promise in the way his tongue traced the corner of his mouth and yes. Yes, it would be terrible. They had an arrangement. The last thing either of them needed was to get… confused.

Fuck, maybe she’s already confused. Or just really, really needed for them to close the deal. Uninterrupted.

“Girl, where even are you?”

Emma blinked at the sound of Ruby’s voice and shook her head, realizing she’d been staring at a box of oatmeal for way too long to be normal. It was Saturday morning. Emma and Killian had come to town for their weekly supply run and Emma had bumped into Ruby at the grocery store. As nice as it was to have someone who wasn’t Killian to talk to, Emma couldn’t seem to keep her mind from wandering.

“What? Sorry, I kind of clocked out for a second. Guess I need another cup of coffee.”

Ruby gave her a skeptical look, but didn’t press. “Well, what I was saying before you got lost in your own head was that I think you need a break, and clearly I’m right. So, how about you meet Dorothy and me tonight at the Rabbit Hole? A little girls’ night out might do you some good.”

“Wouldn’t I be a third wheel?”

“Not at all! It’ll be fun. I promise.” Ruby paused, eyeing her appraisingly. “That is, unless you and Killian have plans?”

Emma’s eyes widened and she clamped her mouth closed to keep from gaping. “Did David tell you-”

“That he walked in on you two having breakfast? Don’t worry, he’s not gossiping all over town. He came into the diner looking shellshocked and I wheedled it out of him.”

Emma breathed a sigh of relief as Ruby continued. “That said, I do have eyes, you know. I’ve noticed how close you and Killian seem to be getting.”

“No. No, nothing like that. We’re just…” Emma tried her best to muster a casual shrug. “Having a little fun together.”

“Then he can spare you for one night. You in?”

Emma chewed on her lip as she considered the offer. Maybe Ruby was right. Maybe she did need a break from the Jewel and Killian Jones. “I’m in.”

“Perfect. We’ll meet you at 9. Wear something you can dance in!”

--/--

Emma flopped into her seat and lifted her sweaty hair, fanning at the back of her neck with her other hand. Ruby sure as shit hadn’t been kidding about the dancing. She’d tried to heed Ruby’s advice, opting for lower-heeled boots, comfortable but form-fitting jeans and a paper thin white top. Even so, her feet were screaming and she probably looked like a hot mess. But, God it felt good to let loose for a while. ‘Girl time’ was not something her life on the road typically allowed, and tonight reminded her how much she missed it. Maybe she should call Snow tomorrow?

Dorothy sat down to Emma’s right, raising her face to accept a smacking kiss from Ruby who then took a seat across from Emma. Their waitress stopped by to take drink orders, and Emma asked for an ice water this time. She felt the perfect level of buzzed at the moment and just needed something to cool her off a little.

“So was I right, or was I right?” Ruby began without preamble.

Emma smiled. “You were right. I needed this. I can’t remember the last time I had a Girls’ Night Out.”

“Well that’s a shame. Are you from one of those little Bible belt towns where dancing is illegal or something?” Dorothy said it as a joke, but something in Emma’s expression must’ve given her pause. She furrowed her brow. “Wait, you’re not, are you?”

Ruby leaned forward, loosely crossing her arms on the table. “Yeah, where are you from, Emma? I feel like I don’t know much about you besides your dancing skills and the fact that you’ve managed to wrap Killian Jones around your little finger.”

Emma felt her face immediately go red. “I do not have Kil-”

Ruby waved a hand to interrupt Emma’s stammering answer. “Nevermind. Forget about him for now. Tell us about you. What’s your story?”

Emma huffed an awkward laugh. This subject wasn’t any better, but from years of practice she had plenty of non-answers at the ready. “Well, I’m not a character from Footloose, that’s for sure.” That got a laugh from Dorothy and Ruby, and Emma relaxed slightly. “I just travel around a lot. I like the freedom of life on the road. Seeing the world and all that.”

Dorothy raised an eyebrow. “Most people who want to see the world end up in Rome or Paris, not Storybrooke.”

Emma smiled ruefully. “Yeah, well, that would require two things I don’t have: money and a passport.”

Ruby nodded. “I hear ya. I actually did some road-tripping myself for a while. I’d never been anywhere outside Storybrooke and Granny is kind of overprotective and one day I just snapped. I had to get out. I only made it as far as Kansas before I ran out of money.”

Dorothy smiled warmly and reached out to lace her fingers through Ruby’s. “And am I ever glad you did. I found this leggy brunette stranded on the side of the road, lipstick as red as her broken down Mustang and I haven’t had a quiet moment since.”

Ruby swatted at her girlfriend’s arm. “Shut up. You love me.”

“Never said I didn’t.”

“So that’s how you guys met. How’d you end up back here?” Emma asked, genuinely curious. “You’re obviously not in Kansas anymore.”

Ruby and Dorothy shared a look, then both turned back to Emma. “Well, it took her awhile, but Dorothy finally convinced me there’s no place like home.”

“I’d lost my Auntie Em to a tornado a year or so before Ruby showed up, and I’d never really felt like I fit into that town. But Ruby, she had her Granny and a family business and friends - well, everything I wished I had. She’d had a pretty big fight with Granny before she left. All I did was talk her into calling Granny. Ruby’s heart knew where it’s home was.” Dorothy turned to look Ruby in the eyes. “So did mine.” She ended the story with a soft kiss to Ruby’s lips.

Ruby pulled back, thumbing discreetly under her eyes. “Now stop. You know you’re not allowed to mess up my makeup until we get home later.”

“Okay, now I’m feeling like the third wheel, you guys,” Emma teased, her smile lingering. They were so sweet together. She was happy for them, of course, but somehow watching the couple filled her with a longing she couldn’t explain. She took a deep breath and wiggled her toes under the table. “I think my feet have recovered for now. How about some more dancing?”

About half a dozen songs later, Emma excused herself to go to the ladies’ room, and Ruby tagged along after her. As Emma stood in front of the mirror trying to scrape her hair into some kind of updo to keep it off her neck, she noticed Ruby giving her a side-eye.

“What?”

“So you and Killian...”

“We’re just having some fun.”

“So you’ve said. A couple of times now.”

Emma scrunched up her face. This was not a conversation she wanted to have ever, much less in a public bathroom. “Ruby...”

“I mean, I get it. There’s not much to do in this town for fun besides drink and fuck.”

The thought popped into Emma’s mind - not for the first time - and the words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Have you guys ever- I mean, have you and Killian-”

“Done the do? No.” Ruby shook her head. “Can’t say I’ve never thought about it, but no. Killian was with someone when I met him, then after that…” Ruby paused, searching for the right word. “ended, he wasn’t interested in much of anything for a long time. Somewhere in there I met Dorothy, and she’s the love of my life. But Emma? Be careful with Killian. I like you. I really do, but he’s probably my best friend in the world besides Dorothy and if you hurt him, I’ll have to rip your throat out.”

Emma raised her eyebrows in confusion. Why on earth was Ruby giving her the protective best friend speech? “You say that like he’s delicate or something.”

Ruby laughed, her posture relaxing a little. “Delicate is not the word I would use. He’s just had it rough. But…” She pursed her lips, eyeing Emma appraisingly. “Something tells me you have, too. Hell, maybe you’ll be good for each other. Shake each other up a little bit. Get him to stop hiding out on that damn ranch.”

That caught Emma’s attention. “Hiding?” She remembered the tattoo on Killian’s arm. How it seemed to be a memento of a painful past. “Ruby, what happened to him?”

Ruby sighed. “That’s not my story to tell. It’s just- it’s good to see him opening up to someone again. Now come on. Enough serious talk. One more dance before last call.”

--/--

By the time Emma climbed into her Bug to drive home, the buzz of a few whiskey sours had long since faded. Her ears still rang a little bit from the combined decibel level of a raucous crowd and blaring music, but it wasn’t enough to keep the silence of the drive home from pressing in on her. It was easier at the bar not to think, to stay distracted. Here alone in the dark, her mind kept replaying the things Ruby told her.

Hiding out on that damn ranch… He’s had it rough… He was with someone when we met, but after that ended…

His tattoo. Milah. It had to be what Ruby was talking about. Emma knew Killian had ghosts of his own. She still didn’t know his story, but she was beginning to understand. Ever since she met him, she’d felt some kind of connection to him. She spent a lot of time and energy trying to convince herself it was only a physical attraction, but there was exactly enough whiskey left in her system for her to call out her own bullshit. To be honest enough to admit to herself that the connection ran deeper than that.

...the fact that you’ve managed to wrap Killian Jones around your little finger…

Nope. That was too much. Too far. Even if Emma believed that, she wasn’t ready to think about it. But maybe she could admit that she and Killian had a something. That they understood each other. That was enough honesty for tonight.

Emma parked her car behind the house. Killian had kept the porch lights on for her, and she smiled to herself at the little act of thoughtfulness. She opened the door as quietly as possible assuming he must be in bed already, and she had every intention of sneaking straight up to her own room, but somehow that wasn’t where her feet took her. This is terrible idea. Worst idea I’ve ever had. Completely insane.

She knocked on his bedroom door.

Killian called out for her to come in, his voice sounding ragged and weary even muffled by the wooden door, but she knew she hadn’t woken him. He’d answered too quickly. She hadn’t knocked that loudly.

She turned the knob and the door gave way without a sound. He lay on his side facing her, one arm tucked beneath his head and the covers draped at his waist. He seemed to be keeping his body intentionally still and his expression blank. She couldn’t tell what color his t-shirt was, couldn’t make out the pattern of his quilt. But the shadows and plains of his face, the way the moonlight cast him in shades of blue and grey, the spark of something in his eyes - carefully restrained but still there. He was beautiful, heart-stoppingly beautiful and Emma couldn’t fight the pull toward him any more than she could fight gravity.

As she approached, he raised himself up and leaned back against the headboard. Watching her. No questions. No what-the-hell-are-you-doing-here. Just waiting for her.

Emma sat on the edge of the bed next to him, their bodies close, but not touching. Tentatively she carded her fingers through his hair, pushing the messy fringe off his forehead. He reached out and placed his right hand on her thigh, but she stopped him, gently taking his wrist and turning his arm over. Even in the darkened room, she could see him flinch as she traced her fingers over the dagger and heart on his forearm, but he didn’t pull away. She placed her hand in his and he held it tightly.

“Who’s Milah?”

Killian kept his eyes down, focused on their joined hands resting against her leg. She had about decided he wasn’t going to answer, but then-

“Someone from long ago.”

“Someone you lost.”

“Aye.” His voice was rough, his eyes dark when he finally met her gaze.

“Someone you loved.”

His expression softened into a sad smile. “Aye. Have you ever been in love?” It wasn’t a question, anymore than hers had been. They knew the answers. They each knew why the other was asking these things, but they both seemed to need the confirmation that everything they’d sensed about the other was true.

Emma swallowed and glanced down at their joined hands. The way his thumb ran back and forth over her knuckles. “Maybe I was once.”

Killian was silent for a long moment. Emma felt his eyes searching her, reading her. When she finally met his eyes she found his expression more open than she’d ever seen it, and it scared her.

“Emma, I-”

She shook her head. “Don’t.” He let go of her hand and began to turn away. Emma could see him closing himself off, retreating into himself and no. That’s not what she meant, not what she wanted, so she cupped his jaw turning him to face her again. To make him see.

“Whatever the story is, whatever you were about to say, don’t tell me tonight. Just- can you just be kissing me right now?”

Emma wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the moonlight, but she’d swear she saw a flicker of light in his eyes just for a split second as they crinkled at the corners and he leaned toward her. His whispered, “As you wish,” the last thing she heard before he pulled her into his arms and into his bed.

They kissed for ages, chest to chest, legs tangled together. Slowly, painstakingly as though trying to learn to speak with the other’s tongue. Completely wrapped up in each other and their little cocoon of sheets. When such silly things as clothing or blankets became an impediment or nuisance, these were cast aside with little fuss or ceremony.

Emma felt as though she were underwater, completely submerged in this moment with this man. Her usual fears and baggage and anxieties, everything that made her run, those were far away. As long as she stayed under, stayed in the moment, she could drift through the waves and ripples of pleasure washing over her entire body. She could feel warm and perfect and alive and wanted.

And Killian was right there with her, surrounding her. His breath on her face, his fingers slipping through her hair, trailing down her back, digging into her hip, guiding her leg up and around his waist until she felt his hardened cock sliding gracelessly against her sex. Felt him shudder at the sensation of her lush and ready and willing.

But his lips grew restless against hers and began to wander. First down the column of her throat, then taking a detour for his tongue to map the contours of her clavicle before proceeding lower to the valley between her breasts. He pressed his body against her, rolling her onto her back and she complied, her head falling back against his pillow and eyes drifting shut. She focused on nothing but the way he made her feel. Like a queen. Like a goddess.

He continued his worship of her body, cupping her breasts, kneading and suckling. The contrast of his rough hands and soft lips coaxing needy whimpers from her. Her back arched, her hips rutted against his stomach where he lay between her spread legs, and he raised up only enough to look at her. When their eyes met, she expected him to look smug, but there was no teasing in his gaze, only raw emotion and desire and for once, she didn’t look away. He seemed to be waiting for her, asking for permission and there was only one answer she could give. She nodded. He smiled.

Killian resumed kissing a path down her stomach with renewed vigor, dipping his tongue playfully in her belly button just to get her to twitch. He shifted himself further down the bed, his lips never leaving her skin, and just when the anticipation had gotten to be almost too much for Emma to bear, he stopped. Just above the blonde curls covering her womanhood.

Tense as a bowstring, she was about to scream with frustration when she met his eyes again. Open, clear and blue as a summer sky, they pleaded with her to trust him. And in this moment, she let herself. Watched as his dark head dipped down again. His mouth found a spot just inside her hipbone and sucked hard, while his strong hands held her hips in place. Marking her. Claiming her. The sharp sting of feeling him so close to where she wanted him was infuriating, maddening, amazing.

He sat back on his heels, inspecting his handiwork and placed a hand on each of her thighs. He took a few long moments to squeeze and massage the tense muscles there, all the while, his eyes raked over her, spread as she was before him. No one in her life had ever looked at her like that. The softness in his gaze something utterly new and foreign.

“So beautiful,” he whispered and she wasn’t sure if he knew he’d even said it out loud. Because this wasn’t the man who used his words as a shield. Humor and innuendo and dirty promises to cover a heart that life had treated cruelly. This was just the two of them, alone together in the dark, souls as bare for each other as their bodies, if only for this moment.

Killian lazily stroked his straining cock, using his thumb to swipe a bead of arousal from the tip and Emma licked her lips at the sight, but before she could reach for him, he resumed his place at the foot of the bed. Emma nearly cried in relief when his lips found her clit and he began to suck and lave her in earnest. That mouth of his. She suspected he had certain talents and he’d demonstrated as much on other parts of her body, but this? Could a person actually die from pleasure?

“God, Swan,” he mumbled against her between licks and kisses, the scrape of his stubbled beard against her folds heightening the sensation. “Ambrosia.” He dipped his tongue inside her and she cried his name aloud. “Could have you for every meal.”

He must’ve meant it for all Emma could tell through her lust-filled haze. He tasted her like a man half-starved, desperate, yet still wanting to savor. The bed shook and Emma wasn’t sure if it was her bucking hips or his rutting against the mattress seeking friction of his own. Words were far beyond her capacity, so she praised him with keening and moans and whispers that sounded like his name. Her release was just within reach, she knew it, could feel it tingling under her skin, but she also knew she didn’t want to fall alone.

She sank her fingers into his hair and tugged until he looked up at her. His eyes were dazed and nearly black, his mouth and chin covered in her arousal, and she knew the image would haunt her dreams in days ahead. But right now-

“Come here.” She reached over and pulled on his hand. “Come with me. Need you inside.”

