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iverna · 3 years

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Tactical Magic (5/8)

Emma Swan is a witch, still new to the job and determined to stop Zelena after almost falling victim to her machinations. When she summons a spirit to help her, she gets Killian Jones, demon of vengeance, who has grown extremely weary of helping people with their petty revenge schemes. Neither of them is best-pleased with this turn of events.

Emma is out for more than revenge. But maybe, Killian has more to offer. And together, they might just be able to make it work.

Written for @cssns 2018. Catch up on Tumblr or on ao3!

Rated M | ~8,000 words | read on ao3

Chapter 5: Silver Linings

The knowledge that she had gone to Neverland and made a deal with Peter Pan was still shaking in Emma’s head somewhere, shoved away to where she could almost ignore it. Having something to do helped; she focused on helping Killian, healing his wounds and bandaging the worst of them, bringing him more water, then food.

She half-expected him to demand more explanations for why she was helping him, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked at her with that softness in his eyes, his smile bright but a little incredulous, and he didn’t say anything, but she knew what it meant.

He hadn’t expected her to come after him. He wasn’t used to anyone doing anything for him.

She was almost offended, but he hadn’t known her for long. And now that she’d seen Neverland, seen firsthand how everyone there was... she thought she understood. She had built a few walls to guard her heart over the years. Killian had built a fortress.

But he’d opened the gate for her now. It was written all over his face when he smiled at her, thanked her, teased her about having a half-naked demon on her couch.

“I’d have given you a shirt, but I had to clean you up first. Anyway, I don’t think mine would fit you,” she said, pretending to give his chest and shoulders a critical once-over. Now that she’d cleaned off the blood, he looked a lot better—damn good, in fact, all lean muscle and broad shoulders and pale skin dusted with dark hair. Even the half-healed cuts and bandages and bloodstained pants couldn’t do much to detract from it.

He raised one dark eyebrow, smirking. “Convenient.”

She rolled her eyes, trying not to laugh. “You’re awfully chipper for a guy who just got tortured half to death.”

His grin grew wider. “I also got rescued by a beautiful woman who seems rather intent on taking very good care of me, so overall, it’s been one of my better days.”

“Look at you, looking on the bright side,” she teased, mostly to avoid dwelling on him calling her ‘beautiful’ and the way it made her stomach flutter. “Becoming an optimist?”

His expression softened, the grin becoming a smile. “Slander.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, laughing at him. “Hang on. I’m gonna go find you some clothes.”

She’d been telling the truth that none of her clothes would fit him—he was lean, but she knew that even the loose shirts that were big for her would strain across his shoulders. She took out her baggiest t-shirt and sweatpants, which she usually used as pyjamas, and the biggest flannel she had, and tried to stretch them with magic.

Amazingly, nothing tore, and the clothes looked fine, so she went to hand them to Killian.

Rogue had jumped onto the couch beside him, his purrs filling the air as he butted his head insistently against Killian’s hand. As Emma watched, Killian moved his hand hesitantly, and Rogue took the opening to curl up against his side.

Emma smiled. “He’s trying to help.”

Killian looked up at her, a rueful smile on his face. “How did you get him to do this? Be honest.”

Emma shrugged. “He likes you.”

“Animals don’t like me.”

“Maybe that’s because they never actually met you,” she suggested. His expression did something complicated at that, and she knew she’d hit the nail on the head. She knew all too well how uncomfortable that could be, so to give him a reprieve, she handed him the clothes she’d brought.

She was not prepared for the effect of Killian Jones in sweatpants and a black Metallica t-shirt under a red-and-black flannel. He didn’t just look good. He looked cosy. She wanted to hold his hand and stroll along a leaf-strewn path in the forest and snuggle into his side on the couch with a hot drink in her hand.

“Well, how do I look?” he asked with a cocky smirk, and Emma couldn’t think of anything to say, because he looked like that. Demons shouldn’t look like that. No one should look like that, especially not while lying on her couch in her apartment like a damn invitation.

“You’ll do,” she managed.

He sighed. “Such high praise. I was tortured, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’ve never worn sweatpants before. They can’t possibly do anyone any favours.”

“Fair.”

“I’m doing my best here.”

She couldn’t help it; she laughed. “All right. You’re very handsome. You’re the most handsome just-rescued-from-torture demon guy I’ve ever had on my couch.”

He beamed at her. “That’s all I could ever hope for.”

He said it dramatically, mockingly, but she wasn’t sure he was lying.

* * *

She fled to the kitchen to brew a restorative draught. Healing was the one branch of magic she’d always had the most success with. She had never tried to help a demon before, but her attempts to heal his wounds had worked, and she figured it was worth a shot to see if he’d respond to other treatments too.

Rogue followed her into the kitchen, winding himself around her legs as she worked. She added a few counter-clockwise stirs on impulse. The light silvery vapour lingering over the surface of the brew became slightly denser.

Killian was sitting up when she got back, although he was still slouched weakly against the couch cushions. He lifted the mug she brought him to his lips with the expression of a man bracing himself for the worst. When he took a careful sip, his brow lifted. “This is good.”

“Yeah,” Emma said, laughing as she sank into the armchair. Rogue brushed against her legs again, then wandered over to the couch, tail twitching as he debated his next move. “It’s supposed to be.”

“No, I mean it tastes good. Medicine rarely does. What is it?”

“Restorative,” she said. “I figured you could probably use it. What?”

He was looking at her with an intense, wondering sort of look in his eyes. Rogue made a chirruping sound as he jumped up onto the couch, settling next to him again. Killian shook his head and looked down at the mug. “Nothing. You—you’ve been very kind.”

That made her squirm a bit, hand flying up to toy with a strand of her hair. “It’s only a potion. No big deal, honestly.”

“I meant all of it,” Killian said, his eyes finding hers again. “Coming after me, making that deal—why did you?”

She looked away with a shrug. “You helped me and got in trouble for it. I owed you. Anyway, Pan...” She pressed her lips together as she thought back. “I couldn’t just leave you there.”

“Oh, you could have. Most people would have.”

She let out a breath. “Well, I’m not most people.”

“I know,” he said softly.

She squirmed, pulling her feet up onto the chair to sit cross-legged. “I’m not—I don’t have some kind of agenda, okay? I just wanted to help.”

“I know.” Killian drained his mug and set it down on the coffee table. He reached over to scratch Rogue around the ears, the gesture absent-minded. The cat was purring again. “I apologise for what I said earlier. I’m not used to—people don’t usually have much sympathy for creatures like me. I’m just trying to understand.”

Emma knew that it wasn’t pity that had sent her down to Neverland. She had sympathy, yes, but she tended to have sympathy for everyone. What she felt for Killian was...

Better left alone, she told herself, slamming the door on that line of thought. He’d become a friend of sorts, and she liked him, but she knew better than to develop any kind of... attachment. He was temporary. The only reason why he was still here was that she’d brought him here, and she knew he wouldn’t—couldn’t—stay.

It was probably just as well she’d made that deal, all things considered.

“I think you’ve been hanging out with the wrong people,” she said lightly.

He huffed out a laugh, more sad than amused. “Aye, you might be right there.”

Emma wanted to stay and talk to him; she knew she was exhausted, but restlessness was lurking inside her, and she knew that sleep would take a while to come. She went through the motions of getting ready for bed, changing into pyjamas and brushing her teeth, all the while trying to keep her heart from racing.

The day was catching up to her; she’d been terrified, shocked, then terrified once more; she’d faced down Zelena, found her mother, confronted Pan. She’d lost Killian, and found him again, and all of that was its own kind of terrifying.

She went to check on Killian one more time. He’d taken off the flannel and removed his hook and brace from beneath the t-shirt. She couldn’t help noting that he kept his left wrist out of sight, whether by accident or design.

And as he lay back on the couch and adjusted one of the cushions, Emma suddenly couldn’t stand it. He’d never complained so far, but she’d lain on that couch often enough to know that it wasn’t all that comfortable. Too short, for one thing. And he was taller than her. And still injured.

“You can’t sleep there,” she blurted, and Killian stilled. Rogue jumped off the couch at her tone. Realising that she’d sounded a little harsh, she went on, “I mean, the couch, it’s—you’re hurt, and—”

“I’m feeling a lot better. It’s fine, love, really.” He wasn’t lying. The restorative seemed to have worked its magic; he was sitting up a little straighter, and it no longer looked like it cost him effort to keep his eyes open. The swelling around his eye had gone down too, though the skin was still purple and red.

She shook her head. “You should take the bed.”

“I’m not taking your bed.” He looked scandalised at the mere idea of it.

She took a deep breath. In truth, she didn’t much fancy sleeping on the couch either, uncomfortable and too short as it was, nor did she like the idea of letting him out of her sight. Taking care of him had distracted her so far, but she could feel the fear inside herself, reaching, growing... waiting. As soon as she lay down to sleep, as soon as her thoughts calmed a bit, it would spread.

She really didn’t want to be alone.

“Fine,” she said. “How about we share it?”

Killian’s face went through several attempts—surprise, an intense stillness that she couldn’t quite place, the beginnings of a smirk as he remembered his bravado, just as quickly stifled as he realised she was serious—before settling on caution. “I—that’s not necessary.”

She smiled at the way he phrased it. “Nope, but you want to.”

The smirk reappeared. “Far be it from me to deny that I’d like to share your bed, love, but—”

“Stop that,” she cut him off, not in the mood for innuendo, not now, not when he’d almost... “Look, can we just—I’m exhausted, and so are you. Just stay with me.”

Her voice had become softer as she spoke, until it was barely-there by the end. She wasn’t used to this—saying things like this, admitting what she wanted. Asking for it. She hadn’t even realised that she was asking him for something, rather than offering.

If there was a way to take words back, she would’ve done it.

But Killian’s smirk softened into a smile, and his voice, too, was soft as he said, “All right.”

She led the way into her bedroom, fighting off the feeling of awkwardness that wanted to freeze her limbs. She’d shared a bed with people before, romantically and platonically as well as out of necessity. It wasn’t a big deal. It made sense. He needed a real night’s rest, and so did she.

Granted, most of the beds she’d shared had been bigger than hers. It was generously-sized for a single bed and plenty big enough for her, but it was meant for one person, not two.

Killian dropped backwards onto the bed, on top of the sheets, and lay still. “G’night.”

The awkward feeling vanished as a laugh burst from her. “Killian.”

“Hmm?” He didn’t move, eyes shut, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Get off the—you can’t sleep like that.”

“Oh, I assure you, I can sleep like this.”

“Get off my duvet. And budge up.”

He made a grumbling noise, but he was grinning now, and the tension had evaporated. As he levered himself up and towards the wall, Emma tugged at the sheets, which made even more of a mess. Still chuckling, she went over to turn the light off. Making her way back to the bed by muscle memory, she climbed under the covers and lay back.

“Are you sure this is all right?” Killian asked.