And then he was with her, his body a welcome and strangely comforting weight on top of her. He kissed her or she kissed him, and he tasted like her and he felt like home. And when he finally pressed inside her, sinking to the hilt in one slow thrust, they both took in a sharp breath not because anything was wrong but because everything was right.

Emma’s world contracted, all her focus narrowing to the point where she and Killian were joined. To the quickly building pleasure within her as with each thrust and grind of his hips, he drove her closer to the edge.

“Emma.” His voice, thin with strain, made her open her eyes. “Emma look at me.”

She could not refuse him. Their eyes locked, and it seemed as if time both stopped and raced ahead all at once, and then she was coming, first his name and then his kiss on her lips as he tumbled after her. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, the force of it shaking her to the marrow of her bones. Did she even have bones anymore? Who knew. All she knew was this moment and this bed and this man curled up beside her with his warm breath tickling her neck and his coarse chest hair tickling her arm.

He kissed her shoulder and got out of bed. He said something about getting a cloth or cleaning up or whatever, but Emma wasn’t listening anymore. Because the second he flipped on the bathroom light, reality had rushed back to her. Their moment had ended.

Now she had to deal with the fact that she had just fucked- No. Emma knew fucking and that wasn’t fucking. That was...It was... She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t think the words. She sat up abruptly, scanning the floor for her discarded clothing. All the fears she kept at bay came screaming back, riding rough-shod over whatever truths she’d admitted to herself only hours ago. She could feel her entire body tensing, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her fingers gripped the edge of the mattress since she couldn’t seem to get a grip on her thoughts. This was nothing. This had to be nothing. There were rules. There was an agreement.

When Killian returned he noticed the change in her immediately and slowed his step. “Swan, are you alright?”

Emma looked at him standing there framed by the light from the doorway. Bare-chested still, but he’d pulled on a pair of plaid pajama bottoms that hung low on his hips. Everything in her had 100% wanted to do what they just did, and even now, everything in her 100% wanted to stay right here with him. That was exactly why she needed to go.

She grabbed her clothes from the floor, put her underwear back on and yanked her shirt over her head. “I’m fine.” With her jeans, bra and shoes bundled in her arms, she headed for the bedroom door. “I’m just going to head on upstairs and-”

Killian caught her arm, turning her to face him. “Swan, please stay.” His eyes spoke the rest of the words for him. Don’t run from me. Don’t run from this.

“I can’t,” Emma insisted. “You know the rules.”

Killian’s eyes bore into hers and she thought he was about to argue with her, but he simply released her arm, raising the hand that had held her to scratch at the back of his neck. “Aye, that I do.” He gestured toward the door. “Goodnight, Swan.”

“Goodnight, Killian.”

A/N: If you're reading this, thanks so much for sticking with this story! There WILL be three more chapters. I WILL finish this thing. But, in all honesty, it ain't gonna be updated until I get my story for CS Little Bang finished. Thank you for your patience. Smut disclaimer: for safety and hygiene reasons, don't fool around on horseback in real life. It's just a story, ya'll ;-)

Tell me what you think!

#captain swan #cs ff #cs au ff #cs modern au #cs western #this may be the closest thing I've ever written to PWP

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csgiftexchange · 3 years ago

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GIFT GRAB

Participants: @anmylica @captainodonoghue @cocohook38 @cosette141 @everything-person @i-will-sing-no-requiem @jrob64 @kazoosandfannypacks @middlemistcs13 @nachocheese-itsmycheese @sotangledupinit @their-seafaring-ways @totheendoftheworldortime

Gifts:

Giftee 1 WANTS: fanart of one of their fics, cursed!Killian, Movie au of Divergent Harry Potter Jumanji 2017 2019 or Avatar. NO: permanent character death for either Killian or Emma

Giftee 2 WANTS: missing moments, Killian exploring the land without magic, Captain/Lieutenant Duckling. Has no restriction.

Giftee 3 WANTS: pirate princess, canon au, supernatural au NO: angst, character death

Giftee 4 WANTS: fanart of one of their fics, canon compliant or divergent physical hurt comfort, one bed sharing before Emma and killian are together NO: smut, too much sexual innuendo/intention, character death, dark ones, season 5a, AUs, graphic injuries/gore

Giftee 5 WANTS: au fanfic, fanart, christmas anything. NO: smutt, shirtless fanart, no swearing, no villainizing Neal or Milah

Giftee 6 WANTS: one bed modern au, childhood best friends, sick fic au. Has no restrictions.

Giftee 7 WANTS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, captain duckling, cs role reversal. NO: permanent character death, supporting Neal.

Giftee 8 WANTS: gifsets, enemies to lovers, lieutenant duckling, pirate!Killian -princess!Emma, lieutenant duckling or pirate!Killian - princess!Emma fanart. NO: Graham or Neal.

Giftee 9 WANTS: Hurt/comfort, modern AU, Christmas themed CS fluff, must have happy ending. NO: friendship between Emma & Regina

Giftee 10 WANTS: anything set in season 3 or 4, mutual pining, any fanart. NO: AUs.

Giftee 11 WANTS: angst and/or smutt, western/farm/ranch au, any au, fluffy family holiday/winter fic/art. NO: whump, Ingrid

Giftee 12 WANTS: Established relationship, cs family fluff, cs parents, modern au with established relationship. NO: character death, angst.

Giftee 13 WANTS: Enemies/rivals to lovers; fake dating; captain cobra swan. NO: no major character death (I.e., emma or killian), no victor/ruby

#csgiftexchange #captain swan gift exchange #csge #csgiftexchange2022 #csge22

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snowbellewells · 6 years ago

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The Lawman, the Thief, and the Outlaw

by: @snowbellewells

(Here we are, at long last!! I am so excited to present the Rio Bravo AU I have been thinking about and wanting to write for so long. As we are now just a little under three weeks away from Netflix’s “Heartstrings” and seeing Colin as a cowboy, I had to get going on this and channel that excitement. If you have ever seen the old John Wayne/Dean Martin/Ricky Nelson/Walter Brennan Western “Rio Bravo”, then this will follow a lot of the basic plot points, though I will take some of my own twists and turns as well. I definitely have to give it some inspirational credit, as well as @theonceoverthinker for her help with a few plot issues I was trying to wrangle, and for the lovely ladies on the Discord chat: @kmomof4 @profdanglaisstuff @ultraluckycatnd @darkcolinodonorgasm @teamhook @wellhellotragic for helping me with title suggestions.

Please enjoy, and I’d love to hear what you think of this opening!!)

Chapter One

Sun beat down brutal and unyielding from the hot August afternoon sky onto the packed dirt of Main Street in Blanchard Ridge while the town was sleepy and still; not even the bark of a dog or the clop of hooves from a passing rider disturbed the dusty hours before the evening meal. The stage was due in at four, but as far as Killian Jones’ sharp gaze could reach from where he sat, chair tilted back on the wooden slats of the porch, appearing relaxed and lazy, nothing moved in the time of the ‘siesta’ as their neighbors just a few hours south in Pioche would call it.

Though all appeared normal - more still than normal, even - in the sleepy little town he was meant to watch after, Jones was not about to drop his guard; he had learned long ago that calm could turn to chaos on a dime, and he aimed to be ready when the storm came. Idly, he flicked his pocket knife along the grain of the whittling stick he worked as he sat surveying the nearly deserted street, hoping to convey boredom despite every sense being keenly attuned, nerves jangling in a way that warned him something was coming - even if he didn’t yet know what it might be. He hadn’t survived as long as he had, nor gained the reputation he possessed, by growing careless, and he trusted his instincts. He slowly let his hand slide down casually, almost without notice, making certain his favorite Colt Single Action was in its holster, before going back to the soft humming and carving he’d employed since he took up his seat just past the noonday meal, upon his return from lunch at the Nolans’, and since his deputy, Scarlet, had taken off for the afternoon.

Reflecting for a moment as he watched heat shimmer in waves before his eyes, Jones knew that he was far from the typical lawman, even in these rough territories, and the irony of his ending up here wasn’t lost on him. He didn’t give himself leave to think much on the twists and turns his life had taken, and he tried not to waste much time debating whether or not he deserved the opportunity and trust he had been granted, seeing as how neither did anyone a lick of good. But on long, lonesome afternoons such as this one, when the parched brown earth and flat, monotonous chaparral stretched before him as far as the eye could see - such a contrast from the verdant rolling hills and cool breezes of Ireland, from whence he’d immigrated with his father and brother more years ago than he could rightly count - he did sometimes wonder how he had wound up here in the desert. He was a haunted man, and he didn’t like to leave the gate open to thoughts of the past any longer than he could help it, so he slammed it closed before they could go much further. Suffice to say, he’d been offered a second chance on the right side of the law, to be part of something that wouldn’t lead to jail, lynching, or death in some back alley from a knife in the back, and he had taken it.

There was only one inmate in the jail behind him, but it was one more than usual in the peaceful settlement where folks generally got along and abided by the few simple laws there were. It had him on edge, this Felix Nightshade in their cells, and it was why he had sent Will out for a few hours when he had, so they would both be around once night fell. They’d bunk in the jail, just to be cautious. Nightshade himself might only be a bank and stagecoach robber, interchangeable with any other, but word had it that he was the lieutenant to Pan Malcolm himself, the feared and bloodthirsty outlaw who had lead the notorious Lost Boys gang terrorizing the state for some years. Killian expected a rescue attempt to come before the Federal Marshals came to fetch Nightshade and take him into custody, and if so, he reckoned they would strike under cover of darkness. It was what he would do himself.

He was standing to stretch his long legs and lean frame from the stiffness of sitting in one position for too long when the ground beneath his feet began to tremble and there was a rumbling sound like distant thunder suddenly drawing near. A cloud of dust kicked up on the horizon and drew ever closer, until Killian began to think that he had been wrong to surmise his adversary would wait for nightfall, when he recognized what was coming. His stance eased and his hand once more slid away from his six shooter as ‘yips’ and ‘haws’ rang out with the sound of hooves and the lowing of cattle. A train was driving their herd into town.

From under the awning, the sheriff waited to see if he knew any of the riders, but it was the distinctive brand on the cows themselves as they jostled into view taking up the whole street in a lumbering river, that let him know whose livestock had arrived. The ornate “O” interlocked with a “Q” told him the whole lot of them were a former compadre of his, Robin Sherwood’s, and coming from his ranch out on the Rio Bravo river, a prime bit of real estate that had been in his second wife’s family for generations. Another former immigrant, and once ne’er-do-well like Killian himself, Rob had found love, married a powerful heiress and become one of the most prominent cattle ranchers around, going respectable with impressive style and giving his spread the name Outlaw’s Queen. Jones didn’t know Rob’s wife all that well, didn’t even see his friend that often, as the ride out to their land was long and he didn’t often give himself days off, but she was rumored to be quite the lady. Robin truly did treat her as royalty… and was happy to do so.

Chuckling, Killian moved forward as the herd cleared through, driven into the holding pens down by the livery kept for such wagon trains passing through, then came down the steps to meet Sherwood as he swung from the saddle, smiling widely and already calling out a greeting. The rest of his riders, including the young orphan he had taken under his wing upon hiring him as a ranch hand back in the spring, moved the cattle on, slowing them as they neared the large corral and began to guide them through the gate.

Killian had started down the weathered plank steps of the boardwalk to the packed dirt of the street, and already had his hand out to shake Rob’s, even as his old friend moved forward in a similar fashion, when the loud crack of a gunshot ran clearly in the afternoon air. Even over the lowing and stamping of the herd, the sound was unmistakable, ricocheting off the buildings and startling everyone nearby, who ducked instinctively. Unfortunately, the bullet had already found a target. Whether its intended one or not, the damage was the same, and Robin Sherwood listed to the side horribly, crashing to his knees at the foot of the steps, his hand going almost dazedly to where blood was already seeping through his shirts at the ribs.

“Rob!” Killian called out an alarmed warning too late to do the other man any good. Even as Killian hurried the last few steps to where his friend was slumped in the street, still breathing, though painfully labored, but unable to right himself from his knees where he had crumpled. “Mate, hang on,” Jones added fervently, as he knelt to survey the damage. Where the bullet had entered, if it had exited cleanly or was still inside, played a huge part in what could be done for the rancher. And even as he looked, Killian was also remaining in a crouch himself, hoping to make as small a target as possible for the unseen gunman, and keep an eye on their surroundings in case more shots were yet to come.

Chaos had erupted around them at the crack of the gunshot; the straggling cows not yet in the corral threatened to stampede in fright, and the rest of Sherwood’s riders darted here and there, whooping and hollering to keep their animals in line. All except one of them -

Killian swallowed back an unwanted lump of emotion trying to burn its way up his throat at the sound of young Henry’s cracked voice crying out an anguished “No!” over the melee, his horse thundering up to the hitching post near them and his gangly legs swinging into Killian’s view as he dismounted and slid to his knees beside them, looking to the sheriff for some sort of reassurance. Killian honestly didn’t know if it was the living hope still alight in the youth’s wide brown eyes - not yet having lived long enough in the crooked old world to have lost faith in things turning out alright - or if it was the vivid flash of horrific memory, bringing his brother’s pained face, as he last remembered seeing it, swimming with ghastly clarity before his eyes too quickly for him to fully shutter it away. Jones didn’t have time for sentiment; the shooter needed to be found. He also needed to be certain no other citizens were hurt, and see to Rob’s wounds once the dust settled. It looked as though the injury had been a clean through-and-through shot, and if he could get Sherwood to Nolan’s without his losing too much blood, he thought David’s pretty, fresh-faced wife: cook, seamstress, and pretty much anything else a person could call for, could stitch him up while they got Doc Hopper to make sure no infection set in.

The melee around them seemed to be settling down; the riders herding the rest of the cattle into the pen safely and no further shots coming from wherever the assailant’s hiding place had been. The thought that the bullet in Rob’s side had quite probably had his own name on it, was another thing Killian Jones had no time to ruminate on. Clearly the shooter had turned tail when they’d botched the job of taking the Sheriff out of commission, and ridden back for further instructions rather than risking discovery. From what Jones had heard of Malcolm and the precision with which he expected his orders to be followed, the law man reckoned that bloke had every bit as unpleasant a few hours in front of him as Robin did with people poking and prodding at his side.

Pushing all his numerous worries and concerns back for the moment, Killian met the eyes of the lanky young man before him, “Henry, isn’t it?”

The boy nodded, not saying anything, but acknowledging the sheriff’s words with a determined furrow of his brow, trying manfully to hold in his obvious fear and worry for his adopted father. Killian was grateful for the youth’s gumption, even if he hated asking more yet. He knew well how much Sherwood must mean to the lad. When Henry had arrived in town back in the spring, by far the oldest child on the Orphan Train that had driven through seeking homes to take their charges in, it had been clear that a boy of nearly fourteen was not the age most childless families were hoping to start out with. Robin, however, having lost a first wife and young son who would have been about Henry’s age to the influenza years prior, hadn’t hesitated for a second when Killian had mentioned the boy’s plight to him. It did some good to even Jones’ toughened and grizzled outlook on the world to see that the arrangement had worked out better than he could have hoped. Aiming to put some semblance of encouragement in his tone he added, “I think he’ll recover if we can stop the bleeding and get him sewn up,” he offered.

Moving to brace Robin on one side, and gesturing Henry to do the same under his arm on the right, between the two of them they got Sherwood to his feet, thought unsteadily and leaning on their combined strength. In a shuffling walk they had soon guided him across the way to the inn and restaurant, finding its proprietor, David Nolan, already at the door and coming to help usher them in to safety, his petite, dark-headed wife Mary right behind.