She turned her head. He had budged up right up to the wall, but that still didn’t leave a lot of space between them. She couldn’t see him in the dark, but she could feel him, close and warm.

Maybe it had been a bad idea. But she couldn’t very well kick him back out now, and besides, she’d rather have him too close than all the way in the living room where she wouldn’t know if anything was wrong. She swallowed. “Sure. Yeah.”

“All right.” He shifted slightly, the pillow rustling as he moved. “Thank you.”

She smiled into the darkness. “You said that already.”

“Aye, but I was also rather churlish earlier,” he said. “I reckon I’d better make up for it.”

Unbidden, a comment about how he could make it up to her rose to the tip of her tongue, but she managed to hold it back. This was not the time. He was still hurt. And she didn’t make comments like that.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said softly. “We’re good.”

“Good.” He was silent for another moment, and she caught herself thinking that he’d fallen asleep and hoping he hadn’t. Then: “How are you doing, Swan? With all this?”

“I’m fine,” she said automatically. A lie, and it felt wrong even as she said it. The situation warranted more than that, and he was asking, and listening, and she didn’t want to let the moment go. “Well, okay. It was a lot. Not really how I expected the day to go.”

He let out a sigh that became half a chuckle. “Nor I.” He was silent for a moment, then he said, “You’re a very brave woman.”

She fought the urge to squirm. “Not really.”

“Yes, really,” he said firmly. “You marched into Neverland and faced down Pan himself.”

“And I was terrified the whole time,” she said, surprised at how easily the admission came.

She felt more than saw him shrug. “Can’t be brave if you’ve no fear to overcome,” he said. “You were amazing. Are amazing.”

She wanted to say that he wasn’t so bad himself, but she couldn’t get the words out. She couldn’t trust herself to hit that light, joking tone she wanted to hit, and he didn’t need to know how deeply his words affected her. She wanted to curl around them, keep them, like a shining secret treasure.

Brave. Amazing. Beautiful.

He said them almost carelessly, but Emma had never been good with words. They were too much.

The urge to reach over to him was overwhelming. He was right there, inches away from her in the dark.

“Thanks,” she said. “I—I’m really glad you’re okay. ‘s it still hurt?”

“A little, aye. Nothing to worry about. Do you always change the subject when someone compliments you?”

She bit back a laugh at the casual way he asked that question. “Yes.”

“Hmm. One would think you’d be better at it by now.”

“Haven’t had a lot of practice,” she shot back at once.

Mistake. She could hear the wicked grin on his face when he said, “I find that hard to believe, but if that is the case, we’ll have to remedy that.”

“We really don’t,” she assured him, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Regina had definitely been right about him being trouble, even if this wasn’t the kind of trouble she’d meant.

She fought back the impulse to turn on to her side—if she stayed strictly on her back and fell asleep like that, there was a good chance she’d stay that way all night, and she needed to keep her distance. “You should sleep,” she said, both to end the conversation and cut off her own thoughts. “I don’t know how demons heal, but resting should help, right?”

“Aye.” He hesitated for a moment, then said softly, “Good night, Swan.”

“Good night,” she said, just as soft, and closed her eyes.

But she lay awake for a long time, the day’s events cascading through her mind, listening to the slow, steady sound of his breathing, an anchor in the dark.

* * *

It had been centuries since Killian had last slept in a bed. He’d all but forgotten the simple comfort of it—soft mattress, warm duvet, a pillow for his head. Coming on the heels of so much time spent on Pan’s rack, it was almost overwhelming.

Emma’s presence beside him made it even more so. He could hear her breathing, feel the minute shifts as she adjusted her position, smell the faint, floral scent of her hair.

It was heaven, and that was its own kind of hell. He kept wanting to reach for her, and that was the last thing he could do. The last thing he should even be thinking about. She had offered him comfort, to recover from Pan’s sinister attentions. Bad form indeed, if he repaid her by taking advantage.

Normally, he knew, he would have lain awake for a while. He wanted to—it wasn’t likely he’d get to experience anything like this again anytime soon, and he wanted to savour it.

But a few minutes in, listening to Emma’s soft breathing beside him—so close—he drifted off to sleep.

He dreamed as he always did, of shadows and darkness. He was alone, looking for… something. Someone, perhaps. He was adrift, without an anchor, lost. Fear was a tight ball in his chest, heavy and familiar.

He half-woke sometime in the night, in darkness, when something touched his left arm and he flinched. Someone—a warm, soft, sweet-scented someone—was curled against the side of his arm. He moved it away without thought, driven by habit; raised it up over his head, safely out of the way. His muscles protested, still sore and stiff. Emma gave a little sigh, and curled into him a little more, laying her head against the side of his chest. One of his cuts ached at the gentle pressure.

He rested his head on his wrist, and went back to sleep.

* * *

When he woke again, it was to the dim but insistent light that spoke to daylight beyond the blinds, and blissful, heavy warmth against his side. A woman, her arm splayed over his chest, her fingers bunching up the thin fabric of his borrowed t-shirt. For a moment, he had no thought for who he was, what he was; it felt natural to lie here like this, with her.

The only discordant note was that it hurt. A dull ache in his side, a slight sting where the heel of her palm pressed against a bandage. Memory reared up, like a shower of ice water on the sleepy warmth of his thoughts. Neverland. Pan. Centuries of vengeance and anger.

And now he was lying in Emma Swan’s bed, with Emma in his arms, and that had certainly never been part of any deal.

His left arm was draped around her shoulders, his wrist resting at her waist.

He almost pulled back, but he didn’t want to wake her. Instead, he lay there, almost frozen, mind racing as he tried to think what the hell to do. She was still asleep, her breathing deep and regular, but he didn’t think he could extricate himself without waking her.

For that matter, she was the one curled into him. She was lying in his arms like she trusted him, and he couldn’t have been the one to make that happen. Even if he could have dragged her into his arms without her protesting, his body still hurt enough to put him off trying it. Besides, he’d felt her move closer last night, hadn’t he? This had been entirely her doing. Something warm fluttered back to life in his chest.

It was a bad idea. It couldn’t last. She certainly hadn’t done it on purpose, and it meant nothing, but for a moment, he wanted so badly that he ached with it. To wake up like this, with her in his arms...

It couldn’t last. It couldn’t be.

Something in him reared up against those thoughts. It had been a long time since he’d fought back against his circumstances, but it had been a long time since he’d had anything to fight for.

As he lay there, thinking, lost in what-ifs and hopes and trying to give himself a stern talking-to about both of those things, Emma’s breathing changed as she woke. A deep breath, almost a sigh, and she snuggled a little closer to him, her hand stroking over his chest. Pain flared briefly as she hit a bruise. He pressed his lips together.

Then her hand stilled, as abruptly as if an alarm had sounded.

And then she pushed up onto her arm, craning her neck to look up at him. Sleep-confused green eyes met his. Her hair was a riot around her face, a smile lingering on her lips, and she looked heart-wrenchingly beautiful.

“Morning,” he said, his voice coming out a lot less smooth than he would’ve liked. His throat felt sore, his voice scraping—an after-effect of his screams.

Emma blinked, and her smile fell away. “Hey. Uh, I—” Eyes widening, she pulled away from him, and he let her go. “Sorry, I didn’t—I’m gonna—I’ll go make breakfast, let you—sorry.”

The ice water was back, and Killian could only watch as Emma scrambled out of bed and all but lunged for the door. “Emma,” he started, swallowed, cleared his throat, “are you all right?"

She turned, smiling now, but it was a fake, would-be-cheerful one. “Yep. Sure. I’m good. You just, uh, take your time, I’ll go and...” She gestured vaguely at the door, and backed up through it, out of sight.

Killian let out a breath, and sank back onto the pillow, feeling all those what-ifs abandon ship. Trying not to assume that her embarrassment was due to him.

But he felt something. He felt everything. For that alone, he owed her.

Or rather, he didn’t. That was Neverland creeping into his thoughts, making him see everything in terms of deals and debts and favours. The truly amazing thing about Emma Swan was that she wouldn’t consider this a debt. She would say that he owed her nothing.

So he’d take his cue from her. He’d follow her lead, and repay her friendship in kind, and find a way to make her smile. Not because he owed her, but because he wanted to.

* * *

By the time she heard Killian get up, Emma had a pot of coffee going, and a pretty good grip on herself. It had been a lapse—an embarrassing one, maybe, but she’d been embarrassed before. No big deal. She’d apologise, field whatever ribbing he decided to give her about it, and move on.

That was the plan right until the moment he walked into the kitchen, tousle-haired and smiling a soft, hesitant smile. The bruise around his eye had faded some more overnight, and his movements were more confident again. Emma felt her inner pep talk fade away at the sight of him. Swaggering, overconfident Killian, she could handle. This Killian was a different matter. This Killian was dangerous, with his fond smiles and sincere looks and teasing sense of humour.

Or would be, if she hadn’t already given up her ability to fall in love.

She didn’t regret the trade. She didn’t. It was better this way, really. One less thing to worry about.

“Hey,” she said, smiling at him because she couldn’t not smile at him.

“Hey,” he replied, moving to lean against the counter beside the fridge. “Good morning.”

“How are you feeling?” she asked, all business, as if she hadn’t woken up in his arms after crawling halfway onto him—and she knew she had. They’d ended up in that position because of her. She needed to put a lid on all of this; she couldn’t afford to get attached. And the last thing she wanted was for him to think she was some desperate, needy little thing who couldn’t kiss a guy without catching feelings or jumping to dumb, romantic conclusions or—

“Never better,” Killian said, smile widening for a moment. “That is—much improved. Fine, really. Whatever you gave me yesterday worked wonders.”

No comment about last night. No innuendo about how they’d woken, or how else she could help him recover. No gloating, no teasing.

It was almost disappointing. She could’ve hated him, just a bit, if he’d gloated. It was hard to get defensive and shoot him down when he wasn’t doing anything to warrant it.

“Yeah?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “No pain? Or just some?”

“Some,” he admitted, moving his arm gingerly. He’d already reattached his brace and hook; it glinted in the morning light as he stretched his shoulder and moved his elbow. “But I wouldn’t have expected to be up and moving today. You’re quite the healer.”

There was something in that—he had experience with injuries like this. He’d been tortured before. Emma had surmised as much, but it still made her stomach twist to have it confirmed.

“Good,” she said. “I can make another potion for you, but we should space them out a bit. One a day. Well, for humans, anyway.”

“Probably best to stick with that, then,” he agreed. “Like I said, it’s much improved. See?”

He lifted his t-shirt. He had removed most of the bandages, and it took a moment before Emma spotted the wounds—pinkish welts and a few scabs that looked several days old. Muscles flexed under his skin as he shifted his weight and held his shirt up, and Emma had to remind herself to look with healer’s eyes.

She didn’t manage to stop her eyes from drifting lower. Following the trail of dark hair down from his chest, past his navel, between the twin lines of his Adonis belt that angled down into the low-slung waistband of his pants.