In a better moment, Killian might have shaken his head and laughed at the pair of them, never far from one another and both with hearts as wide as the Rio Grande itself, always trying to do what they could for anyone in need who came to their door. He’d had Mary’s cool, soft hands fluttering over him more than once after some on-the-job injury in the line of duty, and so he knew the woman must already be itching to get her hands on Rob and do what she could to ease his pain.

To speak his mind plainly, Killian would have been forced to admit that he’d often wondered how two people as fine as the Nolans, whose very nature and bearing spoke of class and manners unheard of this far West, had ended up in this rugged New Mexican outpost. They both were too kind, too open and trusting for their own good, and Killian spent more time than he would admit to hoping they weren’t robbed or taken advantage of by whatever rough characters might come riding through. Yet beneath the surface, where he sensed there may once have been a sheltered, easy life that would never have been enough for either one of them, he had long since decided the pair must have a wealth of strength he hadn’t at first been able to see. They’d come to Blanchard Ridge and opened the inn not long after Killian had pinned on the Sheriff’s badge, and neither one seemed to have a thought in their heads towards leaving.

Once they got Rob laid out on a bed in the closest possible empty room, Mary began preparing hot water, clean washcloths, and other materials she needed, while her husband set out with the young ranchhand to fetch the Doctor. Sherwood had clung to his senses as long as possible, but he seemed to be drifting away from awareness, now that he was settled and had reached relative safety. Killian made sure the lady had no need of his assistance, to which she shooed him away to go watch for the others’ return.

Striding out in the main dining area, Jones set up watch at the door, not as much for the doctor, Nolan, and Henry as to see what was happening in the main street. Gunfire was as unusual as he could possibly make it in the center of their small outpost, and so after the ruckus of the last hour the dirt thoroughfare was deserted, people having no wish to be caught in the crossfire - whatever was going on.

His first instinct, the gunfighter’s fire within that had pushed him along until settling there and seeking out a modicum of peace, even if he had to keep it himself, had him edgy, chomping at the bit to get out after the culprit firing on himself or his townspeople in broad daylight. But the lawman he had become had to allow his temper to subside; he couldn’t lash out with the need for vengeance and retaliation. And, if the shot hadn’t been meant to kill him outright, then it had no doubt been meant to send him chasing after shadows rather than staying on guard with his prisoner awaiting the Federal Marshall.

The only thing that was stirring as he continued to stare out at the street before him was the cloud of dust drawing closer and signalling the arrival of the four o’clock stagecoach. They pulled up down the way by the post office, before heading on to the livery, for those horses to be watered, brushed down, and a new team hitched up before the stage headed on to the next settlement. One rider jumped down from up top to run the mail pouch in to the postmaster. The whole routine carried on exactly as usual, until a dainty booted foot stepped out onto the wooden boardwalk from inside the stage. A deep green traveling dress, accented in places with an overlay of black lace, drew his eye up to a stunning, pale feminine face, a strong chin and pert little nose, though the rest of the unknown woman’s visage was hidden by an artfully tilted hat with wide brim to shade her face. Now that was unusual; visitors to the Ridge were exceedingly rare.

He tried to move on from the arrestingly lovely sight, as the woman surveyed her surroundings and then began walking in his direction towards the inn, an enticing sway in her step. No call to be gawping at her like some untried greenhorn, no matter how long it had been since -- No, no time for those thoughts either. He was standing lookout over the main way in and out of town, the jail, and his friend; that was more than enough to focus on.

However, as the lady neared the entrance, Killian did open the door for her, touching the brim of his hat slightly, with an easy dip of his chin and a simple, “Afternoon, Ma’am.”

She raised her head enough for beguiling green eyes to be seen from beneath her own chapeau. They twinkled with some bit of mischief and humor, as she replied, “Why thank you, Sheriff,” with a pointed glance to his badge. “Good afternoon to you.” She then brushed by him so closely that he felt her warmth, making the small hairs on his arm stand on end, and caught the inviting scent of apple blossom, and the cold mix of leather and cinnamon along with it.

Was it only an hour or so ago that the town had appeared sleepily uneventful? Sheriff Killian Jones sensed now that his trouble was just starting, and in more ways than one.

Tagging some who may enjoy: @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @linda8084 @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @laschatzi @effulgentcolors @thisonesatellite @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan @shireness-says @spartanguard @winterbaby89

#cs au mc #cs western au #rio bravo au #chapter one #sheriff!Killian

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cshistfic · 4 years ago

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Get-To-Know-Me: @donteattheappleshook

We’re excited to introduce the authors and artists who will have signed up for this event! Stay tuned in September, and make sure to give them lots of love.

Tumblr/Ao3 handle: @donteattheappleshook/donteattheappleshook (formerly PlanetsBendBetweenUs on Ao3)

How long have you been involved in fandom? I've definitely always been a fan girl but I joined the OUAT fandom after I binged the show and caught up to episode 3x04. I made a tumblr after seeing the sneak peek for 3x05. I only really got to know all the lovely fandom people though when the pandemic hit and I joined the CSSNS and then the CSMM discords and I'm really glad I did 😊

What draws you to this event? I've had a historical fic outlined in my docs for 8 months and @elizabeethan pushed me into joining with her and writing it ❤😁

Do you have a favorite historical period to learn or read about? I'm a sucker for the Victorian Era and the Regency Era.

Why do you like historical fics? I don't read that many historical fics but I love the marriage of convenience trope which historical fics lend themselves to so well.

What is the inspiration behind your story? A few things all mashed together. My love of the marriage of convenience trope, the movie "In Secret" and the fact that one of the first CS fics I fell in love with was an abandoned mail order bride AU

Do you have a sneak preview or summary you’d like to share?

It's still only outlined so I'll leave it at: Western, slow burn forbidden love, and mail order bride AU with a twist.

Do I smell some possible pining coming our way? I think I might... can’t wait to dive into this slow burn goodness!

@donteattheappleshook‘s fic will be dropping on Wednesday, September 22nd.

#cshistfic #get to know me #donteattheappleshook

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roman-writing · 4 years ago

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bring home a haunting (1/12)

Fandom: The Haunting of Bly Manor

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Rating: M

Wordcount: 11,511

Summary: Dani almost has her life together, when a familiar face arrives back in town after ten years. A childhood friends AU written with @youngbloodbuzz

read it below or read it on AO3 here

“The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing — to reach the Mountain, to find the place where all the beauty came from — my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back.” - CS Lewis, Till We Have Faces

—

I: 1987

—

The sound of water sloshing through the pipes was a constant drone in the air. Dani stared at herself in the mirror. Her hand rested on the tap, holding it open. Steam crept in along the edges of the mirror as hot water continued to stream into the white porcelain bathroom sink, pale tendrils framing her face like smudged fingerprints against the glass. She was still dressed in pajamas, her hair a rumpled mess. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her face felt puffy and her stomach heavy, but above all else she just appeared tired.

There was movement behind her. The bathroom door opened and her head jerked up in surprise as the door frame squared around Eddie's tall silhouette. In the misted mirror, his glasses seemed to reflect all light, obscuring half his face in a gleam like the sun glancing across the surface of a windscreen.

His reflection smiled. "You still getting ready?" he asked. "We need to go in ten, if I'm giving you a ride to work."

Abruptly, Dani twisted the tap, cutting off the flow of water. She cleared her throat. "Sorry. No. I'll — I'll drive myself."

"You sure? I don't know if your poor little car will make it."

"No. It'll be fine," she assured him, trying to sound far more confident than she felt. Never mind that the local mechanic had given her a list of incomprehensible ills that plagued her car the last time she had taken it into the shop after it had broken down again. "Thanks, though."

"All right," he said, but still he did not turn to leave. "You know, I was thinking. We should probably sell it."

"Hmm?"

Dani had opened the mirror door to reveal a jumble of bottles and toothpaste and toothbrushes, only some of which were hers. She scouted around for what she was looking for. Even after a few weeks, everything still felt so displaced. She struggled to find the smallest item these days, be it her favorite sauce pan or a bottle of — oh, there it was.

"Your car," Eddie was saying behind her. "Don't you think we should sell it? We don't really need two. Not now that we're living together."

Dani froze with her hands cupped in the water of the sink. She could see her own reflection weaving and waving from the disturbance until her face looked disjointed. Like some sort of Picasso. An eye here. A jaw there. Scattered into separate chambers.

Without answering, she leaned down and splashed her face, rubbing at her cheeks until a foam lathered, eyes squeezed shut.

"Well?" Eddie asked.

She bought herself a moment by rinsing the suds from her face and reaching blindly for a towel that she had perched on a nearby rail for just that very purpose. When she spoke, her voice was muffled through the cloth, "I don't know. I just think —" She lowered the towel and wiped at her neck. "Wouldn't it be inconvenient? You having to drive me around everywhere?"

In the mirror, his outline shrugged. "I don't mind. More time spent with you, right?"

She offered him a weak smile, drying her hands and folding the towel neatly back on its rack. “You’re sweet,” she said. “But really. I mean — What if I need to pick up groceries on the way back from the school? Or what if I want to visit your mother? Or —?”

“All right. All right. You win,” he laughed, softly. He came up behind her, hands settling on her waist, gentle but heavy all the same. “Just think about it. Okay?”

The steam at the edges of the mirror had begun to fade, and Eddie’s features came into sharp relief. Looking at their reflection was like looking at the picture in their living room where they were posed for prom. Eddie’s hands clasped at her waist, and Dani still with that deer in the headlights smile. It was almost perfect. It was almost enough. Being a fresh-faced fiancée. Wearing rumpled pink pajamas. Living together. Watching a life unfold before her as though it belonged to someone else.

She shrank away from him in order to turn around. “I should finish getting ready,” she said.

He let her go but leaned down for a kiss. Instead, his glasses bumped the side of her face. Laughing, she pushed the glasses up his nose as he retreated with a wince.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Her hand was still lingering on the side of his face — scratch of stubble beneath her fingertips — and Eddie pressed a brief kiss to her palm before striding from the bathroom. Dani stood there, clutching her hand back to her chest, listening to his retreating footsteps down the hall. Something curdled in her stomach, though she hadn’t eaten anything yet this morning. She passed it off as hunger instead of guilt.

Eyes squeezing shut, hand clenching into a fist at her sternum, Dani inhaled a deep steadying breath. Then, opening her eyes once more, she turned back towards the mirror and reached for a hairbrush.

—

The coffee in the teacher’s lounge was always dark as sin and tasted of battery acid. Dani pulled on the tap, filling up her styrofoam cup until her hand burned and she had to hold it gingerly from the top with her fingertips. Enough creamer followed so that the coffee resembled milk more than the original brew. She tested it with a sip, crinkled her nose, and added sugar until it was barely palatable. It would still strip paint in a pinch, but it would also keep her going throughout the day.

With a resigned sigh, she carried the coffee over to the round table in the back corner of the lounge, where her piles of notes and textbooks waited. The binders sported multi-colored tongues, every section marked with a tab and her broad loopy handwriting, and there was a satchel of pens and markers in every hue under the sky. Taking a sip of her cup of paint thinner, Dani pulled out a plain black pen. She trailed her thumb down the tabs until she reached the desired section, and flipped open to the correct page. There, she began to record her meticulous notes. She would pause every so often to flip through a textbook and double-check some figure or another that she had convinced herself she had forgotten.

The lounge was mostly empty but for her. It was still an early hour, even for her colleagues. Here, she felt like she could actually work. Back home she would inevitably feel like she had gotten in the way. Not of Eddie. Not usually. Though sometimes he would wander over to the table while she was trying to arrange a lesson plan and distract her with talk of banalities that always made her hand slip, that always made her lose her place on the page. Other times he would complain about how her work sprawled and took over the whole dining room.

Mostly it was the house itself. Still so fresh and new and clean, walls pressing in like a stomach lining. Spreading all her work notes out felt like she was intruding upon the space of the napkins and cutlery. As though all of the items people had bought them for their engagement were more at home there than she was. A house of cardboard boxes. Of clothes. Of china. Stuff. Things. Their things.

Dani’s writing had slowed. She shook her head briskly and straightened in her seat. Another sip of fortifying turpentine, and she was scribbling away again.

“Enjoy the summer holiday?”

Dani glanced up at the sound of that familiar voice. Hannah Grose, seamlessly elegant in a wine-dark skirt suit, stood with her hand on the back of one of the chairs around the little table.

A smile broke across Dani’s face, and she said, “Yeah! And you?” She gestured towards the chair with her pen, adding, “Please.”

“Not much to report on the western front.” Hannah sat, delicately leaning her elbow upon the table so as not to disturb the sprawl of Dani’s notes. “But I hear that’s not the case in your camp. Congratulations are in order.”

Dani could feel her cheeks strain with the effort of keeping her smile in place. “Thanks!”

“Well?” Hannah asked, her eyes agleam with warm curiosity. “Go on then. How did he propose?”

“Which time?” Dani joked half-heartedly. When Hannah gave a little huff of laughter, Dani said, “No, seriously. He’s been asking me to marry him since we were kids.”

“Well, congratulations,” Hannah said. “Do you have a date planned? Or is that still in the works?”

Dani fiddled with the pen between her fingers, repeatedly removing the cap and sticking it back on with a nervous jab. The plastic clacked dully against the unfamiliar band of gold around her finger. “Oh, no. Not yet. We — uh — we’re going to wait a bit. Eddie just started his new job, and I’ve — well. You’re the one who asked me to teach sixth grade this year. And I’m excited, but also I feel so unprepared for a whole classroom of twelve year olds.”

“Don’t be nervous, dear,” Hannah said, and though her tone was soothing her small smile was teasing. “They can smell fear.”

Dani’s laugh was slightly too breathy and too short to be heartfelt. “Oh, I know. It’s just —” She made a flighty gesture with one hand, “— getting a new batch in. It’s always a little nerve wracking. There are so many names to memorize in the first week. And sorting out the dynamics of them all, how they interact, and — well, you know.”

“No, I don’t. Not really, anyway,” Hannah said. “I came up the ranks through an administrative route. Never had any classroom time to speak of.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Dani said.

Hannah gave Dani’s notes a nudge with her elbow. “What was it you were just telling me about the trials and tribulations of homeroom?”

This time when Dani laughed, it was far more relaxed. “The kids are the best part. Really. That’s why you do it.”

Hannah gave her a knowing look. “Yes. And that’s why I hired you.”

“Have I thanked you for that, yet?”

“Only once a year for three years.”

“My next gift basket is in the mail tomorrow, then,” Dani joked.

“Hang the basket and bring me a slice from the cafe instead.”

“With coffee?” Dani asked, grinning when Hannah wrinkled her nose at the idea. “You got it, boss.”

“Tea,” said Hannah primly, “is perfectly serviceable. Thank you. It’s eight thirty, by the way.”

Dani’s eyes widened and she checked her watch to find that Hannah was, in fact, correct. “Oh, shoot!” Hastily, she scraped together the loose papers, shuffling them back into their notebook. Tucking it beneath one arm, she snatched up her styrofoam cup and made a dash for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Grose.”

“Don’t forget to bring back a receipt for the slice!” Hannah called after her. “You must let me pay you back this time!”

“Put it on my next remuneration review!”

—

The kids were all filing into class, and Dani was hesitating at the blackboard. She held the tip of a piece of chalk against the dark grain. Her hand had frozen on the final downward stroke of the 'M' when she thought — should it still be 'Miss'? 'Ms.'? What were the rules?

The sounds of children jabbering away behind her, chairs scraping, things being thrown, urged her into action, and Dani wrote the name she had always written before turning around.