The knowledge that he wasn’t wearing anything under those pants didn’t help.

They can’t possibly do anyone any favours. Yeah, right.

“Looks good,” she said, and cleared her throat. “Yep. Much better. That’s good. It looks good.”

One dark eyebrow jumped up as he let the hem of his shirt drop again. “So you said.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect you to heal that fast,” she improvised. “You want some coffee?” She pointed to the coffee maker, as if there might be some confusion as to where coffee came from.

Killian flashed another soft smile, and set about getting himself a cup. “Thank you again for the help. With the healing,” he prompted at her confused look. “I expected it to take a lot longer.”

“You have magic, don’t you?”

“Aye, but not much talent for healing,” he said. “At least not this. Wounds inflicted by mortals are one thing, but Pan...” He shook his head sharply, as if shaking off an unpleasant thought.

“Well, healing’s the one thing I don’t suck at,” she said lightly. “Just as well, huh?”

He tilted his head, watching her over his coffee cup. “Why do you do that?” he asked, his voice genuinely puzzled.

“What?”

“You keep insisting that you’re not good at magic.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m not. Healing, sure, but other stuff—no, don’t,” she cut him off as he opened his mouth. “I know I’m not good at it. I mean, look at my crappy equipment. I don’t even have a proper cauldron. I’m just bluffing my way along. Not like Regina, she’s got the books and the wands and the candles…”

He shrugged. “Aye, Regina’s always liked her props. She needs them. You don’t. How do you figure that makes you less good?”

She stared at him. “I… but… everyone does it that way. Properly. And I can’t do half the things she does.”

“Darling, you’re one of the most powerful witches I’ve ever met. You don’t need the crutches that the likes of Regina rely on.”

She shook her head. “No. Can’t be. You know why? ‘Cause I suck at it.”

“Only because you’re scared.”

“What?”

“You don’t try,” he said, “you don’t commit, because you’re scared you’ll fail. If you don’t really try, and it doesn’t work, you have the comfort of knowing that you didn’t give it your all. That’s a lot more comfortable than the risk of doing your best, and not measuring up.”

She glared at him. “That is not—how would you know? You don’t know me.”

He just shrugged, an apologetic smile edging onto his face. “No. But I know how it feels to be found lacking. To be… not good enough. Why do you think it took me so long to try… well, anything other than vengeance?” His smile was self-deprecating now, but honest.

She felt her glare waver as she took in his expression. “I thought you tried it because my mom sent you.”

“Aye, she gave me a push,” he said. “And I’ll admit that I needed it. It’s tempting to simply avoid trying, isn’t it? Then you can’t fail. You don’t risk falling short.”

“Yeah, well.” She didn’t really want to pursue the subject. Because he was right, and the fact that he’d figured out something about her that she barely even admitted to herself was all kinds of discomfiting. “So riddle me this. If you don’t actually need all the ‘props’, why does everyone use them?”

“Because it’s easier,” he said. “Copying what others do is always easier than figuring it out yourself, is it not? That’s all rituals and spells and potion recipes really are, ways of copying what someone else figured out. That’s what Regina does, and she’s admittedly very good at it. Her knowledge is practically encyclopaedic. But she needs that. Because the alternative is relying on your instincts, and that requires a level of emotional honesty with yourself that I’m not sure Regina is even capable of.”

Emma tried not to look as taken aback as she felt. It shouldn’t even come as news to her; magic was emotion, that was something every witch knew, but it had always been a very theoretical kind of knowledge. Killian was the first person who’d explained it in a way that made it seem real.

“You, on the other hand,” he went on, smiling. “You’re all instinct and talent and heart. You can’t lie to yourself, can you?”

She shrugged, and she knew he’d be able to see it in her face that he’d nailed it yet again. She always knew when people were lying to her, and that included herself. “I guess.”

“You’ve got power aplenty, love, trust me,” he said. “I’ve seen you use magic. Half the time you use it intuitively, like breathing. You wouldn’t be able to do half the things you do without training if you weren’t good at it. You have it in you.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. But he wasn’t done. Smirking, he went on, “And you also have it in you to be brave enough to try, and keep trying, even if you don’t succeed at first. You are good enough.”

Her eyes stung. That was unexpected, and embarrassing as hell. She was not going to start crying, not in front of him, and not for this.

But those words…

It wasn’t the words, not really. It was the fact that he meant them. It was the way they felt true.

“Thanks,” she managed, and her voice didn’t quite come out all the way, barely managing to get above a whisper.

He narrowed those blue eyes at her, understanding reflected in them as he raised an eyebrow. “Let’s change the subject, shall we? I wanted to ask: what now? Are you still set on going after Zelena?”

“Yes,” Emma said emphatically, taking the opening gratefully. “Next step, I’m gonna call that Lily girl, see if she knows anything. Maybe she’ll help.”

He nodded. “You know how to find her?”

“I’ll find her,” she said confidently. Her ability to track people down was one of the few she never doubted.

Killian would probably say that that was why she was so good at it. Oh, she was going to be thinking about what he’d just said for a while, she knew it.

They sat at the small table in her kitchen and had breakfast, and it was almost strange in its normality. It was hard, just then, not to want this—a lazy, comfortable morning, sharing breakfast with Killian after waking up in his arms, making plans for the day. Discussing personal issues and feelings as a matter of course, without fuss or worry, knowing the other would listen. Emma only knew about such things from books; the thing with Neal didn’t count. It had felt like it counted at the time, but looking back on it, she’d just been a kid playing house.

This felt more real. And how pathetic was that, that the closest she’d come to a real relationship was hanging out with a demon for a couple of weeks, a guy who was only here because she’d literally summoned him?

She shoved the thoughts away. But the want remained.

* * *

Their calm morning ended sooner than she would have liked, when Regina showed up at her door and demanded to know, once again, what she’d been thinking.

“Oh, leave her alone.” Ruby followed on Regina’s heels, squeezing into the hall and enfolding Emma in a hug. Tall and svelte, her wolfish side showed in the grace of her movements and her easy affection. She’d always made Emma feel safe and protected, if occasionally a little smothered. And, on other occasions, overshadowed. Ruby didn’t seek attention, but attention naturally gravitated to her. “Hey. She told me what happened. You okay?”

“Fine.” Emma smiled as she leaned into her godmother’s embrace. “Everything’s fine.”

“Everything is not fine,” Regina snapped, striding into the living room.

Emma extracted herself from Ruby’s arms and hurried after her. Killian was sitting on the couch, still a bit pale and bruised, a reddish line along the side of his neck marking one of Pan’s cuts. Regina was glaring at him with the exact shade of haughty disdain that Emma had expected. “Regina—”

“Don’t Regina me.” Regina turned her glare back to Emma. “What were you thinking? I told you no more deals.”

Emma glared right back. “It was the only way to get him out!”

“Then you shouldn’t have gotten him out!”

“Regina,” Ruby exclaimed, a definite note of censure in her voice and expression as she joined them.

“Pan was going to kill him,” Emma said, glancing at Killian. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. She wished she could’ve had this discussion at Regina’s, or literally anywhere else. In lieu of that, she tried a reassuring smile, and got a shadow of one in return.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” Ruby said, with a smile of her own at Killian. “I’m Ruby Lucas, Emma’s godmother. You must be Killian.”

“Aye.” Killian rose to his feet, the movement not quite as smooth as usual, and bowed over Ruby’s hand as he took it in his. “Killian Jones, at your service.”

Emma fought back an entirely stupid stirring of irritation. Ruby was just being nice, and even if Killian found her attractive, she could hardly blame him. Everyone found Ruby attractive.

“Trust me, you’re better off without his service,” Regina scoffed.

Killian smirked at her as he sat back down on the couch, spreading both arms across the backrest. “I’ve so missed that tone of disdain. Nice to see you again, Regina.”

“Can’t say the same,” Regina shot back.

Emma rolled her eyes, caught Ruby doing the same, and they shared a silent laugh as they both sat down too. Ruby took the armchair that Regina hadn’t claimed, while Emma perched on the armrest of the couch.

“I’m so glad you’re amused,” Regina told them, still looking supremely annoyed.

“You need to chill out,” Ruby said calmly.

��Chill—Ruby, she’s the key to breaking the Dark Curse. You break curses with true love. So let’s think, how the hell is she supposed to do that when she can’t fall in love?”

For a moment, Regina’s tone almost gave Emma pause, an instinctive chill in her stomach. She shook her head; she’d accounted for this. “But—”

“What?!” Killian demanded at the same time, in a much louder voice.

Regina glared at him. “The Dark Curse. Surely even you have heard of that. There’s only one way to break it. Why do you think Snow sent you to her?”

It was the same thing that Pan had implied. Emma suddenly found it impossible to look at Killian, her eyes skipping around the room, anywhere but to him and his smirk and his eyes that saw too much. It wasn’t like that between them—she didn’t do romance. That was why she’d made the deal, after all. She didn’t care about falling in love. Not since Neal had destroyed her rather idealistic notions of it.

Besides, she’d only known Killian for a few weeks. She didn’t want him to think she had any kind of… intentions. Or worse, feelings. Developing feelings for a guy just meant handing him the weapon to hurt her with. If he thought she had hopes in that direction…

But she couldn’t fall in love with him, and he knew that. She was safe.

It should have been a relief. But the hollow feeling in her stomach felt a lot more like regret.

“That’s ridiculous,” Ruby said. “There’s no way that was her plan.”

“Pan seemed pretty convinced it was,” Regina said darkly.

“A demon?” Ruby asked. “Seriously? You think Snow would pick a demon for her daughter to fall in love with? Come on.”

Emma chanced a glance at Killian then. He wasn’t looking at her; his eyes were just leaving Ruby, his expression closed, a muscle in his jaw working.

“No offence,” Ruby added belatedly, with a glance of her own at Killian. He shook his head and offered a smile that said he understood and wasn’t offended, but Emma could spot the lie in it. He’d never admit it, but the comment had stung.

I know how it feels to be found lacking.

Something in her chest twisted, and the hollow feeling in her stomach grew.

“Wouldn’t be the dumbest thing she’s done,” Regina muttered. “Anyway, her whole ‘see the best in people’ shtick—”

“She’s not that devious,” Ruby insisted. “It’s Snow we’re talking about. If she said she was just trying to help, she was just trying to help.”

“Well, either way, it doesn’t matter now,” Regina said, glaring at Emma again. “Because if she can’t fall in love, she’s not going to be breaking any curses.”

“Which is exactly what Pan wanted,” Killian said. His voice was a little hoarse, struggling to get above a whisper in that quiet, flat tone. They all looked at him, and he went on, “If Snow is in Pan’s domain, then so is her curse. That means he draws power from it. He knew exactly what he was doing with that deal.”

“Prevent the curse being broken,” Emma said. “So he keeps getting power from it.”

“Aye.”

“Great,” Regina said, flinging up both hands. “Even better than I thought. I should never have let you go to Neverland.”