"All right, let's settle down, please." She waited until twenty-five faces were turned towards her in relative silence — as good as she could hope for given the circumstances — before smiling. Then, she set aside the chalk and picked up a clipboard full of names. "Hi, everyone. I'm Miss Clayton. Welcome to homeroom. Let's go through names. Make sure everyone's here."

It was the same, she told herself even as she meticulously took roll. How different could a bunch of twelve year olds be to her usual ten year olds? She even recognized one or two names from when she had taught a previous class. One of her former students waved at her from the back of a row of desks, and Dani smiled in return.

She skimmed right over the roll call and into the first introductions to the year. It happened so fast, that she hardly even registered a familiar looking name on the list. The boy in question merely raised his hand upon his name being called out, and Dani forged on to the next. With so many new faces to memorize, she did not even pause to mull over the presence of a Michael Taylor in her class. There were too many of them. Always too many. She never could keep track. Always remembering faces, but never names. Maybe if there were fewer of them, she thought. Maybe if they were younger.

They never were.

—

Even after two weeks back in the classroom, the bell ringing never failed to make Dani jump slightly. She nearly dropped her chalk from where she was drawing on the blackboard. Already behind her she could hear the scrape of chairs and the excited babble at the arrival of the weekend.

Setting down the chalk, Dani turned around and began wiping her hands against her skirt. She had to lift her voice to be heard. “All right everyone, don’t forget your permission slips for a trip to the community library! If you don’t bring back a signed form, you won’t be able to go, and you’ll have to stay here! And, Michael? Can you stay behind for a minute, please? I want to talk to you.”

Michael’s head whipped around at the sound of his name. A few other students shot him odd glances and his shoulders crept up around his ears. He shoved his books and notes into his bag — a dark blue canvas with silver stars that looked like they’d been painstakingly drawn on — then slouched at his desk until the others had all left.

Sitting behind her own desk, Dani brushed at the chalk handprints on her skirt — she was always a mess by the end of a school week; chalk everywhere — and gestured for Michael to come closer. He hesitated before pushing himself upright and walking forward until he stood in front of her desk. His brow was furrowed but his head was bowed, looking contrite, as though waiting for some sort of reprimand.

Dani gentled her voice. “Michael, I just wanted to -"

"Mikey."

She blinked, faltering. "I'm sorry?"

"My name," he said very firmly for someone who stood with such a stoop. "It’s Mikey. I don’t like Michael."

With a smile, Dani said, "Of course. Mikey. You’re not in trouble. I promise.” With a light tap of her palms against the surface of the desk, she pulled out a piece of paper from atop one of the stacks and slid it towards him across her desk. “This is your homework from Monday. Do you remember this problem here? Number eleven?”

Shrugging at the weight of his backpack, he nodded.

“Well, I kind of messed up,” she said, lowering her voice and leaning forward as though revealing a secret. “And I copied this problem from the wrong section of the book. The back section of the book, I mean. Most of the others didn’t even try to answer it, and those that did got it wrong. Except —” Dani tapped a finger against the edge of the page, “— for you.”

Mikey did not say anything. His gaze remained dropped, as though he were studying his shoes.

“Do you know what this ‘x’ is?” Dani asked, pointing to the math problem in question.

Mikey shook his head. “No. I thought it was like a question mark?”

“Yeah.” Dani smiled. “Yeah, that’s right.”

He glanced up at her, saw her watching him, and then hastily lowered his eyes again, shuffling his feet.

Leaning her weight on her forearms, Dani said, “I know you’re a transfer student this year, and you came from somewhere out of state. Did your other schools teach you algebra by any chance?”

Again, he shook his head.

“Okay.” She ducked her head down in an attempt to look into his eyes. “I told you: you’re not in trouble. I just wanted to know — do you like math? Because it seems to me you’re really good at it.”

“I guess,” he mumbled. His hand tightened around the strap of his backpack. “Can I go now?”

Dani toyed with the edge of the page of homework. Then with a sigh she leaned back in her seat. “Yeah, you can go. Have a good weekend.”

He murmured some pleasantry in response, but in the next moment he was gone from the room so fast she thought she must have imagined it. For a moment, Dani frowned after him. She pulled his homework towards herself, studying the page. Mikey’s handwriting was cramped and messy, but there was no mistaking the fact that he had written every answer only once. There were no eraser marks to be seen. He even showed the steps he took to reach his answers.

Her thumb traced over his name at the top right hand corner. Then, with a little shake of her head, she set the page back atop the stack of other papers and began to clean up.

Even after the kids had mostly left, there were always a few stragglers left behind. Some trotted through the halls in packs on their way to whatever extracurricular activities their parents had signed them up for. Dani kept the door to her classroom open, and the squeak of their shoes echoed down the corridor along with the sound of their fading voices. Tilting her wrist to check the time, she pulled out the latest round of homework assignments that had been handed back to her earlier that day. The set she hadn’t had a chance to mark yet.

Best to just get it done with now. Her car was clinging to the last vestiges of life and had landed itself back in the workshop earlier that week. She would be here a while until Eddie got off work.

She grabbed a red pen and pulled the first page towards her. The pen flicked officiously as she scanned through the questions, barely pausing until she circled the final grade at the top and set the page aside in favor of the next. And so on. And so forth. It was almost relaxing. As relaxing as a known constant could be. She could always rely upon the dependability of homework that needed grading. Just like she could rely upon the dependability of death and taxes.

She glanced up only rarely from her work whenever a flurry of movement flitted across the corners of her vision. A bird darting from a tree branch here. A janitor sweeping the floors there. Dani paused to push her seat back from the desk and make small talk, asking after the janitor's wife and kids until he shuffled along with a wave, pushing his long-handled broom, which looked more like a breed of shaggy dog than a cleaning implement. She had almost finished grading the stack of papers, when she glanced out the window towards the street. She looked back down at the papers, then did a double take.

That was a student sitting on the curb. She recognized that blue backpack with silver stars. Dani checked the time again. Nearly four in the afternoon now. With a hum and a frown, she returned to grading, but her gaze would wander after each finished page back towards the window.

Finally, she capped the pen and set it down atop the finished stack of papers. She would need to enter those grades into the system later, but that could wait. For now, Dani swept everything into her bag before slinging it over one shoulder. Her keys jangled from their lanyard as she locked up and made her way outside.

Mikey was still crouched on the sidewalk when she approached. Her shoes clacked dully against the pavement, and he turned to look over his shoulder at who was approaching him.

Dani smiled brightly. "Hi!" she said. "You’re still here?"

Mikey nodded, but gave no verbal reply. Some sort of magazine was hanging loosely from his fingers, half open and tucked between his legs as though he had been caught red-handed.

Setting her bag down on the ground, she sat beside him and craned her neck to get a look at the cover he was clearly trying to hide. "Wonder Woman, huh?"

His cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and he refused to look anywhere near her direction.

"You know," Dani said. "I used to wait up at night to catch all the episodes of the show as they were airing. The Lynda Carter ones? You ever watch it?"

His eyes were wide when he finally turned to look at her. He nodded. "Yeah. I love that show."

"I recorded them all," Dani confided in a whisper, as though the two of them were in on a secret. "Still have them on tape at home, though I haven't watched them in forever."

"My sister gets annoyed when I rewatch stuff too often," Mikey said. He had straightened his legs, and now the comic book was sprawled across his bony knees to reveal a few inked pages.

She nodded towards the thin paper booklet. "I never read the comics, though. Are they any fun?"

It was like opening flood gates. Suddenly, she found herself being regaled about the entire publication history of Wonder Woman, while Mikey gestured wildly with the comic so that the loose pages rustled with every motion of his hands. His face came alight when he spoke. Dani listened with amusement. She perched an elbow on her knees and propped her chin on her hand, nodding along, asking appropriate questions. Once she asked what was obviously a dumb question, for he made a face and explained her error in great detail.

The early autumnal sun was slanting through the trees by the time a boxy silver sedan rolled up to the other side of the street. Dani could see a familiar mop of dark hair and the gleam of glasses through the windows. The car puttered to a halt, engine idling, and Eddie pressed down on the steering wheel so that the horn blared briefly.

Dani waved in his direction and said to Mikey, “That’s my ride. Are you going to be okay out here?” She glanced down the street for any approaching cars. “Someone’s coming to pick you up, right?”

In answer, he held up the issue of Wonder Woman. “It’s okay, Miss Clayton. My sister will be here soon.”

“Okay, then,” said Dani. Slapping her hands on her thighs, she pushed herself to her feet, bag hanging from one shoulder. She walked towards the car with a smile and a wave back at Mikey. “I’ll see you next week!”

He did not answer. He was already nose-deep in his comic book again. Shaking her head with a small chuckle, Dani continued towards where Eddie was waiting for her, tapping at the dashboard. It wasn’t until her hand was on the chromed door handle that she finally registered what Mikey had said.

A sister. He had a sister. At first she’d thought — well, a sister who got annoyed with a brother who hogged the television set would surely be a younger sister. But a sister who drove to pick him up from school was definitely not a younger sister.

“Danielle, are you all right? You look a little pale.”

The sound of Eddie’s voice made her jerk half out of her skin. She hadn’t even realized he had rolled down the window.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “Yeah. Can you just - Can you wait a second? I’ll be —I’ll be just a second.”

Dani shoved her bag through the open window into her seat, then whirled around and marched back across the street. Her hands were clenched into fists at her side. She could feel the bite of her short nails into her palms. Something acidic boiled in her stomach, twisting it into knots, until she stood over Mikey, struggling to find her voice.

“You said you had a sister?” she asked. “An older sister? And — And your last name is Taylor?”

Looking puzzled, Mikey shrugged. “Yeah?”

This was impossible. There was no way. For a long moment, Dani stared at him, his brown hair, his brown eyes, his narrow shoulders, the almost familiar shape of his nose and face.

Dani cleared her throat and tried to sound nonchalant. “And what — uh — what’s her name?”

With a quizzical frown up at her, Mikey turned a page of his comic book to where Wonder Woman was punching stars from one of her foes. “My sister?” he asked, as if it were the most bizarre question in the world. “Jamie. Her name’s Jamie.”

“Right,” Dani breathed, feeling like she’d just received a blow to the space beneath her ribcage. “Right. Of course. Sorry. I’ll just — Bye.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode back towards the waiting car. She willed her breathing to even out, even as she felt something coil around her sternum and tighten with every step. Yanking open the door, Dani slipped into the car. She pushed her bag down to her feet and pulled the door shut behind her.

“Everything good?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah,” Dani lied, her voice sounding oddly high even to her own ears. It was difficult to swallow; her throat felt too tight. A rush of blood flooded through her ears in a deafening crash. She stared fixedly at the reflection of her own clenched hands in the slanted windshield, willing them to relax even as her knuckles went whiter. “Fine. Everything’s fine.”

And Eddie didn’t question it at all. He merely shrugged, put the car into gear, and drove away.

—

It stayed with her afterwards. Like a bruise upon her skin, blue and purple, tender to the touch. That cloying sense of the air too thick. Molasses on a hot summer day, the dark shadow that clung to her heels in sunlight, haunting her every step. She couldn’t breathe with it, couldn’t escape it.

Jamie. Jamie, here. Jamie, home.

Somehow Eddie didn’t notice. It completely passed him by, the way her eyes darted around as they stopped to pick up groceries, her clenched fists held tightly to her sides, consumed with the uneasy notion that she might turn around the corner and Jamie would appear, as if summoned by the gravity of Dani’s pounding heart.

It should’ve been easy — like most things eventually — locking it away. Erasing it. She had managed now for years, days, months. Except now the very thought of Jamie being so near again, so tangible again, made her somehow indelible. As if she’d always been there. Waiting. As if she’d never gone. It felt altogether at once like being peeled and stripped away, down to an exposed nerve.

Dani wished she could say she slept easy that night. Instead, after spending much of the witching hour staring at the ceiling, she finally succumbed to the sound of Eddie’s soft snores, his arm splayed across her waist, only to wake up feeling as if she'd been cracked open and hollowed out. Somehow, in between the moments of stumbling out of bed and driving up to the blue bungalow across town with Eddie in the small rental truck behind her, Dani managed to go through the motions of call and response. Her limbs moving, her mouth speaking all of their own accord, and she could only watch it happening. She pulled on the turn signal. The click of the light like an errant drip of a tap. It was only when she was cutting the engine to stare up at the house that was once hers, that something tightened in her chest, shunting her back to earth.

Carson met them by the front steps where he sat in his studded leather jacket that he wore regardless of the weather, two takeout cups in hand.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbled, standing and offering one of the cups to Eddie who reached him first. “Thought I was gonna have to drink these myself before they got cold.”

Eddie huffed a laugh, taking the cup. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want that,” he drawled before helping himself inside the house without a backwards glance, taking a long sip from his cup.

Carson stared after him for a moment before turning to Dani with a smirk, and said, “Someone’s in a mood.”

Managing a chuckle, Dani folded her arms around herself. “Yeah, he uh, he’s just eager to get it done, you know? Realtor wants the place empty by three today.”

“Well, in that case,” he said, holding out the last cup, his smirk softening to something kinder.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, taking it. The brush of his fingers against hers was warm and welcome. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Sure, I did,” he responded with a shrug, and nudged her to take a drink, “Go on.”

At the first sip of what Dani had thought was coffee was instead a sweet and rich hot chocolate. Her eyes went wide.

Carson laughed at the expression on her face. “Thought you could use a little something sweet today.”

She smiled at him over the plastic top and took another longer sip. “Thank you,” she said, “For coming. You didn’t need to, but —”

“— You needed some extra muscle, which I’ve plenty of.” His grin seemed rueful. There lingered in Carson more of the boyish youth that Dani had seen in Eddie so many years ago. He wasn’t as gangly or as broad-shouldered as his older brothers, but he was always, without fail, a comforting presence in an otherwise rowdy O’Mara household.

“And yet none of your other brothers showed up, I see,” Dani said.

“Yeah, well,” Carson shrugged against his leather jacket, hands stuck into the pockets. “Guess, I’m just the only responsible one.”

“I knew there was a reason why I liked you best.”

He winked and lowered his voice. “Don’t let Eddie hear you say that.”

With a snort, Dani reached out and ruffled his perfectly coiffed hair so that it more resembled Eddie’s unruly curls. He ducked his head and swatted her away with a whine of complaint. She laughed when he stepped away to carefully fix his hair in the reflection of her car window.

“You leave your pomade at home again?” Dani teased. “Thought you never left without it.”

She could just make out his face in the reflection, nose scrunching up as he raked his fingers through his dark hair until it was suitably tamed. The door of the house one over opened, and a young man strode out, wearing a bathrobe and clutching a mug of coffee. Immediately Carson straightened, as though he’d been tapped with the wrong end of a cattle prod.

Dani waved. “Hi, Jason!”

Her neighbor lifted a desultory hand while he fumbled with his letterbox. “Last day?” he asked, voice raspy with sleep.

“Taking the last of it now,” she said.

Jason shut the letterbox and scooped up the newspaper that had been tossed onto his lawn earlier that morning. “Let me know if you need an extra hand.”

“I should be all right. That’s what Carson’s for.” She gestured with her hot chocolate towards Carson, who had his hands jammed back into his pockets and was now leaning against her car with an odd expression on his face.

Jason glanced over and nodded, no more than a jerk of his chin up, before walking back into his house with the newspaper tucked under one arm. The muscles in Carson’s jaw were clenched, standing out like the ropes of a sailing ship.

After the door to Jason’s house had swung shut, Dani asked, “I thought you two were friends?”

Carson grunted a wordless note. “We had a falling out a few months ago. Anyway —” He turned on his heel, grin back in place, and started making his way towards her house. “Show me the heavy stuff. Come on!”