“You didn’t let me!” Emma burst out, her temper getting the better of her. She knew why Regina was so angry—her guilt over casting the curse in the first place had her wanting to break it, and this was a serious wrench in those works—but that didn’t mean she would just sit and let her yell. “Anyway, that can’t be why he did it. It makes no sense.”

“Of course it—”

“No,” Emma insisted. “Because Mom and Dad love each other. They can break the curse, all we have to do is get them together. And,” she went on before Regina could argue, “I love them. Last time I checked, true love doesn’t have to be romantic.”

Regina opened her mouth, then closed it, eyes wide. Ruby beamed at Emma, pride in her eyes.

But it was Killian who spoke first—or rather, he laughed. “Aye, she’s right,” he said. “Most people think of true love as romantic, don’t they? And Pan’s son hated him. Pan would sell his own flesh and blood in a heartbeat. That kind of love is foreign to him.”

“So Pan thinks he’s got Snow cornered,” Ruby said. “And Emma and David, too. Right? But instead, he gave us some information, because I sure didn’t know he had a stake in the curse.”

She look at Regina as she said it, and the other woman shook her head. “Me neither.”

“A lesson, perhaps, about not casting curses unless you know all the details,” Killian suggested pointedly.

“Spoken from experience, I assume?” Regina shot back.

He smirked. “Secondhand experience, aye.”

“Anyway,” Ruby cut in loudly, “now we know where Snow is. That’s huge.”

“It’d be more huge if Pan hadn’t blocked all access to her,” Regina said. “I tried to reach her again, but I couldn’t get through.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Ruby said, smiling at Emma. “There’s always a way.”

“If I can help,” Killian said, “I will.”

Ruby looked surprised. Killian lifted his chin, meeting her gaze with a hint of challenge. “I may be a demon, but I honour my debts.”

“Yes, yes, you’re very noble,” Regina snapped, and turns back to Emma. “By the way, why is he here?”

“Because I had to get him out of there.”

“And into your apartment?” Regina asked. “You’re inviting trouble. If anyone comes looking for him—”

“I’ll deal with them,” Killian said, scowling. “But I doubt anyone will. Pan honours his deals.”

Regina narrowed her eyes at Emma. “You do remember what I told you.”

Don’t get involved. Emma tried not to look guilty. She had nothing to feel guilty about. She was not involved. Sharing a bed and two kisses—not that she was counting—didn’t count as involved. They were friends, that was all. Sure, she liked him; he was funny, attentive, easy to talk to, not to mention handsome… but that was hardly a crime. She was allowed to like people. “Yeah. Look, you can keep yelling if you want, but it’s done. And he’s here. And he’s staying here.”

Regina glared. Ruby, however, was smiling. “She has a point. Nothing you can do about it now.”

Regina glared at her. “This is your fault, you know. All that sunshine and rainbows hope crap—”

“—is what saves the day in the end,” Ruby finished cheerfully, getting back to her feet and swatting Regina’s arm. “Come on. You’ve had your say, let’s leave these two to recuperate.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Regina got up, too, and some of the annoyance faded as she gave Emma a haughty look and a nod. “Just be careful.”

* * *

Emma’s next step was to track down Lily Page. It wasn’t hard, although it involved jumping through a few hoops that made her think that Lily didn’t much want to be found.

The impression was confirmed when, that afternoon, she was face to face with her. A witch of around Emma’s own age, Lily was dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a saturnine intensity that drew attention and an attitude that discouraged it. The smile she offered Emma was tinged with a wistful sadness, the smile of a woman who expected the worst from life.

“Guess I owe you,” she said. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Emma hesitated. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any—any kind of proof of what Zelena did?”

Lily frowned, then shook her head. “I had no idea she was even involved. I just... I met that guy. Walsh. He seemed, well, I thought he was into me. ‘course, now I know it was an act. Right? He was working with that woman.”

Emma nodded. “They tried the same thing with me.”

Lily laughed, a desolate sound. “That’s how you knew about it.”

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to take her down.”

Lily looked briefly surprised, then gave her a look that implied she should know better. “People like that don’t usually leave a trace. And it’s not like the Coven would even care.”

“They will if we can prove it,” Emma insisted.

“Yeah,” Lily said, in a tone that said she didn’t believe it. “Sure.”

Emma fought back a stirring of annoyance. Maybe if people stopped just accepting all the bad shit, it would stop happening. “Well, if you think of anything, let me know?”

“Sure.”

She might as well have said “whatever”, but Emma gave Lily her contact details anyway. She didn’t have much hope that anything would come of it—Lily didn’t seem the type to fight back—but you never knew.

She was turning to go when Lily said, “Hey.”

Emma turned back. Lily was giving her a hesitant look, not quite meeting her eyes. “You’re Emma Swan, right? David Nolan’s daughter. The guy who disappeared.”

Emma swallowed. Her father was so much more than that. “Yeah.”

“Look, you—you seem like...” Lily trailed off, shook her head. “I guess I owe you, anyway, so... you know he got cursed?”

The words hit Emma right in the pit of her stomach. “What?”

“I know who did it,” Lily said, and then, hurriedly, “But it won’t do you any good. She doesn’t have him anymore.”

“She?” Emma echoed, taking a step towards Lily. “Who?”

Lily pressed her lips together, looked away, and said, “My mother. Maleficent. It was—an accident. Long story. She got involved in some bad shit, you know, made a deal with a demon, and... I guess your father was collateral.”

“Cursed,” Emma said, feeling her voice crack. “How? Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Lily said. “He—the demons, or—they took him. My mom doesn’t know any more than that either. He’s under a sleeping curse and they took him.”

“To Neverland,” Emma breathed.

Lily shrugged, looking like she was about to bolt. “I guess. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Emma fought back the instinctive urge to demand more information—Lily was telling the truth, she didn’t know any more than what she’d said. It wasn’t much, but it was more than she’d got in years. It was a lead. It was a start.

And it was the last thing she’d expected.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice coming out hoarse.

Lily nodded. “Yeah. So. We’re square, right?”

Technically, Emma knew, they weren’t. Killian would never have accepted it, not in return for saving Lily’s life, or at least her magic. But Lily clearly hated the idea of being in Emma’s debt, and Emma didn’t want that either. “Yeah,” she said. “We’re square.”

She headed home, still feeling blindsided. She hadn’t expected more information on her father—the trail had gone cold years ago, and nothing she’d done had revived it. And now, just like that...

Zelena first, she reminded herself. She’d deal with Zelena, and with Killian, and then she’d get back to trying to find her father.

* * *

Tag list (say the word if you want to be added or subtracted): @optomisticgirl @mariakov81 @courtorderedcake @tomeandflickcorner @spartanguard @snowbellewells @karl0ta @heavenlyjoycastle @queen-serena88 @stahlop @inkerii @therealstartraveller776 @bubblegum1425 @iamanneenigma @elegies @itsfabianadocarmo @winterbaby89 @kday426 @sals86 @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @laschatzi @scientificapricot @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @ilovemesomekillianjones

#cs ff #ouat ff #captain swan #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #cs crew #fic: tactical magic #cs au #cssns #cssns 2018 #demon!killian #witch!emma

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years

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CS Fic Rec Monday: Seal of Fate by distant-rose

I know I have been MIA for fic rec Monday for awhile now, but it wasn’t by choice. It just seemed like every Monday something came up. It ended up working out, however, because my dear friend @distant-rose was just interviewed by @the-citrus-scale (formerly The Lemon Mag). My fic rec for this week is her story from last year’s Captain Swan Supernatural Summer:

Seal of Fate - Emma Swan is so well written in this selkie fic! I always say that no one “gets” Emma Swan better than Ro, and in this story, she gets her personality spot on. There is a mystery to be solved as well and there were twists I didn’t see coming. The CS romance is wonderfully, realistically done, but it doesn’t take away from Emma’s personal mission. I knew next to nothing about selkies before reading this, and it had me drawn in from the very beginning!

I would actually recommend reading ALL of Ro’s fics, and I’m sure this won’t be the last time I rec one!

#cs fic rec #cs fic rec monday #csfrm #distant-rose #seal of fate #cssns 2018

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courtorderedcake · 6 years

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LIMBO 2/3

I’m per usual, late. But, I had this queued up originally and it didn’t go through so I made a pretty art thing so I didn’t kill someone. Yay.

Here is my first finished big piece for @cssns, a dark and gritty romance with heavy CaptainSwan, FrozenJewel and ScarletBelle themes. The second part will be posted later today, and the third late this evening. I have 2 more MCs to present and then I am blessedly finished.

Will Scarlet is dead, stuck in a plane of existence where all redeemable souls with unfinished business end up. Each soul is assigned a Guardian: A guide to help them navigate The Realm of the Living and to avoid pitfalls there. To Will’s great displeasure he is assigned the mirthless Emma Swan, who’s indifference to his pain infuriates him - until he finds that she harbors her own. Rated: M TW: Child death, Death in general, Angst with a… intrepretation of a happy ending? Idk, just be warned, don’t read this. I’m the Lemony Snicket of fic writers, look away.

Killian was vaguely aware that something was very amiss, if not downright wrong.

His last clear memories were celebrating his new position, one he’d painstakingly worked for years to achieve, his friends around him and Emma by his side. He had refused to drink at his own party, much to his friends’ consternation, but he wanted to remember everything about this night, every detail. Hopefully it was the last night Emma Swan would go without knowing she was to be Emma Swan-Jones in his ideal future. That is, if she’d accept, which with the way she had rested her head on his shoulder he was pretty sure wasn’t an issue.

“Things are good,” she’d whispered, leaning across the passenger side of their car to kiss him.

“Things are only going to get better.” He grinned and she laughed, poking him under the armpit, his body jerking. “Oi, that’s enough of that, now -”

“Tall orders, ‘only better’. Are you sure you can live up to that promise?” Her eyes had gotten darker, and he felt his mouth go dry.

“I am up for the challenge.”

“Then hurry home, sally forth, and all that - I have a present for you that you couldn’t unwrap here.” Her voice had gone husky and Killian felt for sure his pants were suddenly too tight.

They were driving home when Emma had screamed, he thought it was prank at first, but the lights were bright and they were right in their windshield as pain enveloped him. The roof of their car buckled as they rolled, he felt the crack against his skull and for a moment things went black. He could still hear, sounds of the crunch of metal and her strangled cry, and then his head throbbed, bringing back sight; gazing out, lights flashed into the dim. The back of his skull felt so wet and warm, and the top of his head was dripping as he tried to inventory his surroundings. They'd come to a stop at an angle and he'd noticed hazy smoke filling the car, Emma slumped forward with glass across her face. He dizzily noted how pretty it was in the light. Confused revulsion came next.

He unbuckled himself, surprised that the device still worked, and marveling at how squishy the air bag was, before trying to focus as spots spun in front of him. His brain felt wrong and infantile as he narrowed his thoughts, to come fighting the strange feeling of his body wanting to simply stop, exhaustion creeping up on him. Why couldn't he sleep?