By the time they first made their way inside, Eddie was already hauling out boxes filled with her things. The tops and sides of each cardboard box had been painstakingly labelled in Dani’s hand, the letters neat and blocky. Carson slipped by Eddie with an exaggerated pose as if squeezing through a tight space as they passed one another in the door. Eddie paused, arms laden, and turned his face to Dani while she climbed the steps leading up to the entryway. The extra step allowed her to press a chaste kiss to his cheek and, mollified, he continued on his way towards the truck. Once inside, she found that Carson was already heaving an armchair up with his hands. She moved out of the way so he could trot after his older brother, leaving her momentarily alone.

The house was bare. Most of her things had already been carted away the week before. The transition into their new shared home had been gradual, just like everything else in their relationship. Eddie settling in first and coaxing Dani along as though she were a particularly nervous show dog that had slipped the collar. Looking around now, hands on her hips, Dani felt like an intruder. Like she was an archaeologist who had wandered into someone else's burial site with a rusty torch and hammer.

It almost looked bigger now that it was so empty. Her footsteps echoed too loud on the wooden floors, the sound traveling further and longer. The bare walls once peppered with paintings and photos now like a skeleton expanding its ribs, waiting to expel her in one long sunken breath. Her thumb gradually drifted to her mouth as she took it all in, biting hard at her nail and skin, fixedly eyeing the spot where once a small reading nook used to be.

The sound of footsteps behind her was harsh and loud to her ears. “Hey, what did I tell you about that?” Eddie said from beside her suddenly, his hand gently pulling Dani’s away from her mouth.

She swallowed heavily and pulled her hand carefully back to hold into a fist by her side, and said, “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I just —”

“I don’t like you hurting yourself,” he said, frowning. She couldn’t help but let her shoulders slump at the concern in his eyes, and only managed to give him a tenuous smile and a nod. “Look, we’re almost done. Soon we’ll be out of here in no time and we can finally just focus on our home. Just let me and Carson do all the hard work.”

“I can help,” Dani said. “I want to help.”

He sighed. “Danielle -”

“I have my inhaler in the car. I won’t keel over and die,” Dani said.

“Hey, Ed, buddy, what happened to that deadline, huh?” Carson said, leaning heavily on the wall and pointing behind him to the kitchen, “You gonna help me with this thing or not?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, and briefly placed a hand on her shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen with muttered grumbling. Dani grinned after him before catching Carson’s eyes, chuckling and shaking her head as he winked at her before following Eddie.

“Gotta give her a minute to breathe, Ed.” Carson’s voice was soft, but still Dani heard it all the same and wrapped her arms tight around herself.

Clearing her throat, she strode off in the direction of her old bedroom. The bed had been taken away and put in their new spare bedroom for guests who might come to visit. The carpet still bore indentations from where the posts had once sat. Eddie had already been in here; the boxes were gone. Dani glanced around for any last remaining items that might have been forgotten. The closet door was slightly awry, and with a frown she pulled it fully open. There was a single wire coat hanger hooked on the bar that stretched across the closet. Her hand reached out to take it, when she froze.

There, tucked away into the corner beneath one of the built in shelves, was a small wooden box. She could hardly remember the last time she had seen it, let alone opened it. A layer of dust covered the top. Kneeling down, Dani pulled the box out and into her lap. She blew the dust off and had to wipe a bit more with the edge of her sleeve. It was made of plain wood with a bronze latch fastening the lid shut. Her thumb teased the corner of the latch. She worried her lower lip between her teeth before steeling herself and lifting the lid open on squeaky hinges.

Nestled inside were a series of photographs, faded with age. Something clenched in her chest as she touched the first one with trembling fingers.

She and Jamie looked so young, and they were. Barely fifteen. Jamie's arm flung around her shoulder, arm outstretched to snap the photo while she pressed a kiss to Dani's cheek even as Dani laughed and elbowed her ribs. Swallowing down the urge to be sick, she slipped the photo aside to see the next. Jamie was younger still. Her arms were outstretched as she balanced her weight on the narrow steel bar of the abandoned train tracks beyond the fields that surrounded the town. Dani could remember the day she took this with crystal clarity. The days of summer in those years had been longer somehow, stretching on into warm endless nights.

She was a furtive grave robber, flicking through picture after picture, exhuming a past that she hardly recognized herself in now. And pictures weren’t all that were stored here. There was a band shirt that had been half eaten by moths over years of neglect. An old Zippo lighter with scratched edges along the chrome plating. A necklace that was actually just a worn old half dollar coin pierced through and hung from a cheap chain. A cassette tape labelled Jamie’s Mixtape (1978) in a messy slanted scrawl, long missing its protective case. And finally, an old battered copy of Valley of the Dolls, where if she were to flick it open, she would find a pressed blue morning glory hidden among the pages.

She gently ran her hand over them, still trembling as if the living memories within the treasure trove thrummed under her skin with its own heartbeat.

In the distance, she could hear footsteps and the back and forth between Carson and Eddie in the living room as they manoeuvred a couch through the front door. When the footsteps drew closer, approaching down the hall, Dani hurriedly stuffed everything back into the box and shut the lid.

Carson leaned in the doorway. At some point he had shed his leather jacket, so that now he only wore a white undershirt that was two sizes too small, tucked into his jeans. “You good here? We’ve loaded the last of it into the truck.”

“Yeah,” Dani said. She pushed herself upright, clutching the box to her chest as though it were an heirloom. “Yeah, that's everything.”

His eyebrows rose and he nodded towards the box. “What do you got there?”

Dani’s grip tightened. She could feel the grooves of the box pressing into her skin. “Nothing important.”

—

Dani went about her routine on edge. At the supermarket, gripping the shopping cart between her hands and turning down the different aisles. At the gas station, stepping out of her beat up old car to work the pump. At the school, peering out the window at all the parents dropping off their kids in the parking lot. At the local cafe nearest the elementary school, picking up a newspaper and a slice for Hannah. Hoping for a glimpse of Jamie and dreading any encounter with her all at once.

Except Jamie never appeared. And Mikey sat at the back of the class, doodling in his notebook, not paying attention but knowing all the answers regardless whenever Dani called on him to participate. She could always see him after school sitting on the curbside and reading a new comic issue, or thumbing through a book from the paltry school library or scratching at his homework with a pencil. Not once did Dani loiter long enough to see him get picked up, and she felt a stab of irritation that he should be left alone for so long. But it wasn’t her business, and he got along well enough with the other kids during recess.

Dani was still stewing silently over the whole affair at dinner with her future in-laws. She sat at the dining table, chewing at the skin of her thumb, with Carson at one elbow and Eddie at the next. Mike, Judy’s soft-spoken stooping husband, sat at the head of the table, while Judy herself set the last of the platters down and invited everyone to tuck in.

“How’re the kids this year?” Judy asked as she spooned peas onto her plate.

Dani made a noise in the back of her throat, before lowering her hand into her lap. “Yeah, they’re great! I — uh — I actually have a transfer student.”

Judy made a sound to indicate that she was still listening even while she passed a platter across the table to Eddie.

“He’s really smart,” Dani continued. “I don’t really know what to do with him. He — well, he always looks a bit bored, to be honest.”

“Don’t they have some sort of advanced program for kids like that?” Mike asked. He had already tucked into the food even though his plate was only half full.

“I’d need to talk to the parent or guardian first,” Dani said, her stomach flipping at the thought. The peas had made their way around the table to her now, and she slowly scraped the last of them onto an available corner of her plate. Swallowing heavily, Dani concentrated hard on the steady movements of her hands, and said, “Judy, I don’t suppose you’ve heard of anyone new coming to town?”

Judy’s mouth was full. She frowned thoughtfully as she chewed, and swallowed before answering. “No, I haven’t, now that you mention it. I’ll have to ask around the ladies at the book club if they’ve seen anyone.”

Any hope Dani might have nursed of learning something new about Jamie’s presence in town flickered out like a snuffed candle. “Thanks,” she said, already feeling the conversation wander towards other topics. “Can you pass the salt, Carson?”

—

Sitting here in her Sunday best with Eddie’s warm hand in hers and a book of hymns in the other, Dani was sandwiched in the pew between her fiancé and her mother. Karen smelled sharply of cheap mall perfume, her dress pressing in tight on her ribs. The priest’s voice echoed from his place declaming near the altar, but Dani wasn’t listening. She was too preoccupied with the way her heart pounded in her chest, the clench of her stomach and the restless nerves that someone might have seen her.

She hadn’t planned on going to the movies yesterday, not at first. Not until she had seen the ad in Saturday’s morning paper, an art house theater two towns over advertising a one-time showing of Desert Hearts. It had caused such a stir in the community a few years ago that any curiosity Dani had felt toward it had died and shriveled up inside of her. Yet her Saturday afternoon had been free, and Eddie had been mercifully busy after helping her move the last of her things.

And now Dani sat in the same church she’d been going to her entire life, feeling like a marionette whose mouth was puppetted by invisible strings as she joined the others in song. The priest leading them through a hymn wasn’t the same man who baptized Dani as an infant. The bench she was sitting on wasn’t the same she sat in week after week. The woman on her right was virtually nonexistent. The man’s hand she was holding loosely in her left wasn’t the same man who she grew up with, he wasn’t the boy who asked her again and again to marry him.

This Dani, this new Dani, lied to her fiancé and drove an hour out of town the day before with a whispered prayer on her tongue for her car to just hold on for once, for just one more day to see a film that left her blushing scarlet and her stomach dropping not uncomfortably, sitting alone in the dark with a carton of untouched popcorn. This Dani would return to her car, and her first thought would turn to whether this would be the kind of movie Jamie would have picked as her choice of their weekly film showing — knowing immediately that the answer would be 'yes.’ And just as abruptly as the thought appeared, she promptly squashed the idea of even contemplating such a question.

Dani’s voice faltered, wavering over the words as a flash of guilt washed over her when the heat returned to her skin. She looked up at the cross, hanging on the back wall over the priest’s head, and glanced furtively at Eddie to see where he was in the verse, praying no one had seen her stumble. When service finally ended, and the ritualistic gossip on the front steps had been entertained, she allowed herself to be led outside. Eddie’s hand was warm and steady, completely enveloping her own, pulling her to the warm air where it finally felt like she was able to breathe again.

She felt a heady rush of relief when her mom begged off brunch, claiming to suffer from a headache as she walked to her car with a half-hearted wave. Relieved two-fold when Eddie needed to run off to the office for preliminary work for Monday, kissing her on the cheek in a goodbye that she barely registered before rushing off to his car. Until she was only left with Judy.

“So,” Judy asked, and for a brief terrifying moment Dani thought she might know, she might have finally seen her. In the end though all Judy said was: “How about that lunch?”

Judy linked their arms, pulling her in close until all Dani could do was smile and say, “Lead the way.”

The bistro Judy directed them to was relatively new, Dani had passed it multiple times over the last couple weeks but had never actually gone in, always driving by with casual curiosity and a bemused but charmed smile at the name: A Batter Place.

“You’re gonna love it,” Judy said, guiding Dani in with an arm linked in her own, “Their macaroons are to die for.”

Gamely, Dani smiled along to Judy’s enthusiasm as Judy pointed to various fixtures of the restaurant, steadily ignoring the strain building in the back of her neck. It wouldn’t be fair to say that Judy made her nervous. There were too many good intentions behind her warm eyes and her warm hugs, always with her hands full of containers of hearty food, always holding on a little longer than Dani expected, like she was afraid Dani would drift away. Judy, she knew, at least cared.

Perhaps that was why, after settling in their seats and ordering their lunch, Dani hid her hands under the table, fingers trembling as they picked at the skin of her thumb.

“So, how have you been, honey?” Judy asked over her cup of coffee, smiling that kind, good-intentioned smile. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you since school started up again.”

A small pressure valve released in Dani’s chest, and she finally allowed herself a real smile. “I’ve been keeping busy, and well — you know how it is with a new school year. This year especially is different.”

“Because of the higher grade?”

“Right. And I just — I want things to be perfect, you know?” Dani said, and chuckled ruefully, “Though twenty-five twelve year olds will certainly be a challenge.”

This she could manage. This she could at least be grateful for, the way Judy allowed the conversation to steer towards something that filled Dani with a sense of purpose, smiling proudly at her over the din of conversation around them with no mention of Eddie or long overdue wedding planning.

Judy took a pointed sip of her coffee. “Well, I know you like the challenge, but you can’t forget to take care of yourself,” she said, her lips pulling into a familiar smile. One to be used when nearing a cornered animal. Dani’s stomach sank, when Judy continued, “Now, I know you and Eddie need time to get used to living together, doing all the things couples have to learn to do alone but, you don’t have to steer clear of the house forever. I know we all recently just had dinner together but —”

Dani glanced away.

“— You could come over at any time. Like yesterday! What were you up to yesterday? I would have made lasagna for you.”

“Oh, uh —” Dani gave a nervous breathy chuckle, hoping to hide the grimace at the memory of the two women who had stared brazenly at her when she had exited the art house theater yesterday, Dani in her too bright blouse and high jeans, looking frazzled and out of place. She took a long sip of her coffee, hoping to hide the same feeling under her skin now. “You know. Busy.”

Judy waved her explanation away with that same smile. “Oh, well, never mind that. It doesn’t matter now. There’s always next weekend,” she said, and her hand reached over to clasp Dani’s before she could hide it again. “I’m just hoping I get more time to spend with my favorite future daughter-in-law before things get too crazy. Wedding planning and teaching a class of twenty-five kids is one thing, but thinking about raising a baby is another.”

A moment passed before Dani could process the words. A baby. Of course.

“Oh,” was all Dani managed to say, a polite smile frozen on her face as Judy’s grip on her hand tightened in a way that anyone else would have found comforting. The hand that Dani so wanted to pull away, to press against her chest. A pressure building inside her ribs, pulling her skin taught and straining at the edges. A ringing in her ears that sounded more and more like the whistle of a tea kettle or the whine of an over-revved engine.

She was only saved by the grace of their food arriving, the pressure abating to something manageable as Judy freed Dani’s hand to make room for their plates. It gave Dani the opportunity to down half of her coffee, hot enough to scald, and to clench a fist under the table, her nails pressing hard into the soft skin of her hand.

At the first bite of food, Judy hummed and sank back into her seat. “Now that is delicious,” she said, gesturing with her fork. “Go on, take a bite.”

Dani took advantage of the moment, letting the previous topic of conversation pass over them untouched as she pulled her own forkful of food in her mouth. She blinked in surprise.

“Wow,” she said after swallowing, sharing an incredulous chuckle with Judy. “That is really good.”

“I’m telling you, this new chef knows what he’s doing,” Judy said with a grin, as if she had known exactly how Dani would have reacted.

It should have been comforting, being so well understood. And for the most part it was. Afterall, Dani had spent much of her youth at Judy’s table, being fed day in and day out as if she were Judy’s own. Always having a safe haven. A home away from home, where she would be welcome. No questions asked. It should have been an absolute solace. Yet somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being made of glass. As if she were standing there and Judy was looking right through her at someone else that didn’t exist.

The bell attached to the door rang as it swung open, and the sound drew her back to the table, almost startling her. She swallowed down an unexpected thickness in her throat, ignoring that steady pressure in her ribs, and shared another unassuming smile with Judy, taking a second bite.

“We should come here again,” Dani said, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure that was building in her lungs.

“Then it’s a date. Next Sunday.” Judy smiled wide.

It was so easy, making Judy happy, making her smile wide and bright like she’d won the lottery. It was something Dani was good at, pleasing others. The very thought of speaking up and potentially ruining the moment was enough to cause a vein of dread to thread its way through her. Yet something in that moment caused Judy’s smile to flicker, the sound of the bell ringing again as the front door swung open with a squeak of unoiled hinges. Judy’s eyes glanced over somewhere behind Dani’s shoulder and they slowly widened to an expression Dani had only seen once before — when Eddie announced their engagement during family dinner.