Emma. Get Emma out. One of his arms was useless, a bloody mess he couldn’t get to follow commands. With his good arm, he undid her belt and grabbed under her armpits as well as he could, her head lolling as he dragged her over his seat. She was dragging something under her knee. He gathered her body close, and with sudden clarity understood as he touched her shattered kneecap - Her leg that had been bent in the passenger’s seat was crushed completely. Even through his stunted brain he knew this was bad.

Stumbling back, everything spinning, they fell to the cold asphalt. He saw Emma’s eyes open as what he realized was his scalp flopped over, his hand reaching up to touch wet bone. She reached for him as his vision burned away to darkness, his hand meeting hers the last touch he felt.

When Killian came to, he was alone in a hospital room sitting in a chair, noise filling the empty space. Part of his brain registered that this was eerily strange, unable to rationalize while the other soothed, calming him. This was normal. Things will make sense, everything will be fine.

Emma.

He stood, bare feet cold on the tiled floor. Beeps, whirrs, whispered voices and footsteps swirled around him although he was alone. If he focused, he could make out misty forms of people, like a flickering projector. Nurses roamed the halls, he could see their brightly colored scrubs now, the forms becoming clearer. Rubbing his eyes, he saw another chair next to the hospital bed where Liam sat, head in his hands.

He heard Liam’s sobs and apologies, how he should have given him the ring for Emma.

Bloody well right you should have, you great dolt.

Liam didn’t hear, and he only came back angrier. He talked about working extra hours, about how this was Emma’s fault, about incompetent staff and bad tea. Killian began to pace, the strange peace he had once felt fading. What was Emma’s fault? Certainly not this, whatever this was. Emma would never.

David’s voice. Asking if Liam was coming to the funeral, Liam telling him to get out. Killian raged in unheard fury, he was going to punch that bloody git in the face for talking to his brother-in-law like that - er. His almost brother-in-law. David had left and Killian caught a glimpse of him, his hair unkempt and eyes red rimmed. Who had died? David only had very little family, and Emma… He’d know if Emma was hurt. He felt a pang of uncertainty, the strangeness of his situation breaking through. Liam flickered in and out, standing and pacing, cursing under his breath.

“Why did you choose her? Why did you let her do this to you brother?” Liam slammed his fist into a cabinet, flickering out as his cries echoed in the room.

What is happening to me? Where am I?

Emma finally came to see him after he felt like he’d been there for months, wandering through the empty hospital when his room was quiet. He’d thought he may have heard her voice before, but like tuning for a frequency on a radio, he could never make out her words. He snapped back to his room the minute her words were in his ears. He couldn’t see her as well as his brother, falling to his knees in front of her. She laid across the hospital bed, unaware of his presence.

“Hi, babe.”

Emma, where have you been? Gods above, I’ve been worried sick about you, you’ve had me-

He could hear her voice hitch, and the small sniff of her nose.

Why are you about to cry, love?

“I don’t know if you can hear me -”

Of course I can, sweet, I’m right here, it’s alright —

“I just… I’m so scared and I miss you so much. I keep having dreams about the accident now that I can remember, I can remember you pulling me out. I wish you would wa-”

Her voice fizzled out as her shimmering form snuffed out like a candle. Killian desperately tried to... looking for her, looking for anywhere her voice would ring louder, or to find her strange smoky silhouette. He had no such luck. The strangeness of his new realm was now overwhelming, his inability to speak to anyone or get acknowledged maddening. A woman named Elsa whispered secrets about women he’d never met, and another woman named Ariel hummed softly filling the room in soothing music. He liked them.

Someone named Tremaine, and another, Ursula, he didn’t like. He hadn’t felt anything physically but a numbness that reminded him of when his feet fell asleep; when those two flickered into being he felt pain. Killian realized finally that he was somehow outside of his body and something was preventing him from understanding this situation.

Emma came again. He could see her better, his clarity of people and things much clearer as time had passed. Instead of a smoky haze, she was a faded photo negative, a washed out sepia. When he tried to touch her there was no resistance as if she was air.

“I’m supposed to let you go. That’s what Regina says, that I should ‘move on,”

Well, tell ‘Regina’ to bugger right on off then, love.

“And I know that’s what you’d want, you wouldn’t want me to wait for you,”

Whoa now, wait a minute, of course I want you to wait for me, I just need to get ! Move on? Emma, what the bloody hell are you on about woman, are you mad?

“The thing is, I can’t, Killian. Just…” her voice broke and she sobbed, he found himself longing to hold her. “I love you so much. Please, don’t hate me for wanting you.”

I could never hate you Emma, please, don’t cry. It’s alright, I could never tire of you wanting me.

It became a cycle, Liam, Elsa, Ariel and Tremaine with Emma popping up here and there.

Killian began to understand, even if he didn’t want to believe.

“That brother of yours is a real asshat,” Elsa hissed, wearing blue and fiddling with an IV bag. Killian read a magazine left open, enjoying any stimulation he could find. “I hope you can’t hear the bastard.”

You don’t even know. He’s an insufferable stubborn git on his best days.

“If I could move you to another hospital I would. Best in the country, bollocks. Can’t even make a proper cup of tea.” Liam thumbed through a book, sipping out of a styrofoam cup. Killian wished for a moment he could enjoy any cup of anything. He’d started to feel thirst, a strange heat and chill that came without warning, and pain in his abdomen.

Liam, I wish I could move that giant head of yours out of your ass.

“I miss hearing your voice, Killian.” Liam let out a small laugh, rubbing his eyes. “You’d be telling me where to shove it right now.” His voice wavered, eyes becoming watery. “I don’t know how to be without you. You were my balance, my levity. Even during this feud... I’m so sorry, I just wanted you to make the right choices.”

I miss you too Liam. I missed you when you were convinced my happiness was too risky. I just wanted you to be proud of me.

“I wish I could tell you how proud I am of you. I went by your home, I saw your designs and the proposal for the restoration of that frigate. It was… I’m so sorry I ever doubted you.” Liam cried openly, and Killian felt the walls of his reality crumbling slowly. He was pulled, a strong yank of some force he could not fight that sent him spiraling into darkness. A shrill beeping alarm sounded, Liam yelling as footsteps flooded in, a fire filling him with agony. There was a light, and he reached for it, begging for help as he was pulled further and further away.

He woke again to Emma’s gentle cries, the darkness dissipated. He sat in the bed, confused.

“You almost died, and I… I was happy for a moment. I’m so sorry, I just wanted…” Her sobbing was uncontrolled, her shoulders shaking. “I am so selfish, Killian, please wake up. Meet someone else, live your life, have children, please.”

Emma… You wanted me to…?

Killian’s reality crumbled into dust. He had almost died? A force compelled him to look behind him.

Turning to look at the bed, he saw himself, or what was left of himself. Tubes ran through his mouth, his hair was shaved to the scalp, as artificially steady breaths were pumped into his system. His frame was smaller, chest almost concave and bandaged.

Emma, you’re…?

“I just want to see you happy. I don’t want this for you, I want you to live, to open your eyes.”

You’re alive, you’re alive, Emma, you’re alive and we’ll go back home, we’ll go back and everything will be -

“I wish I hadn’t died. I wish you and I had lived the life we deserved.”

No. No, Emma, how can you be - What are you?

“I’ve decided to wait, regardless of anything. I’m not giving up on you. You’re a survivor.” He watched her stroke his body’s face, slender fingers he tried to hold without success. “I’m going to become a Guardian. I’ve already started training, and it will give me more time to visit you. I love you, more than anything.”

She disappeared where he could not follow, leaving him alone in limbo.

Killian began to walk, aimlessly exploring while lost in his thoughts of Liam, Emma, and - surprisingly - his mother. Threading his memories and what he’d heard from stray bits of conversation together, a picture appeared. There had been an accident. Emma had… He struggled to even think about it, but she had died. He had survived, if you could call it that. Chained to a bed by encroaching brain death, his freedom lost to machines holding him in stasis.

A stasis that created this world of watching. Killian was a spectator as his body fought, wondering if he’d live or die as he suffered through infections and experimental treatment.

Liam willed him to live, Emma willed him to live, and Killian… he simply wanted to be heard.

He talked to Emma, answering her and wondering what he’d do if she answered back. She never did. Hearing her voice was enough still. He loosely tried to keep track of time, but he noted the date when she brought a man with her. He’d noticed her appearance changing with sadness, her loose curls pinned tight and her posture going prim. She’d reverted to her walled state, untouchable and unable to be hurt or abandoned.

The man - she’d called him Will - opened the drawer of photographs Liam had hidden away. Killian loved their pictures. He’d taken millions of photos of them, millions more of Emma as he mapped her body in every way possible. One of his favorite rattled in the drawer, a timed picture on a ship he rented, them kissing on the deck standing still with lips pressed together at dusk for what felt like ages.

The resulting photo was gorgeous - a silhouette of them against moving stars and sunset colors. Laying under a blanket they’d talked for hours. She had turned to him, a serious look on her face that at first scared him.

She said with a serious look they needed to talk, and he’d panicked, terrified of what she’d say. The words left her mouth and his heart flip flopped in his chest, until her laughter bubbled over as he hugged her closer.

She’d told him she’d changed her mind - having a baby wouldn’t be so bad.

This Will closed the drawer, and Killian watched as he returned to talk to Emma.

"When I first started coming here, after understanding I'd have to move on, I thought he responded to me. I thought," she looked up and swiped at her eyes and cheeks, "I thought he could hear me and I was some savior that would bring him back to me.”

Oh, my sweet Swan. I do hear you. I’ve never left you, and you’ve never left me.

“I wanted, sometimes I still want..." she let out a sob and looked at the plug near him where wires ended in thick black plugs.

In some ways he wished she would unplug him.

He watched as Liam trashed Emma again and again, his brother’s pain pinpointed into hatred for someone who couldn’t defend herself. Emma, in her grace, pushed Liam together with his nurse, and Killian watched his brother’s hatred melt away into love, a man Killian had never seen emerging from his pain.

Their pictures went back up, Killian marveling at Emma and his smiling face out in the open again. Emma always lingered near one he knew was her favorite, autumn leaves bright as they laughed.

They stood next to each other, one unaware of the other. He ached. Even after she left he ached, the ache turning into worse pain. Another nurse came in, finding the problem. Tremaine had left a bandage unchanged.

Emma stayed with him as pain continued to return, and his nurses fought to keep him stable. She murmured about staying too long, and he watched her move like clockwork making sure things were in order. For the first time in ages, she flickered. Days went by and she continued to fade, staying longer with him.

She disappeared shortly after, Liam gone as well. It was quiet, the nurses’ footsteps and scratched pen to clipboard the only noises he heard. His body began to burn. The familiar feeling of infection running wild through him, but somehow worse. The familiar snap back into darkness was an unwelcome guest, his veins made of fire that lit to an inferno. Machines began to beat off the chart, the familiar light showing up in his peripheral.

He heard Liam’s yells, and then there was brightness, brightness that blinded him and dazzled his eyes, pain taken away in an instant of light flowing through him.

When he blinked, he sat before a smiling man in a tweed suit, a cricket pin on his lapel.

“Hello Mr. Jones. Welcome.”

“What - I died?”

The man blinked, scratching his ginger hair and adjusting his glasses. “Well, um, yes. Most people don’t remember -”

“I need to find someone. I think she’s here, I -”

“Mr. Jones, calm down if you will, please. We have to talk about -”

“I don’t give a damn, I need to find her, I need to find her now!”

“Mr. Jones, that’s not how things work, there’s rules and procedures -”

“What part of ‘I do not give a damn’ did you not understand, mate?” Killian’s voice rose and the man cowered slightly. A door behind him flew open, Killian turning with his jaw set.

“Oi! What’s this then, trouble, Hopper? Listen here -” Recognition crossed both the faces of Killian and the man before him, sudden understanding blinking into existence. “You!”

Killian actually laughed, a grin starting on his face. “My reputation precedes me, I see. Will. Finally I get to say hello.” Will glanced down, and when he looked up gave him an uneasy look. “Where is she?”

Turning to the man still clinging to his chair, Will nodded towards Killian. “Hopper, uh, this is… This is Emma’s…”

Hopper’s face paled more, his lips pulling down. “Oh no.”

Killian repeated himself, anxiety rising in his chest. “Where is she? Where is Emma?”

Will sighed. “It’s a long story, and… Look, ‘ave a seat. We’re going to be here for a bit.”

“Is Emma alright?” Killian felt his anxiety grow into full blown fear, fists clenching as his body tensed.

Will looked at him with pity, and Killian could feel his heart breaking. He sank into a chair as Will wrung his hands, eyes becoming glassy.

“No. I’m so sorry, but Emma… Emma is gone.”

Elsa took a week off, using her rarely touched vacation days and citing a family emergency, causing her sympathetic friends and coworkers in the ward no surprise. For the first time in what felt like decades, the patient room on the corner was empty; a stark and vacuous reminder of how fragile things were. Tremaine had been fired, much to many nurses’ relief, and when Liam had not come back to collect many of Killian's items, they were put down to be boxed up and put in a cabinet for pickup or eventual shipment.

The nurse that had the sad task of preparing Mr. Jones’ room for a new patient was Ariel, her heart heavy as she packed picture after picture away. She was surprised how cold it was in the room, checking the thermostat and finding it set to a normal 71°; the cold made no sense. That would need to be checked, she noted. When she reached for a particular frame of the patient carrying a blonde haired woman on his back, both laughing, she felt an intense feeling of someone watching her, boring holes through her being. She touched the frame, and it shot out of her reach towards the empty bed, landing squarely in the middle as the lights flickered.

She shrieked, running out of the room, and to the nursing station.

“Ariel, what the heck -” another nurse, Ella, hissed at her.

“That room- room 305! The lights and that- a picture! It flew!” Ariel was obviously shaken, and refused to go back in there even as her boss was called to press her.

“I'm down two nurses already, please just get someone to take care of it,” he'd intoned in his nasally voice.

By the time he came in the next day, none of the nurses would go in the room, even with the pictures removed. By the time Elsa returned the next week, it was a hospital wide rumor. Elsa had immediately laughed, as at precisely 4:07 pm on the dot the lights flickered, her immediate belief that it was an insensitive joke the team was playing. Solemn faces met hers.

“Watch, Elsa.” Whispered Aurora, pointing to the door. “In three minutes, that door is going to fly open by itself.”

Elsa looked around for a clock, noticing only now the small groups from other departments milling around and watching. Even some patients had joined to watch, and she felt her stomach turn uneasily. The clock showed time passing in the slowest of measure, and for a moment the ward was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Nothing happened, but as she turned to tell Aurora off, the door slammed open as lights flickered, papers on the nursing station fluttering around in an icy breeze.

“The paper thing is new,” Aurora commented, casually. The lights above them flickered, along with a few down the hallway as people gasped and in a few cases (one being Dr. Whale) screamed curses. “So… is that...” Aurora said more nervously. When the nursing station’s cabinet doors ripped open with a clatter, spilling contents, Aurora yelped along with a majority of the Ward's staff, Ariel almost in tears. “That is definitely new,” Aurora hissed.

Elsa could only gape as the lights returned. She had a sudden memory come to mind, snapping her fingers, and turned to Aurora.

“There's a nanny cam still in that room, from before when Li…” she paused, took a deep breath and collected herself “When the last patient was here. I'll grab it and we'll see if this is actually a haunting.”

Before she could be convinced otherwise, Elsa walked into room 305.

It was cold, dark and empty, nothing amiss as far as she could tell as she walked to the shelf she'd tucked the camera behind, in between rolls of paper towels and extra gowns. Pulling the camera down and carefully removing the memory card, she turned back to the door. As she made her way back, an item caught her eye on the bedside table. A photo frame. Squinting, she walked over to it. A picture of Liam's brother and his girlfriend? She picked it up and left.

“I thought all of these were taken out to give to his family?” Elsa asked, placing it on the nursing station’s counter.

Aurora blinked at her, and Ariel became caught in hysterics again. “Elsa, we did. Where did you get that?”

“You couldn't have. It was in there on the bedside table.” Elsa was exasperated at this point. She tried to check Aurora's face for any sort of tell, but only got a look of fear.

“Elsa… I taped that box up myself, and half the people here watched. None of us were or are going back in there. Go look, it's in the bottom cupboard.”

Elsa walked to the cupboard, opening the door to find a sealed box with Liam's name on it. The seal was unbroken.

Logging onto her computer, she plugged in the memory card to look at the video files. The camera had promised “120 days of continuous video!” when she bought it, and she had changed the cards right before the Fourth of July so it had plenty of memory. She opened the files, noting that they were separated by month. July was first, and she clicked through a few, watching Liam and her until it became too painful.

She skipped to August, to the night… She took a breath, and clicked on the night the patient had passed. A video of the nurses rushing in, and his furious progression into organ failure. Liam's frame making it just in view for a moment before he was pushed out. Their team working frantically until slowly, they trickled out leaving Liam, his brother and the doctor alone.

Finally the doctor left, and Liam sat alone for hours until his brother was taken to the morgue, leaving only then. Elsa refused to cry, tears spilling over anyway as she wiped them away. This wasn't what she was here for. The next day began automatically. Nothing. An empty room. At 2:45pm, a breeze moved the bedsheets of the cot slightly, but nothing was amiss.

The next day, the same, the bed sheets moved slightly around 2:45pm, and Elsa presumed rationally that is when the AC kicked on. That day however, the bedsheets moved more forcefully, as if an unseen hand was pulling them.

The third day, Ariel stepped in around 1:00pm and began collecting personal effects. She moved to pictures on the bedside, and looked around shivering. When she reached for a photo, the lights flickered and when they turned back on Elsa could see the picture on the bed just as she described as she ran out of the room. At 2:45, the bedsheets on the bed smoothed around the picture frame. Elsa blinked, and rewound. As if by magic, the wrinkles and any crooked corners smoothed around the picture frame.

The next day, an exhausted looking Hans walked in, coffee in hand at 8:15am to collect the picture on the bed, shaking his head and calling towards the door. When he touched the frame, the bed shook as the lights flickered, his coffee spilling everywhere. A janitor arrived at slightly after 9 to clean up the spill and remove the picture, only to have every drawer thrown open. Finally, Dr. Bell stomped in, took the picture and stomped out at 4:07, the door to the room slamming itself open and shut several times as the camera’s picture distorted.

Elsa watched in fascination, confusion and terror as she fast forwarded to today's date, watching as the bedside table remained empty. Silence for days besides the door slamming, until she came to where she walked into the room. As she picked the camera up with her face taking up most of the shot, a dark, shadowy, form sat on the bed, placing a picture frame on the bedside table.

He was halfway through a glass of amber liquid when the email appeared in his inbox, Liam almost deleting it on the spot. His phone was set straight to voicemail in hopes of aiding his ambition to drink, unable to think about the quiet burial on a rainy morning. The bottom of a bottle was soothing, the only noise the clink of glass or the sound of things he’d broken. He’d forgotten the ping of emails on his laptop until the noise broke through a hangover.

“Please respond - Killian’s belongings” from a hospital email, the nurse who had called him the night that… He pushed the memory from his mind, not opening the message. The next day, another email arrived. “Urgent!!! - Please get these items!!!” again from this Ariel, desperate for him to answer. This time he did delete the messages, watching as they populated in his trash folder.

He didn’t hear from her again for a few days, when another message appeared. “Viral Video - In case you see it online first: rm305 ghost?” His confusion was only matched by his anger. He opened the message to find a short message, followed by a video link.

“Mr. Jones,

I hate to reach out to you like this, but your brother has some items here that are causing some issues and we have unable to reach you by phone. We recently have had some problems in rm 305, and while it was only a hospital issue, a video regarding the situation has leaked to YouTube. You are not on these recordings, but considering the nature of them, I wanted to let you know.

We don’t know who leaked them, only that the things in this video cannot be disproven. There may even be an investigation with how much of an issue these occurrences are causing, and they have closed down our ward. The hospital is working diligently to find who leaked this, but we have no leads yet.

I know this may sound crazy, but I think you should watch this and consider coming by.

-Ariel Maidon”

Clicking the link took him to a video called, “ROOM 305 GHOST MERCY HOSPITAL”, and he felt his eyes narrow. The video started off with the blurred face of a nurse gathering photos into a box as she looked around the room anxiously. He recognized them immediately: Killian’s prized collection of photos once displayed on his mantle. The nurse reached for a frame, and the lights flickered, the picture appearing in the hospital bed.

Liam was beyond livid. This was a mockery, some fool’s insensitive way to make money off of his brother. He went to grab his phone and call his lawyer, when Elsa’s face came into frame, blurred out but unmistakable. Circled behind her was a black shadow figure, holding a framed picture. Elsa was in on this? His rage boiled over, speaking to his lawyer in clipped tones.

Slamming his thumb onto the red end call button, he hung up, feelingt more anger than before : The video showed nothing of him or his brother, nor was it his own intellectual property. There was nothing he could do except talk to the hospital. After another tumbler or two of rum, he resigned himself. Sending an email to Elsa, he asked her to tell him what she knew about this ‘ghost’.

When Belle went home, it was as if nothing had changed, like she’d decided to turn around instead of heading to school. Will was waiting at the bus stop where she’d left him years ago. The best friend who she’d abandoned forgave her instantly, his crooked smile everything she needed. Even when she sobbed into his embrace, he let her be.

Will at first simply protected her, and she helped him come up with ideas for businesses. Where he felt his skills were limited, Belle saw potential. He picked their lock for fun one night after they had drinks, showing her how insecure her place was, and she’d suggested locksmithing. He’d smiled over his beer.