“Jamie Taylor?”

Dani tensed and turned around, and sure enough, there she was. Jamie Taylor herself. Dark jeans, big work boots, and a brown jacket, strolling into the bistro like she’d never left town. Like the air from Dani’s lungs hadn’t been sucked out by a gut punch releasing every single pressure valve at the very sight of her.

“Oi, Sharma! Whatever happened to you saying you could fix those hinges without my help?” Jamie’s voice rang clear across the room.

“Danielle, honey, you didn’t tell me that Jamie was back,” Judy said in a rush of breath, already out of her seat and walking toward Jamie like a woman on a mission, as if there wasn’t a hurricane forming within Dani’s chest. As if a swell of feeling wasn’t rushing through her as she sat unmoving with wide eyes attached to the lines of Jamie’s back, to the curl of her hair, unchanged, unkempt, and yet completely different.

Whatever Dani had expected to feel upon hearing that voice again, it wasn’t to feel all of it at once. She didn’t know which feeling to land on, watching Jamie turn at the sound of Judy’s voice, catching sight of the familiar lines of Jamie’s face as they twisted in surprise and fell into a charming smile as Jamie conceded to a tight hug from Judy; the fluttering of happiness, the rush of anxiety, the desperate desire to flee, the shock that belied the anger and muted resentment.

In the end, Dani just sat there, unable to move and unable to look away.

The pair pulled out of the hug, with Judy briefly and affectionately framing Jamie’s face with her hands like she used to. And Jamie rolled her eyes good naturedly with a crooked smile, burying her hands in her pockets. It was like no time at all had passed. They were teenagers again, and Judy was sending them off back home from dinner with warm hugs and piling their hands with leftovers in tupperware.

When Judy gestured over towards their table towards Dani, it was all she could do to not run and excuse herself to the washroom, to not slip out the back door. But it was too late, tension coiling in her body as Jamie’s head turned towards Dani and their eyes finally met.

It was suddenly incredibly hard to breathe. Dani blinked, and the look on Jamie’s face at the sight of her — startled, mouth agape — was gone, and all that was left was something entirely unfamiliar. A polite placid smile as Judy talked her ear off, answering Judy’s questions and gesturing across the counter towards a handsome man with a thick moustache wearing an apron. Even so, Jamie only had eyes for Dani, her gaze occasionally roving back, her expression unreadable.

Before Dani could do more than stare, Judy was guiding Jamie back to their table, a hand on her back. Dani’s stomach twisted itself into a knot at their approach. Her heart began crashing against her ribs until it was all she could hear. Jamie was looking at her with that crooked grin, and Dani didn’t know what else to do but stand from her seat, faintly dazed, a hand brushing against invisible lint and wrinkles along her sky blue dress.

“Look who I found!” Judy said as they pulled up to the table, as if Dani hadn't been on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the last minute. The last decade, if she were being honest with herself.

All Dani could do was give a trembling smile. “Jamie,” she said, almost breathless, the name feeling foreign on her tongue. “Hi.”

Jamie’s grin shifted into something like a smirk, gaze drifting over Dani so fast that she felt it on her skin like a flash fire. “Danielle,” she said, and Dani’s smile faltered. “Been a minute.”

“It has,” Dani said in between barely gritted teeth, the feeling in her stomach souring.

“I was just telling Jamie how this is the first time I’ve brought you here,” Judy interrupted, oblivious as ever. Jamie’s smirk dropped back into something softer, an eyebrow quirked and her head tilting curiously. “How today of all days, that we all walk in the same restaurant together. It must be kismet.”

“Don’t know about that, Mrs. O’Mara. Was never much one for kismet,” Jamie said with a shrug, looking so much like she’s sixteen again that a dull pressure returned to Dani’s chest. “World’s too chaotic for that.”

“And yet here you are.” Judy shuffled back into her seat and gestured to Jamie. “Come, come sit. Just for a while until your takeout is ready.”

It was only by the grace of luck and Judy’s affection for Jamie, that she gestured toward the chair next to her instead of Dani. Jamie didn’t argue, taking the seat, and Dani following after, almost a second delayed from the shock of it all. She could feel Jamie’s eyes on her as she settled in her chair, but Dani kept her attention low and focused on her food, feeling distinctly like she was in a dream.

“Danielle, truly, I can’t believe you neglected to tell me Jamie was back,” Judy admonished with a teasing grin.

She clenched her teeth. Dani had a hard time believing it herself. “Must’ve slipped my mind," she said.

“How long have you been back again, honey?”

“About two months now,” Jamie said. At the admission, Dani finally pulled her eyes away from the table to look up at Jamie, lounging back in her seat like she had all the time in the world, noticeably avoiding Dani’s gaze.

Two months. Two months, and not even a phone call. Not even a letter. Dani took another heady swallow of her now lukewarm coffee in an effort to ground herself. Some things just never changed, she guessed.

“We were so worried when you left, after — after everything, especially. We all were. I thought about you for so long afterwards. Kept you in my prayers,” Judy said, and while the words were sobering with the memories of those days, Jamie’s expression remained unchanged, detached and ambiguous, the corner of her mouth quirked.

“Then I guess I have you to thank,” Jamie said, “All that praying must’ve done something good. Mikey and I have been getting on quite nicely, if I do say so myself.”

Judy gasped, a hand clutching at her chest. “Oh, Mikey! That sweet boy, how is he? Oh, I can’t believe it’s been so long. He must be — what? Eleven now?”

“Twelve actually,” Jamie said, then chuckled. It was something new. The way her eyes turned just a bit brighter, her smile more gentle, as she reached into her pocket to dig out a beat up leather wallet, flipping it open towards Judy. Judy gasped again, holding onto the wallet with a laugh. “Twelve years old and already reaching my chin," Jamie continued. "The little gremlin’s gonna have me beat by next year at this rate, I swear.”

“He’s wonderful,” Judy said, her eyes alight with emotion, “Gosh, he looks just like you. Except for the eyes, those sweet brown eyes. He’s definitely going to be a heartbreaker.”

“Not on my bloody watch,” Jamie grumbled.

“Have you seen him yet, Danielle?” Judy held out the wallet to Dani, who had to refrain from recoiling back, as if Judy was holding out a live snake.

“I have,” Dani admitted quietly, “He’s one of my students, actually.”

“Oh, so that’s what all those questions were about the other day,” Judy said, and tapped Jamie playfully on her arm resting on the table with her wallet. “What did I tell you? Kismet.”

Jamie flipped the wallet shut and returned it to her pocket. “Mikey did mention the name once or twice. Miss Clayton this, Miss Clayton that, and I thought: what are the chances?”

Dani swallowed down a scoff and the bitterness brewing in the back of her throat. Her left hand ached from clutching it so tight in her lap, knuckles white, crescent-shaped grooves in her palm. She stretched her hand out and ran it through her hair, her fingers trembling as they smoothed down the gentle waves and curls she put in that morning.

“Ah, so he’s done it then,” Jamie said, apropos of nothing. She leaned forward on the table, staring so abruptly and intently that Dani shifted away in her own seat slightly, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

It was the first time Jamie had fully addressed her since that singular hello. Dani frowned, that ever present knot in her stomach twisting tighter. “Sorry?”

“That nice big shiny rock on your hand.” Jamie gestured down to the aforementioned rock, and sure enough, there was her engagement ring, shining bright against the afternoon light pouring through the window. “Must’ve cost a damn fortune.”

Dani had thought the same, when Eddie had dropped to his knee, proffering up the box where the ring lay, his face flickering through a wide array of emotions — adoration, anxiety, hope. At the time all Dani could think, staring down at the large square cut diamond, was that it looked heavy.

“But isn’t it gorgeous?” Judy gushed, reaching out to grasp Dani’s hand to pull it closer for Jamie to see. Dani breathed out an awkward laugh at the sudden motion but let herself be dragged along. “I went to help him pick it out, and — gosh, well, we all know how many times he’s asked over the years. Our Danielle always liked to keep him on his toes. I just about died at the news when they officially announced the engagement a few months later.”

Jamie whistled low. “I can imagine,” she drawled.

Judy continued to ramble about the announcement. She released the hand that Dani tried to surreptitiously and swiftly return under the table, hoping to hide the desire to shrink under the table as well. Meanwhile Jamie seemed to be only half-listening, watching Dani with a tilted head and a sharp glance that left Dani feeling like a strip of overexposed film. Her eyes strayed to Jamie's old scar against her will, landing on the long stretch of a pale line that started from her lower lip and descended down towards her chin. It was usually hard to see, but today it was easy to find in the light of the room.

Dani swallowed thickly and glanced away.

“So, how’d he do it?”

“Mmm?” Dani looked back up, a little dazed.

Jamie’s head tilted pointedly towards her. “Ed,” she said. “How’d he go about it this time? To be honest with you, I had my bets placed on senior prom night, like he’d always planned. Flowers in the park after the dance, and all that rubbish.”

“He told you that?” Dani frowned.

“Wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Oh.” Dani fiddled with the ring, glancing down at it. “No, it was um — “ She smiled, a frail subdued thing, only to fold her right hand over it, covering the diamond so that it dug into her palm, “ — it was during a dinner date.”

Jamie lifted an eyebrow. “In public?”

Dani nodded. “Yeah.”

“Christ,” Jamie breathed, looking somewhat horrified.

“Language, sweetie,” Judy piped in, seemingly instinctively.

And like clockwork, Jamie ducked her head sheepishly. “Sorry,” she said, not looking sorry at all.

Judy laughed, patting Jamie’s arm. “Gosh, just look at us,” she breathed, her eyes shining as they bounced between Dani and Jamie. “I still can’t believe it. Me and my girls back together again. Who’d have thought?”

Dani breathed out a chuckle, her cheeks aching from the force of holding a smile in place, not knowing what else to say. And what could she say, really? That none of this felt familiar? That it all felt so wrong? That after years of absence, to finally be just arm’s length away from Jamie, only to feel like she was meeting a stranger wearing a familiar face?

No. No, that wasn’t right. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, but Jamie had never stopped watching her. A shared look passed between them and it was there, finally, that she found something warm and tangible. The ghost of a memory of sitting across the table from each other at Judy’s during dinner, sharing a secretive knowing smile, while Judy gushed over Dani’s help in the kitchen, or admonished Jamie for yet another skinned knee. A smile pulled at the corners of Dani’s mouth, slow and real. Jamie blinked, her gaze softening as she mirrored Dani’s smile, and for the first time in a long time, Dani felt something in her chest unspool.

A bell rang. Jamie glanced away, and the moment was gone, leaving Dani chilled in its absence as if she had stepped out from a warm building and into a storm.

“That’s my cue,” Jamie said, sounding just as she had before, as if nothing had transpired between them. “Can’t let the kid starve without some lunch.”

She moved to stand but Judy’s hand held her in place. “Don’t think you can get away again this time without at least letting me give you my number,” Judy reprimanded not unkindly. "We got a new one at the house, you'll be surprised to hear."

Grinning crookedly, Jamie said, “And I imagine you’ll be wanting mine, then?”

Judy pulled out a pen from her purse and waggled it back and forth. “You know me too well.”

Grabbing a spare napkin, Judy jotted down a series of numbers. “Now don’t you forget to give me a call, all right? I want to hear all about your time away,” she said, handing over the pen and napkin for Jamie to rip out her piece, and note down her own number. Dani’s eyes strayed down to the confident, angled numbers, just barely able to decipher them from her vantage point. “And I hope you know, you and Mikey are welcome any time over for dinner. I want to meet that young man. See if he’s anything like his older sister.”

The words were fond, but Jamie snorted all the same. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. O’Mara. He’s my better half.”

Dani rose to her feet out of politeness when Judy stood to give Jamie a parting hug. For a terrifying moment, she thought Jamie might expect one from her as well, but Jamie only lifted her eyebrows and nodded before turning towards the counter to collect her order. She didn’t glance in Dani’s direction again as she left, pushing through the glass door and striding off down the street with the breeze in her hair. Dani watched her go, jaw aching from how hard she was clenching her teeth together.

Judy sat, and Dani followed suit as though she were simply mimicking Judy’s movements. “Jamie Taylor back from the dead after ten years. Imagine that.” Judy chuckled to herself and picked up her fork. “Feels just like old times, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Dani breathed. “Just like old times.”

#thobm #the haunting of bly manor #dani clayton/jamie #bring home a haunting #dani clayton #jamie taylor #cfau #roman writes #FINALLY

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donteattheappleshook · 3 years ago

Text

His - A Captain Swan AU Chapter 3/10

Summary

Mature widower with good home wishes to make acquaintance of a hardworking girl or widow. No children. Object matrimony.

Read it on Ao3

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Thank you thank you thank you @elizabeethan and @the-darkdragonfly for all your help with this fic! the best pocket friends and besties an girl could ask for!

******

Part 3

Brennan is still sleeping when she wakes up in the morning, and by the sound of the consistent, heavy snores that drift over to her side of the bed, she thinks that he will be for a while. He hadn’t budged the whole night. While Emma had tossed and turned in her new, unfamiliar bed next to her new, unfamiliar husband before finally falling into a restless sleep plagued by unwanted dreams, he’d laid still as the dead. She’d have been worried if it weren’t for the snoring.

She steps out of bed gingerly, careful to make as little sound as possible so as not to wake him. Emma doesn’t know what kind of morning person he is yet, and she doesn’t think pulling him from his sleep before dawn is a good way to find out. Besides, if she can get breakfast started now, it’ll probably be ready and on the table by the time he and Killian come down. Maybe making up for the small disaster that was dinner will help get her back into her husband’s good graces - if she was ever there in the first place.

Fetching a clean dress from her trunk - the last one, she’ll have to do laundry soon - the simple pinstripe much more practical than the ruined lace from yesterday, she pulls it on over her shift. As she begins closing the (thankfully front facing) laces though, she feels the ghost of Killian’s fingers against her spine, the memory of his breath on the back of her neck as he’d helped her out of her dress last night.

She shakes her head, yanking the laces harshly and banishing the memory. That was a mistake. She should have just skipped the bath and slept in her damn dress. Killian shouldn’t have been helping her undress on her wedding night. He isn’t her husband. He’s her husband’s son, she scolds herself. Finishing dressing, Emma looks back at where Brennan still lays unmoving and snoring. It was a mistake. And it won’t happen again. She just needs to keep her distance from now on.

The stairs creak softly under her bare feet as she makes an effort to climb down them silently so as not to wake anyone in the house. But as she reaches the kitchen she stops dead in her tracks when she’s met with the sight of a kettle steaming on the stove. She sees him before he sees her, his back to her as he turns from the bowl he was busy with on the counter and reaches for a cloth to wrap around the handle of the kettle to move it off the fire.

For a moment, she debates going back upstairs, hiding in her room until he’s gone or Brennan wakes up or she can at least get her panicked, hammering heart under control. But the stair creaks under her foot again as she takes a step backwards and he turns, blinking at her in surprise.

“Emma,” he greets, his forced smile looking more like a wince. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

She shakes her head, still undecided about whether or not she’s going to make a run for it and he looks relieved. Relieved and uncomfortable - possibly as uncomfortable as she is right now. It had been so easy to talk to him yesterday and now they’re both looking at each other like they’d rather be anywhere else but in this kitchen. She was an idiot. She shouldn’t have asked him. He shouldn’t have said yes. Emma had one friend in this new life and she’d blown it in less than a night.

“I was going to make breakfast,” she says dumbly because she can’t think of anything else to say.

“Right. I’ll just… finish the coffee then. Taking the lid off the kettle, he reaches for the bowl next to it and starts pouring the contents in. it takes her a moment to figure out what she’s seeing.

“Wait-” she insists and he startles. “Are you putting eggs in the coffee?” She looks between him and the bowl. Yeah, she saw that right. There are eggshells mixed in with the grounds.

Killian looks confused for a second before he follows her gaze and nods. “Aye, well, eggshells,” he explains as though that makes sense. “What?”

“Why?” She’d only ever had coffee in restaurants or in the Gold mansion with Neal when he would sneak some into her room in the morning, and she’d only ever seen the chef make it once or twice but she’s certain there were no eggs involved.

“It keeps the grounds from getting into the cup.” Again, he’s speaking to her and looking at her as though it’s perfectly rational. Her face must betray her confusion because she sees the corner of his mouth quirk. “You’ll be hard pressed to find a drip pot in these parts. We make due with what we can.”

“But,” she hesitates. “Doesn’t it taste… eggy?” Emma tries to fight her slight revulsion and Killian bites his lip hard against a laugh, suddenly seeming a little more at ease.

“They’re clean, Swan.”

She pauses at the nickname that slips from him so easily, smirk still fighting to pull across his face and thinks he doesn’t even realise he’d used it. She likes it. Swan. It feels like a reminder of who she is, her self that she's already started to lose. She’d given it up when she’d spoken her vows yesterday and now it’s as though he’s given it right back.

“Try it if you don’t believe me,” Killian challenges, pouring the rest of the mixture in and putting the kettle back on the heat. “It’ll be ready in a minute.”

Emma eyes him skeptically, finally toeing her way down the last few steps into the room. “How do I know you’re not just doing this so you can laugh at me?” Her tone is playful but his answer is more sincere than she’d have expected.

“I wouldn’t laugh at you, Emma,” he promises and she thinks of the way his father had laughed at her yesterday, the way he’d mocked Killian. He means it. “Besides, if I wanted to, I’m sure I could find a less involved way than ruining perfectly good coffee to do it. Just put everything back up on the top shelf or something.”

Emma fights her own laugh. He’s teasing her again, and it feels different than being laughed at, different from how her husband mocks. Even if she can’t see his face she can picture his grin and the faint red on his cheeks. She likes it too. She likes too many things that he says and does, too many things about him.

Pushing her way into the kitchen and making a point to nudge him playfully with her elbow as she grabs the frying pan from above the stove, she sets herself up on the counter next to him, her breath catches at the easy smile that he gives her. “Do you have any more eggs or did you put them all in your weird concoction there?”

His brow quirks up, amused, before he reaches across her into the sink and retrieves a bowl and sets it down between them. “Already cracked. I was going to fry them up.”

“Did you go get these this morning?” Emma asks, looking out the window where the sky is barely gray.

He shrugs. “I’m not one for sleeping late. Liam and I trained ourselves to wake up early when we were younger so we would be ready for when we, ah…” he trails off, not finishing his thought, mind somewhere else as he absentmindedly brushes the rigid fingers of his wooden hand.

“Your father said he joined the Navy?”

Killian nods, clears his throat. “Aye. We were supposed to enlist together but, well, the Navy doesn’t take one-handed officers,” he shrugs as though it’s nothing but she can see that it’s not.

“Maybe you should consider piracy,” Emma suggests, thinking of all the pamphlets she’d squirreled away and read as a child, the stories she’d made Ingrid tell her again and again about Blackbeard and Calico Jack and Anne Bonney. “You could get a hook.”

For a moment, she worries she’s spoken out of turn, that she’s been insensitive, but when she lifts her eyes to meet his, he’s giving her that disbelieving, amused curl to his lips.

“Perhaps I should. Though if you think eggs in your coffee is bad you should hear what they’re doing onboard. Liam said they’ve taken to using socks to filter it.” Emma grimaces and he laughs.

“I’ll take the shells.”

The coffee turns out to not be as terrible as Emma expected. It’s not the best cup she’s had, and definitely grittier than any she’s drank before, but it's palatable and she’s grateful for the pick-me-up when Killian pours her a mugfull. Though she could have done without the smug ‘I told you so’.

“I’m going to need to go to the store soon,” Emma broaches as she stirs the eggs in the frying pan. There hadn’t been anything to add to them apart from the last bit of salt that hadn’t been thrown in the stew last night. She’d also used up the last of the meat and the vegetables that she’d managed to find in the root cellar. She hadn’t been expecting anything like the food she’d been treated to at the Gold’s mansion where even the servants ate better than most, but Brennan had made it pretty clear that all that was expected of her was decent meals and a clean house. And she can’t do that with a bag of flour and empty cupboards. Emma wonders briefly if nobody had bothered to refill them since Cora passed.

Killian nods. “I could pick things up for you on my way back from town if you tell me what you need. Sometimes Granny will trade some bacon for steak or peaches if I catch her in a good mood. We’ve got the chicken and the cattle for meat though.”

“You have cattle?” Emma asks in surprise. She hadn’t seen any in the fields when she arrived yesterday and realizes the farm must be even larger than she’d first thought.

“Aye, and Lucy in the barn. I suppose you haven’t seen the land yet.” Emma only shakes her head, moving to spoon eggs onto plates. “I could show you around when I get home from the shop this afternoon. We aren't open today but I have an order coming in and inventory to do.”

“I’d like that,” she agrees, strangely relieved, and his expression softens.

“I apologize, love. I forget that this must be hard - a new town, a new home, and surrounded by unknown land and strange people.”

Emma shrugs. “I’m used to it,” she admits and while she can see the curiosity in his eyes, he doesn’t press. “And the people aren’t so bad,” she adds, setting a plate down in front of him and turning away so he can’t see the way her face warms at his hesitant smile. Stop it, she scolds herself. This is the opposite of keeping your distance from him.

Before either of them can say anything else, the sound of Brennan walking down the stairs fills the room. Killian’s back straightens as the lightheartedness of his expression hardens, and Emma notices the way her own shoulders tense. She busies herself pouring a third cup of coffee, it and a plate of eggs set down in front of her husband when he strides in bleary eyed and sits at the table, clearly not the morning person his sons are.

It’s not often that Emma finds herself at a loss for what to do in a given situation, not often that she feels too uneasy to speak; yet every time she’s in this man’s presence her voice leaves her and she feels like a frightened child. Every fleeting thought feels like the wrong one, every word something that could set him off. And she wants him to like her - she needs him to. So she stumbles.

She should wish him good morning. That seems like a reasonable thing for a wife to say to her husband over breakfast. But the dark circles under his eyes and the discontented frown on his brow suggest he’s likely feeling the effects of his night at the tavern and so maybe it’s not such a good morning at all.

Somewhere between the hammering of her heart in her ears and the scrape of Brennan’s fork against his plate, she can feel herself being watched, turning to catch Killian’s gaze on her before it darts to his father. He looks between them again and then once more, frustration and pity in the line of his brow - though she’s not sure for who.

“I was going to walk Emma around the property today,” he says then, voice cutting loud through the tense silence.

Brennan barely looks up from his breakfast, muttering, “What is she, a dog?” under his breath, and she only just catches the way Killian’s fist clenches before he continues.

“Maybe you’d like to join us. Show your wife her new home.”

Grunting, he sets his fork down and stands. “I’ve got work to do. Not all of us can sit around reading all day,” he sneers and Emma can see by the way his son doesn’t even flinch that this is an old argument, a regular dismissal.

“Aye, just drinking,” he spits under his breath, low enough that she knows neither of them were meant to hear it.

“Pretty sure she can walk without me,” Brennan continues, then looks her over quickly with a wry little smirk. “If we’re chalking yesterday up to the dress.”

She can hear you, Emma wants to snap at him. But instead she only folds her arms behind her back, digs her nails into her palm and tries to force a pleasant expression. “Of course. Perhaps we’ll see you in the field,” she ventures, hoping for any kind of olive branch, any hint that he might actually wish for her company - or at least enjoy it.

“Why would you do that, haven’t you got enough to do in the house?” he answers with a curt snort. “Thinking of working the farm now?” he laughs.

Emma’s nails dig harder, casting her eyes to the floor. “No, of course not.”

Brennan’s laugh turns into a cough, one that grows so quickly and viciously that for a moment she thinks he’s choking. But then it’s over as soon as it started, both he and his son seeming completely unphased by the violent attack.

“Actually we probably won't have time to visit anyway,” Killian cuts in then, coming to stand beside her and she’s grateful for a moment for the little bit steadier it makes her feel. “We’re going into town for groceries.” She looks at him quickly and there’s an invitation in his expression. She hurries to hide her smile before Brennan grunts dismissively again.

“So long as you’re back on time to make dinner,” he answers, grabbing his hat and setting it on his head. “I don’t care what you do. And pick up some shoes for the horses if you're spending your day shopping.”

Once he’s out the door, Emma moves to grab his plate, needing something to do to stamp down the embarrassment that won’t stop burning through her. She doesn’t even know what she’s embarrassed about - that her husband doesn’t care about her? That he’s so blatant about it? That he dismissed her so easily in front of someone else - someone who might actually care? But Killian stops her, taking the plate from her hands to clear it himself.

“Emma,” he says, pausing with concern as he sets the dish down in the sink and comes back to take her hand in his. Turning her palm up to see the lines left by her fingernails. He brushes his thumb carefully over them and lifts his gaze up to hers.

She curls her fist. “It’s just a nervous habit,” she dismisses.

Killian cocks his head at her, frowning. “Does he make you nervous?” His frown depends when she doesn’t answer. “Did he do something?”

“No. Of course not.” She pulls her hand away, hiding both behind her back once more. Because what is she supposed to say? That she spent the evening hoping her drunk husband wouldn’t wake up and notice her? While he looks relieved, his expression softens with worry, and guilt.

“Do I make you nervous?” Yes, she thinks, but not in the way he means. So she shakes her head and he lets out a breath. “Good.” After a moment where neither speak, only a small smile passing between them, he clears his throat. “Would you like to come into town with me? I can show you around.”

“Yes,” she nods and he heads for the door, opening it and gesturing for her to go through first.

Killian leads her out around the side of the house towards the barn she’d walked by when she first arrived - just far enough away from the house that it could be mistaken as part of it. The wagon sits outside the doors, ready to go.

“I have to get the horses,” he says and she nods, waiting awkwardly by the cart. “Do you want to help?”

She does but, “I don’t know anything about horses.”

“You’ll have to learn then,” he offers with a friendly smile, pushing the heavy door open in invitation. Catching her lip against an excited, nervous grin, she follows him in. The smell of hay hits her first, potent and fresh, followed by the slightly more unpleasant smell of manure and then the warm, musky smell of the horses. Killian chuckles. “You get used to it.”

“It’s not that bad,” she tells him honestly.

“Looks like David hasn’t come around to muck them out yet. He’ll be horribly embarrassed if he hears a lady was here to see the place like this.” The mirthful way he says it makes her think he’s absolutely going to tell Mr. Noland just that.

Emma’s only just followed him down the beginning of the corridor before she jumps, a loud mewling bellow coming from beside her and scaring the life out of her. Turning, heart racing, she comes face to face with an enormous cow. Tan coat and mop of soft hair on top of her head, she stands eye to eye with Emma, staring at her as she hoofs at the ground behind her stable door, her stomach nearly as wide as she is tall.

“Lucy,” Killian scolds and she realizes he’s talking to the animal. “That’s no way to welcome the new lady of the house.” The cow grunts, hoofing again and he smirks at Emma. “She thinks she’s the boss around here - hated Cora.” He walks up to the beast, reaches out to stroke her forehead. “You’ll be nicer to this one, won’t you?” Another huff, somehow managing to sound like disgruntled agreement.

“Here,” he says then, letting his prosthetic take the place of his hand as he holds it out for Emma to take. She does, nervously, his fingers warm around hers. Gently, he guides her hand to lay it on the cow’s nose, his own covering it so they’re petting her together. Lucy gives another huff and Emma nearly pulls her arm back. He scowls at the animal. “Don’t be jealous.” She settles, letting Emma stroke her.

“She’s huge,” Emma whispers, as though she might offend the cow.

“She’s pregnant. She got loose one night and headed straight for the bullpen.” He rolls his eyes, addressing the cow now. “Had your sights set on Arnold since he arrived didn’t you?”

“Your bull is called Arnold?” she giggles.

“Liam’s bad with names.” He gives Lucy one last affectionate pat and then begins down the hall again. “Do you want to meet the horses?” She nods, following him to another stall where a beautiful black stallion rushes to meet him at the door, tossing his head as he hops impatiently against the ground. Killian beams. “Locksley and Noland have taken Wilby and Little John out already. This is Roger. He’s still young and a little wild, but a good lad,” he tells her, petting the horse affectionately. Roger neighs loudly either in agreement or disagreement, she’s not sure, clearly itching to get out of his pen.

“Did Liam name him too?” she smirks.

Killian looks almost offended. “Roger is a fine name. Isn’t it, boy?”

A non-committal huff comes from the horse as Killian picks up the bridle and settles the animal enough to secure it around his ears, muttering things to him like ‘you want to get out so bad you need to let me put this on’ and ‘every time, Roger, really.’ Emma tries not to laugh at the way he talks to the animals, it’s almost endearing honestly. He continues mumbling praise and reprimands as he steps inside and secures a harness around the animal’s shoulders and back.

“There,” he says when he’s finished. “Almost ready.” He ducks out of the stall, shutting the door quickly as Roger tries to follow him. “Patience,” he scolds. “We’ll go in a minute.”

Killian leads her to the next pen, this one quieter and she pokes her head in over the door when no animal makes itself known. In the back, munching lazily on hay is a large brown mare, this one clearly older than the stallion and seeming very content to stay in the stall - uninterested in her visitors.

“Come on,” he says, picking up the bridle and unhooking the latch. He hands her the mess of leather straps as he steps inside, waiting for her to join him. “This is Jewel, Liam’s horse. Don’t worry,” he assures her when she hesitates to approach. “She’s about the sweetest - and the laziest,” he adds, seemingly for Jewel’s benefit - “horse you’ll ever meet.” The horse in question knickers dismissively. “Aye, seems to think she’s off the hook since my brother left. But you can’t sit around all day eating hay or you’ll end up as big as Lucy.” He turns back to Emma then. “I’ll show you how to get her tacked up,” he offers. “It’s all right,” Killian promises. “Kicking you would be too much effort for this one.”

“How comforting.”

He shows her how to get the bridle on, and then the harness as he’d done for Roger and there are so many straps and buckles that she’s not sure she could remember how to do this on her own. But Jewel sits patiently through all of it, nudging Emma softly on the shoulder when she’s done, mouthing at her hair, making her giggle softly.

“You are sweet, aren’t you?” The horse begins nosing at her hands and pockets in response, looking for a treat. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything. But I’ll bring you something back from the shop, how about that?” Jewel huffs in approval and Emma smiles. Uh oh, now she’s doing it too, talking to the animals like they understand her.

“You okay to stay here with her while I’ll get Roger out and settled?” Killian asks and Emma nods, stroking the animal’s cheek and neck. She catches his little smile as he steps back out of the stall, overhears his ‘Are you gonna behave?’ directed at the younger horse.

“I know you’re Liam’s,” she whispers gently to the mare. “But I think we could get along, don’t you?” Jewel nudges her chest and Emma can’t hold her smile back. “I could use another friend here.” One that she isn’t thinking about when she shouldn’t be and dreaming about while sleeping next to her husband. She stays with the horse, feeding her handfuls of hay until Killian returns, looking a little winded.