The first time Gold sent someone for Belle she’d been terrified. The ogre of a man had broken down her door, locks and all, yelling at her about squealing to an informant. She’d denied it, screaming for help. Luckily her landlord had called the police and the distant sirens had scared the stranger off. The first person she’d called was Will. He’d set her up in a different place, until she was found again, and then again in a hotel she’d rented. Finally after she noticed someone following her, she’d begged Will for help. His business in town was having no success due to his reputation so he made her an offer.

“Let’s move away. Come with me.”

If her heart warmed for the first time since she lost Gideon, she pretended not to notice.

In a new apartment, in a new town, they settled into a routine. Belle had saved a large sum of money in a hidden bank account for her and Gideon to escape if they needed to, planning on running years ago but always being too scared. She purchased a small shop space, devoted to books, becoming quite the collector of old or discontinued print items. Will’s locksmith business was also taking off, and they found themselves happily eating dinners together or sitting and watching a movie together after long days.

Belle made the first move, tentatively laying against him and bring Will’s arm over the dip in her side, snuggling into him. A soft kiss on the cheek came next as a thank you for a birthday cake and a framed picture of Gideon and her together. A full kiss that left them both breathless after his team had won the World Cup, which turned into a long and slow session of kissing on their couch.

Things went slow. Belle’s heart healed and reset, a friendly love turning into something more. His hand found hers at the movies, hers snaking into his when they found time to go for walks. Will listened to her cry and comforted her through bouts of sorrow so deep and dark she could not see an end. Even then, he’d waited patiently without pushing anything a all until she sought him, laughing when she told him why they shouldn’t be together: because love is terrible.

“I dunno. I’ve had unrequited love since 6th grade or so, and it’s hard, but never terrible. The only pain I ever got from it was watching her suffer, but watching her heal has helped a lot.”

There was warmth in her chest like when she first kissed Gold, but this time it had dimension, layers, a foundation without cracks. At night when she thought more about it, she remembered Will running to her, or his promises when she would visit him and stare through the glass at his guilty face. Crawling out of bed and laying next to his body, Belle watched him stir, holding her breath. Will’s surprised blinks through grogginess are at first in shock, then happiness, as he gathered her into him.

“If this turns out to be a dream, I’ll be right pissed off,” he mumbled sleepily, and she laughed, falling asleep with him.

Her old room was bigger with an ensuite, but his bed more comfortable. After what felt like a day of torture, his bed now in her room and her lumpy mattress rested on the curb, they had purchased a desk for a new home office where Will could run things run things instead of from the living room. When he suggested a date to celebrate, they ended up dancing through the aches left from moving furniture all day and medicating with a Long Island special that left her drunk.

She’d begged him over sloppy kisses to touch her, and heard his groans as needy as hers. When she woke up clothed, Will greeted her with coffee.

“You’re going to have one helluva hangover, love.” He smiled sympathetically.

“We didn’t?”

“No. Until you’re ready, and can tell me when you’re sober to the point I believe you won’t regret it, I’d never.” He sipped his coffee on the edge of the bed. “I’m an idiot, and probably a fool, but not a monster.”

She’d cried, smiling like an idiot and confusing the hell out of him as he went to put his arms around her.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright -” rubbing her arms with his hands, as she shook her head.

“Will, I love you.”

Regina, Ruby, and Ruby’s charge made their way to Hopper’s office at a run, his call to them punctuated by bursts of yelling and the breaking of the various ceramics he had collected. Regina had no patience for this sort of thing. If she had a choice, she’d be sipping a martini while being fanned by a number of muscular men - but this was The Inbetween, not Paradise.

Ruby, on the other hand, was annoyed for an entirely different reason, watching the student she’d traded Hopper files and a week’s worth of pay for buttoning his fly as they ran to Hopper’s aid. Graham, a zoologist and nature filmmaker. They’d bonded over a love of wolves, the outdoors, and dying woefully single while still gorgeous. She liked the way his name tasted on her lips, and he just liked the way she tasted. Whatever this call was, it had better be good.

It was.

Will stood, red faced and panting, facing a dark haired and half crazed looking stranger. The stranger chucked something at him with a snarl, before launching himself at Will who was busy dodging. Regina’s eyes went wide, a muttered swear before she dragged the stranger back.

“What the hell,” Regina pulled back on the dark haired man’s form as he struggled against her chokehold, “is going on here?” She thought for a moment he looked familiar, but could not place where.

“Will! Are you alright? Who is that?” Ruby ran to WIll, noticing a trickle of blood beginning to disappear on his forehead. “Jesus, how many times did he hit you?”

Archie chimed in, poking his head up over his desk chair. “A lot, they’ve been going at it blow for blow, and my mediating isn’t working, because Will -”

“It’s my fault, let him hit me.” Will spat blood, and Ruby’s eyes turned back to the stranger. “I told him he could, and I deserve it.”

Escaping Regina’s grip for a moment, the stranger lunged again rasping out words in his rage.

“Bloody right it’s your fault, she’s not here and she waited! Emma waited for me, and you let her…” He let out a sound of anguish. “You bastard, you should have noticed -”

Regina’s eyes widened as she pulled the man back into a head lock, recognition finally lighting her eyes. “Oh, shit.” She leaned her arm back, tightening on his windpipe. “Well. It is you, isn’t it? Killian?”

Killian wheezed in her grasp. “Bad form to hit a lady, let me go so I can -”

Ruby blinked, finally putting the pieces together. “Wait, is he? You’re Killian? Like, Emma’s unfinished business?”

Will nodded. “I told him I’d take him to her, but we can’t fix it. We can’t fix…” His shoulders dropped, fists balled as he looked away. “He can take it out on me. It’s not like I won’t heal from it. He can push me off rooftops as far as I’m concerned at this point.”

“Don’t you dare cry for her!” Killian snarled again, shaking with rage.

Ruby’s face fell, Graham moving over to wrap an arm around her waist. Regina’s grip softened, but as Killian moved to lunge again, she grabbed his wrist twisting his arm. He was forced to a kneel, her grip a vice that he couldn’t escape.

“Don’t you dare tell us not to cry for her.” Regina spoke in a low voice, wavering at the end of the sentence. “I watched as she sat with you for hours. Will was her charge. Ruby and Hopper tried to make her laugh. We were her friends. Emma told us everything there was about you.”

“He ate so healthy, when he wakes up the hospital food will drive him insane.” Ruby imitated in a pitch perfect imitation of Emma. Killian turned, a glare softening. “And she’d imitate you: ‘How dare you give me bloody gelatin,’ with a smile.”

“She said we’d be fast friends, more than once. Should ‘ave known it’d come to blows.” Will looked up, crying. “She was my best friend here. Her home is right next to mine -”

“Emma had a home here?” Killian interrupted in a quiet voice.

Will nodded. “I don’t know if it will stay up, though, I’ve been watching for looters or anyone poking around. I won’t let anyone take the last fragments of her.”

There was a pause, heavy silence falling over the room.

“I’ll take you, if you want.” Regina bent down laying a hand on Killian’s shoulder and releasing her grip. He shook her off, glaring ahead at Will.

“No. He can take me.” Killian nodded at Will, who walked to the door without a word before turning to look at Hopper, sitting in his desk chair.

“Hopper, have his file on my desk. I’ve got this one.” Will left, and Killian followed behind, shoes crunching on shards of ceramic. They headed for the residential area in silence.

Emma’s home was undisturbed, one of Will’s charges sitting on the porch.

“Hey Will!” She waved, red hair falling everywhere. “I didn’t expect you to be back so early, but no one has tried anything.”

“Thanks Merida. I’ll see you later.” He waved her off, even as she cast strange looks at the man behind him. Looking back, Killian’s jaw was set, face set in quiet anger, softening as he saw Emma’s home. He stared ahead at the small house, and Will approached, touching the sea glass windchime near the door.

“She said it was for good luck,” Will said quietly. Killian nodded, his face crumbling.

“We had one at home.” Joining Will on the small porch, he gently touched a piece of sea glass, listening to the chiming pieces. “I guess they didn’t work.”

Will opened the door, and as soon as Killian stepped inside his anger was replaced with longing and grief. Leaning in the doorway, Will watched Killian take a few steps, breathing in the cinnamon and vanilla scent of her, breaking into tears. Touching her things, soft blankets on a red leather couch, paintings of the sea under the stars or a VW bug the color of sunshine. A buttercup growing in a pale blue pot, closely guarded, brought sobs through a smile, but a sketchbook filled with scratched kohl drawings of him brought actual laughter.

“She never liked to draw. Only painting, and even then she didn’t like me to watch.” Killian’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

“Things get boring here if you don’t find new hobbies. She started that because…” Will looked suddenly uncomfortable.

“What? I’m done punching you, mate.”

“She started that because she said she was forgetting you,” Will murmured. The sentence filled the room, stretching into guilt so heavy it ached on their shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s… It’s alright. Can you take me to her? I’m ready.” Killian pulled a pillow into his embrace, closing his eyes.

“I can, sometimes time moves funny here, so a few weeks have past. I’m going to tell you though, we can’t fix this. So are you planning on staying with her?” Will cast his glance down, already knowing the answer.

“If that’s what it takes to be with her.”

“You won’t be with her though, you’ll be looking for her for eternity. Haunts don��t react to one another unless it’s drastic - Like a murder or trauma.” Will’s voice rose. “Emma wouldn’t want you to -”

“Don’t tell me what Emma would have wanted.” The dangerous low growl was back, Killian’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not here, because of you. Take me to her.”

Will sighed. A puff of gray smoke and they were in a hospital hallway, Killian feeling sick from the pull in his navel. The lights were off, yellow tape on his old room and the ward doors, but someone was there and yelling.

“What did you do!”

Liam’s voice? Killian blinked. What the hell was his brother doing here? Peeking around the corner, two figures sat in the empty nurses’ station. Liam looked a right mess, his hair unruly, dark circles under his eyes, and the beginnings of a beard growing.

“I didn’t do anything. I promise you.” Elsa’s voice pleading. “Liam, you look terrible. You shouldn’t be here. This was a mistake on my part, When I got your email I thought you…”

Liam grunted. “You thought I what? Was coming to take you back on a date after you showed me proof of a ghost? A ghost that you made up just to garner sympathy?”

“Liam. Please. I thought -”

“Stop thinking and show me the damn ghost like you said you would.”

Killian could rip Liam’s head off, someone caring for his stubborn arse more than anything only to be pushed away by pain.

As if on cue, Will whispered, “Your brother is a prat and a damned asshole.” Killian actually managed a small sad grin at that and nodded.

“If you only knew.” A light flickered with a shower of sparks, and Killian could see something building into a shrouded figure within his old room. Emma. She was here.

“Here we go,” whispered Elsa.

At her words, everything in his old room trembled like an earthquake had hit. Killian turned to Will, extending a hand.