“Do you want to lead her out?” he asks. When she looks at Jewel uncertainly, he steps inside, takes the reins from the horse’s back and holds them together under her chin. “Just like that. You might have to give her a bit of a pull to get her going.” Doing as he shows her, she takes the reins and starts towards the doors of the barn. The horse follows her easily, though at her own pace, and Killian scoffs. “I see she already likes you better.” As if in confirmation, the mare mouths at her hair again.

When they reach the cart, Roger begins bouncing again, hopping from foot to foot and letting out excited neighs, then rears up on his hind legs, making Emma stumble back in alarm. Jewel snarls at the stallion, snapping her teeth and huffing, startling Emma who didn’t expect the reaction from such a gentle horse. Roger settles immediately and Killian snorts.

“You tell him, girl,” he encourages, then looks at Emma. “She’s his mother - and, it would seem, a little protective of you.”

Once both horses are rigged up to the cart, Roger far more subdued with his mother standing next to him, Killian holds out a hand to help her up into the seat. She takes it gratefully, gathering her skirt to step up more easily, happy for the steadiness he offers. Briefly, she’s reminded of her first meeting with him, of being helped up into this same cart and driven to her new life. It’s only been a day but already her life has changed so much.

The ride into town feels shorter than the one they’d made to the farm yesterday, Killian pointing out different farms along the way, telling her about their owners, and showing her places he and his brother used to play as children. He seems to have a story for every overgrown tree and field of corn or tall grass.

“I hope I get to meet him someday soon,” she tells Killian about his brother.

“Aye, you will. He comes home about twice a year if he can. He thinks I need checking up on,” Killian rolls his eyes.

“Do you?”

“No, but my brother stepped in when our mother died and Brennan… Well, he couldn’t handle it. Liam can’t seem to stop playing mother now,” he explains wryly.

“Maybe once you’re married he’ll stop feeling the need to look after you,” she suggests, teasing.

“Aye perhaps.” He goes quiet, looking away, staring out at the road ahead, the town growing closer and larger.

He leads them along the single, wide road that runs through the center of the town, pointing out different buildings: the sheriff’s station, the bank, the tavern, the blacksmiths… Finally, they pull up in front of a shop, the biggest one on the street. The sign reads “Lucas General Store” and she figures they’re here. Killian hops out, coming around the side to help her down. She doesn’t need it per say but she’d rather not stumble out again, so she lets him take hold of her waist and settles her hands on his shoulders as he helps her make the jump from the cart to the ground.

“We should add a step,” he thinks out loud, looking at the wagon.

“My pride would definitely appreciate it,” she laughs and he turns to her, smiling back and it’s a moment before she realizes they’re still holding on to one another - out here in the middle of the street for anyone to see. Carefully, she steps back, clearing her throat and wiping her hands off on her skirt as he drops his hands immediately, busies himself with securing the horses to the hitching post.

“Shall we?”

The store is fairly quiet, perhaps because of the early hour, but it’s large and well stocked and Emma thinks she could definitely find what she needs here to feed them for a while. ‘General’ really does seem to be the right word. The place has everything from food to farm equipment to children’s toys and even a few dresses in the window. She supposes the town's too small for separate shops like there were in New York and this makes one simple, convenient stop for those coming in from farms way out of town.

Emma notices a small hair comb on a table of scattered, mismatched objects, smiling fondly at the small golden flowers and leaves carved into the metal. Ingrid had one like this, a family heirloom, and she’d let her wear it once around the house when she was a little girl. It was the first time she’d thought she might have a family after all - until the kind woman passed and she was moved to another home.

“Pretty,” Killian remarks. She only hums. She doesn’t have use for pretty here. Her dress showed her that well enough. This is her new life and she needs to leave her old one behind if she’s going to survive it - even the pieces that she’ll miss.

“If you’re alright here, I’m going to go grab some things for the farm,” Killian says and she nods, leaving the comb and heading over to where the groceries are stored. She’s been browsing for a bit, making a list of what to order when a voice interrupts her thoughts.

“Just who are you?” She turns to face a tall brunette, maybe a few years younger than her and stunningly beautiful. She’s looking at Emma quizzically and then shakes her head. “I’m sorry, how rude. I’m Ruby Lucas. This is my store.”

“Your store?” she asks in surprise. It’s not unheard of for women to have their own businesses but it’s still a shock to see - especially one so young who doesn’t seem to be wearing a ring.

Ruby nods. “It was my father’s.” Was - so that explains it. “You’re new here.”

“Yes. I arrived yesterday.”

“Have you got a name?” The girl questions with a smirk.

“Emma, Emma Swan - no, wait,” she corrects herself quickly and the other woman frowns at this stranger who seems to have forgotten her own name. “Jones. It’s Emma Jones now.”

Ruby’s eyes widen. “You’re Brennan Jones’ new wife.” She schools her features quickly. “We heard you were coming - everyone’s been talking about it. We don’t get many strangers in Storybrooke.” She looks Emma over. “You're young,” she notes. “And very pretty.”

“Um, thank you.”

“Stand down, Miss Lucas, she’s married,” Killian says then, coming over and Ruby gives him a smirk which he returns.

“I’m aware of that. I was just getting to know your new stepmother.”

He winces at the word. “Aye, and collecting information for the town gossips.”

The woman makes an exaggerated show of offense, putting her hand to her chest and gasping at him. “I would never. I was just going to help the new Mrs. Jones with her order. Now run along and let us ladies chat.” She turns to Emma then. “What do you need? I can take it all down and then have Will bring it out to your cart.” She motions to the young man standing at the counter, also watching them.

“Um, quite a lot,” she admits. “Vegetables, potatoes, cornmeal, sugar, lard,” she begins listing off and Ruby gapes at her.

“Did they leave the cupboards bare for you?” she demands, turning to Killian with a small glare and he sighs.

“I, um, don’t really know many recipes, so anything else you could suggest,” she admits, the other woman’s boldness making her feel braver. “I’m not the best cook.”

“Nonsense,” Killian argues. “You did a fine job.”

Emma scoffs. “I think the bread I burned would disagree.”

“It was hardly burned. And you weren’t hired as a cook, Emma.”

Ruby looks between the two of them and Emma tries to force her face to stop from flushing at Killian’s kindness, not wanting the other woman to see and mistake it for something else.

“I’ll tell you what,” she says. “You come with me,” she tells her, taking Emma’s hand in hers, “and I’ll get the rest of your order sorted and filled later.”

“Where are we going?”

“To Granny’s. Killian,” she says, surprising Emma with the informal use of his name. “You busy yourself for a bit and you can come find her at the inn later.”

He sighs, fingers the pocket watch in his trousers. “I need a few hours at the shop. I could meet you for lunch and then we can head back.”

Looking between the two of them and realizing she doesn’t have much say in this, Emma nods. If Killian doesn’t have an issue with her going to this “Granny’s” with Miss Lucas, then she assumes it can’t be anything to worry about. She trusts him and he seems to trust Ruby. Enough that she’s allowed to call him Killian, she thinks with a sharp pang she shouldn’t be feeling.

“Perfect,” the other woman says. “Come with me, I’ve got just the thing,” she promises, leading her towards the door.

When they’re on the street, Ruby links her arm through Emma’s like they’re lifelong friends and smiles at her. “It must be hard, moving out to that farm with all those men, marrying a complete stranger. Especially Brennan Jones.” Emma doesn’t answer, only looks at her feet as they walk. “I’m sorry,” Ruby apologizes, sounding abashed. “I don’t mean to be insensitive. I just think it must be an adjustment. Mr. Jones can be…” she doesn’t finish the thought. “We should be friends,” she declares.

Emma smiles despite herself. “I’d like that.”

“Good. Women need each other. Especially out here where there’s three men to every one of us. Where are you from? It must be wonderful compared to our sleepy town.”

“New York.”

Ruby beams with excitement. “Really? Is it fabulous? I’m going to live there someday. As soon as Will gets up the nerve to ask for my hand we’re going to sell the shop and move out there.”

“It’s different,” Emma agrees, not missing the strange relief that passes through her at the mention of Ruby marrying the boy in the shop. “I’ve never seen so many mountains and blue skies.”

She shrugs. “You see one mountain, you've seen them all. Is it true that the buildings in New York are taller than our trees?”

They talk about New York the rest of the way down the road, back towards where Emma and Killian arrived, townsfolk giving them a second look as they pass by. She really is the town’s main source of gossip now.

Ruby brings them inside a building called ‘Granny’s Inn’, walking straight through to the back and into a kitchen where an older woman stands kneading dough.

She looks up and sighs, setting her hands on her hips. “Ruby, I hope you didn’t leave that boy to run the shop by himself again. He broke three plates last time.” Ruby ignores her.

“Granny, this is the new Mrs. Jones. Emma, I’d like you to meet my grandmother.”

The old woman wipes her hands on her apron. “Oh? You run away from that cad already?”

“Um, no…”

“She needs help, Granny. She’s out there cooking for the Jones’ and their farmhands, and doesn’t know where to start.” Emma flushes with embarrassment.

“What, your mother didn’t teach you?”

“I didn’t have a mother,” she admits and Granny softens, looking to her granddaughter with something nearing sympathy.

“Well,” she says, less brash than she was a moment ago. “I need to get the lunch ready. You can help me with that and I suppose I can show you a thing or two.”

Emma relaxes a little and Ruby squeezes her shoulders reassuringly. “Believe me, if Granny can teach me how to not burn bread, there’s hope for you yet.”

‘A thing or two’ turns out to be more than Emma ever learned in her entire life about cooking. They prepare chicken and vegetables, potatoes and gravy, Granny getting a roast ready to be cooked throughout the day for dinner. As they cook, the woman giving her detailed instructions on the steps to follow - you’re chopping those too finely. They’ll turn to mush - she talks about other recipes, ones from Ruby’s childhood that she still makes at home, and how to prepare them.

They bake coffee cake and biscuits, Granny, to her credit, not losing her patience with Emma when the dough sticks to her hands and the table, showing her how to fix it. They make bread - so much bread - until Emma has made nearly a dozen loaves, her kneading technique corrected over and over until the dough is left to rise and kneaded again before going in the oven.

How Granny does this every day on her own, she has no idea. It’s exhausting work and she’s cooking for dozens of people. The food she prepares is impressive. Emma wouldn’t have expected much from a little country inn with a dining room, but her recipes would give the Gold’s cook a run for his money. And she does it without breaking a sweat. When they’ve finished, Emma realizes that hours have passed, the sun high in the sky, shining through the little kitchen window.

“Not bad,” Granny tells her as she surveys the fruits of their labour, and Emma can’t help but feel proud.

Ruby returns then, taking in the spread they’ve prepared and smiling at her. “I told you. Granny works magic.”

“We’ll have to wait and see how it tastes first,” Emma says cautiously.

“And you’ve got a very willing guinea pig sitting out there right now,” her new friend tells her with a knowing smile and she shouldn’t return it but she does.

“Well don’t just stand there,” Granny tells her granddaughter. “Help us get lunch out on the tables.”

They make their way into the crowded dining room, setting food out in front of patrons, each of them curious and friendly when they notice a new face, making introductions and welcoming her to town. When they’ve been served, Emma grabs two more plates and brings them over to the table where Killian sits, focused intently on a book in his hand.

“What are you reading?” He smiles widely at her, holding up the cover for her inspection - A General History of Pyrates - and she laughs. “Pirates?”

“Aye, your suggestion this morning made me think I should consider my options.”

“Hungry?” Emma holds the plates up and he nods.

She sets them down, taking a seat herself and waiting as he sets his book down and picks up his fork. She shifts anxiously, watching him, too nervous to eat herself and Killian laughs. “I can’t eat with you staring at me like that.”

“Just tell me if it’s any good. And be honest.”

“Granny’s food is always good - apart from that one lunch special…” he grimaces.

“Yes, but I made this one,” she tells him, gesturing to the plate. Killian raises a brow, fighting a grin as he makes a show of picking up his fork and taking a bite. “Well?” Emma presses.

“I’d believe you if you told me Granny made it.”

Emma catches her smile between her teeth as it tries to take over her whole face. “Try the bread. It isn’t burnt.”

He chokes out a laugh. “How could I not, with such a strong endorsement?” She knows he’s indulging her as he takes a bite, but this is the first time she’s ever made a loaf that didn’t come out burnt or raw or some combination of both. “It’s perfect, Swan,” he promises.

Thrilled, Emma finally manages to eat some of her own lunch. When they’ve finished and he asks if she’s ready to go, the groceries already packed into the wagon, she nods but tells him she has to go say goodbye to Granny first.

The older woman actually manages a smile in answer to Emma’s thanks. “Here,” she says gruffly, handing her a small journal. Opening it, Emma finds pages of hand-written recipes inside. “I’ll want those back but I have most of them memorized. You can copy some down and then return it. I better see you here again soon.”��

The way she says it makes Emma think that maybe she wants an excuse to check up on her, like Liam does for Kilian. And for someone who never had a mother or a grandmother, it means the world.

“Thank you.”

Granny startles when she hugs her, but when Emma lets her go she takes both of her arms and looks at her sternly. “If that man gives you any trouble you come right back here, understand? There’s plenty of rooms upstairs.”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Lucas, really.”

“Just remember what I said, any trouble at all.”

***

Emma talks about her day the whole way home, telling him how many loaves Granny made her bake and how sore her arms are from all the kneading and how she’s pretty sure the old woman could lift a horse if she does that every day. Jewel huffs in offense.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to see the shop,” she tells him as they reach the house.

“You can come next week,” he promises, “stay as long as you want and read for free. Family discount.”

They unload the groceries, filling the cupboards and the cold storage with the ample amount of food Ruby added to their order. She sets the notebook down carefully on the counter, running a hand over the cover.

“What’s that?”

“Granny lent it to me,” she explains as she continues to put things away, Killian leafing through the pages behind her. “Some of it’s a bit adventurous,” she admits. “But I think I can manage the easier ones.”

He shuts the book, smiling at her. “I’m sure you can. We have some time if you’d still like to see the farm,” Killian offers. She doesn’t have to start cooking for at least an hour.

“Let me just get some dough ready and I’ll leave it to rise while we walk.”

“Are you sure your arms can take it?”

“I’ll be lifting horses in no time.”

He laughs. “I’ll get Roger and Jewel out in the pasture, let them run around - or nap, in her case. Come find me outside when you’re ready.”

“Wait! Here,” she says, handing him a carrot. “I promised her a treat.”

“I don’t know how Liam will feel when he comes home and finds out you’ve stolen his horse right out from under him.”

She smirks as he heads out the door.

Emma gathers her ingredients, mixing them without having to think anymore, the recipe repeated so many times it’s ingrained now, muscle memory. Her arms ache as she folds and pounds the dough into shape, and unlike yesterday, when she’d felt exhausted and at a loss, today she feels hopeful. She can make this work. She can settle into a life here. She doesn’t feel quite so incompetent; she has a new friend in town, even a horse she already considers her own.

And Killian… Killian is complicated. Her favorite thing about Storybrooke so far and the one person she knows she should be avoiding at all costs - even if she doesn’t want to. But he’s her friend, her family now, really. She can learn to see him as such.

She’s clung to him since she arrived because he was the first person she met, the first to show her kindness when she was at her lowest. That’s all. In time, she’ll get over the awkward attraction. He’s handsome and charming and she needed someone to be her friend. That’s all it is, she tells herself again. He probably doesn’t even see her as anything other than his father’s wife. It’ll be fine. It’s all in her head.

Reaching for the recipe book to pick something to make tonight before heading out, she lifts the cover - and freezes. Resting carefully on the first page is a hair comb, little golden flowers and leaves carved into the metal. She runs her fingers over the petals, tracing the length of it as her heart begins to race.

It’ll be fine.

******

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