“I’m not sorry for punching you, but thanks. For everything. You were there for her when I couldn’t be, and I can’t be angry at that. Goodbye,” Killian said with a nod, and Will shook his hand. He walked into the chaos that was ensuing in the room, listening to his brother’s protests of fake effects.

Emma stood in the middle of the room, a silent wail coming from her mouth as she shuffled towards the nurses station. A mixture of white and grays, faded to an opaque mix of mist that curled like a thick fog rolling in made up an image of her. There was no color, no blonde hair or green eyes, no flush of pink on her cheeks; her lips once a pale rose lost. Her face contorted in fury instead, tendrils of the haze that surrounded her pulsing out as things shook, knocking anything near her over. Pictures of them littered the floor, broken glass everywhere.

“Emma, oh, love.” Killian tried to embrace her, but a cold chill entered his being like being dropped into ice water. She moved through him and he could hear her scream of grief. She was unfazed by his appearance, unable or unwilling to see him. Making her way out the door towards Liam and Elsa, the world shuddered around her. The tape covering the room broke as the nurses’ station’s contents flew everywhere, pelting Liam and Elsa. Liam yelled, a computer keyboard ripping off the desk as drawers and cabinets flying open and shut. Killian could barely hear him above the noise, watching Emma in her wrath. Emma cried, neck straining and cabinet doors fell off their hinges, yanked free as the contents exploded.

“Liam! Look out!” Elsa was screaming about something as she pushed him out of the way, a light shattering where he was before, the piece splitting to hit her in the back of the head. Her body went limp over his.

“We need to get out of here, damn it all, what even is this?” Liam tried to clear a pathway, protecting himself from the hurricane-like debris that rained down on him. “Elsa?” He shook her and she let out a moan without opening her eyes. “No, Elsa, c’mon love.” Liam pulled her further into him, shielding her with his frame.

Killian reached through Emma again, desperately trying to grasp her. “Emma, you’re hurting people, you need to stop!” The roar he heard from her was like an oncoming train. He was thrown away, his own form roughly hitting a wall. Will tried to approach Emma’s form but was thrown as well, her anger practically an electric current running through the air.

Emma only stared at Liam, gently shaking Elsa’s shoulders. She raised a finger, pointing at him. The nurses station and cabinets began to rock, Liam trying to scoot away while being battered from all sides. Killian fought through whatever force surrounded her, arms out to protect himself and reached for her hand. The cabinets rocked harder, brackets splitting the drywall that held them in place. A filing cabinet fell, trapping Liam and Elsa in the nurses’ station, Liam pulled her tightly into his chest, pressing her into him.

“Emma!” Killian reached again, moving closer. “Emma I’m here, I’m here to stay with you!” His hand caught hers, finally grasping something corporeal. Her eyes were on his suddenly, cabinets still rocking but wind lessening. “It’s me love, Killian. I’m here.”

“I couldn’t find you. I was alone, again.” Emma’s voice was the quietest whisper, everything stopping and going still as she looked at him.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Taking several steps forward, he kissed her forehead. “I’m here now. I’ll stay with you, it’s alright.”

“Always?” Warmth met his palms, once cold and stiff. Emma’s fingers wove themselves into his, interlocking. “You’re really here?”

“I’ll never stop fighting for us. I would follow you to the end of the world, and obviously the next.”

“Killian, it’s really you.” Emma let out a laugh, the noise beautiful to his ears. She peppered his face with kisses, laughing at the smile that crept on his face. Her body felt solid in his arms, mist fading away until her eyes were the green he dreamt about.

“Aye, it’s really me.” They laughed, and he spun her in a circle. Will watched in awe at Emma cupping Killian’s face, laughing through tears. He glanced to where Elsa and Liam had been, watching as Liam pulled them out of the nurses’ station now that no debris was flying. A cut on his forehead dripped, and Elsa stirred.

“Liam… You’re bleeding?” She touched the scrape, and he brushed her hand away.

“It’s fine, I’m more concerned about you. Are you alright?” Liam touched the back of her head gingerly, and she winced. “If it’s any consolation, I believe you. That was insane -”

“It’s not normally this bad. I don’t know what made it worse this time…”

Killian smiled. “They’ll be alright, I think.”

Emma returned his knowing look. “I missed you so much.”

Pressing his lips against hers, they kissed, white light blinding in the room. They glowed as the world disappeared, along with all the pain that had been sitting for so long. Emma’s lips moved in perfect sync with his, hands feeling her waist; pulling her closer, making the kiss deeper, more passionate. A gentle golden sparkle and they were gone, leaving a bewildered Liam, Elsa, and Will.

Elsa and Liam glanced at each other, still sitting in his lap. She moved to crawl a few feet, staring at the spot where two very clear figures had embraced passionately - one, for sure, being Liam’s brother.

“Did you see that?” Liam whispered. “Please tell me you just saw that and I’m not imagining things because I’ve gone mental -”

“Your brother and his girlfriend? Either that or we are hallucinating due to a multitude of factors.”

“What the hell just happened?” Liam shook his head, rubbing the heel of his palm firmly against his forehead.

“I don’t know, honestly.” Elsa laughed, looking up at him. “I may have a concussion, but I feel like they - or something - found peace. I don’t know, I guess. This room is just suddenly filled with so much love. It feels like...” Her gaze turned downwards and away.

“I’m sorry.”

Elsa looked up at him, her head cocked. “For what?”

“Where should I start? Elsa, I’m an idiot and I miss you -” She raised a finger to silence him.

“Liam, I can’t. I loved you. I still…” Looking away, her fingers picked at her braid. “I can’t be like we were.”

“I understand.” Liam stiffened, nodding with a mask of indifference to cover his disappointment.

“I’d like to start over. Maybe we can try again? You just got over losing someone, and I’d love to be there to help you get through it.” Elsa smiled, and Liam’s heart began to pound.

“Pending concussion and or gas inhalation, would you like to get dinner tonight?” He began to stand, helping her up. She picked debris off of him, running her hands down his chest.

“Italian?” Elsa looked up and met his eyes, seeing the same feelings mirrored there.

“Anything you want.”

#3rd #August #2018 #August 3rd 2018 #LIMBO #limbo 2/3 #CSSNS #cssns fanfic #cs supernatural summer #courtorderedcake #tumblr hates me #dammit #captain swan #cs ff #cs au #frozen jewel #bah humbug #I'm so close to being done #I can taste it

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initiala · 3 years

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Oh hai.

It's not dead or abandoned! Remember how I started this for @cssns 2018???? Just, y'know, life happening, and also several global catastrophes. But it turns out that writer's block is really cured by procrastination, which is why I was able to finally figure out some spots I was stuck on while not packing up my apartment to move.

Please enjoy this overly delayed post-wedding fluff and smut.

Also on AO3 and FF.Net

______________

The holidays weren’t really something she paid attention to, not after her parents died. Her mother had loved any excuse to have a party and Emma had grown up with the nondenominational trappings of Christmas in their house, but the tradition had died with Snow and David when she was sixteen. She normally spent the last week of December pulling extra shifts at work, covering for people who had families and wanted the extra time off, and never had a second thought about it. The Pack had their own holidays, particularly around the solstices, but nothing compared to the warm, colorful parties of her childhood -- and frankly, nothing ever would.

So when their short honeymoon fell over Christmas Eve and Day, Emma didn’t think anything of it. Killian made no indication that he celebrated it, and when they returned home on Boxing Day it was to a chilly apartment without any of the decorations that dotted the windows up and down their street. She turned up the heat a little while Killian took their bags back to the bedroom to be sorted out, and she double-checked the windows were locked tight while turning on a few lights in the living room.

The colorful twinkle outside meshed with the light snowfall in a way that made her heart twist painfully in her chest, a flash of her mother’s laughter ringing in her ears and a brief memory of her father cornering her mother under the mistletoe. Her thumb went to the band on her finger, a lump forming in her throat, and she remembered why she normally worked herself to the bone this time of year.

Work was a distraction from missing them.

“Emma?”

She whipped the curtains shut to put an extra layer between the cold glass and the warming room, between herself and her memories, and turned to face her husband as he came into the room. “Love, what’s wrong?” She shook her head, but his large hand engulfed her own as it went to discreetly wipe at her eyes. “Darling, I don’t know if you’ve forgotten this but I can smell when you’re sad,” he said, his voice soft as he pulled her into his embrace. “We’ve been home five minutes, you can talk to me.”

Fuck, she hated talking about her feelings and her parents and particularly her feelings about her parents. But she’d promised -- she’d vowed -- that she’d be more open and honest with him, and she was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to get lucky and guess what all of this was about. She hadn’t told him enough about her parents to let him put all of the pieces together. “I just… I miss my parents,” she said softly, and let him hold her as he made a sympathetic noise and murmured soothing things in her ear. “Mom really loved this time of year. She threw the best parties, one year she actually got fairies to make it snow inside and me and the other kids had a snowball fight. She loved the colors and the whole family thing and she really loved the smell of pine trees -- it kind of gave my dad a headache. But we made it work because Dad always said how it put an extra sparkle in Mom’s eye and he loved her enough to put up with it. I normally try to work a lot through this time of year, everyone wants extra time off, but I was kind of hoping this year we could have some new memories to make this time of year less sad. And it helped, it really did, but then I just saw the lights outside and the snow and it just… it hit me a little harder because I’ve been trying so hard not to think about them. So I miss my parents and I’m sorry this time of year is going to suck no matter what and--”

Killian shushed her softly and she realized she was crying as he thumbed the tears from her cheeks. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he said. “If I’d known… well, I don’t know what I would have done. I can’t blindfold you everywhere -- well, I could, but not in the fun way --” He grinned as she swatted him on the chest. “So testy, my love. You don’t have to be sorry about missing your parents. You just need to let me know, so I can comfort you or let you sit and mourn them in peace, or drive you to distraction. And if I need to do so more this time of year, well, let it be my burden to bear. You don’t have to bear this alone, Emma, you can always rely on me.”

And didn’t that just make her get teary all over again? “How the hell do you always know the right thing to say?” she asked, burying her face in his chest.

“Because I’m magic,” he rumbled under her and she pinched his side. “And we’re too alike, you know. Now, what do you need?”

She sniffled and took a breath, taking mental stock. They really needed to unpack and get everything sorted out for laundry, but while that would keep her hands busy her mind would wander and she really didn’t want to keep thinking about the past. But she knew that leaving everything until tomorrow or the next day would bother Killian; she didn’t want to be alone right now, either. “Can we bring the bags back out here and watch TV while we unpack? I know you just put them away but--”

He was already nodding, though, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Whatever you need, love.”

Since he’d been the one to put them away and she was being the emotional asshole, she figured it was only fair that she bring the bags back out. She had no idea how he’d done it all in one trip, not with how narrow the hall was and how much she disliked scuffing her baseboards with the wheels, and surreptitiously eyed them as she made multiple trips back and forth.

No scuffs. “I’m magic,” she mumbled in a sarcastic imitation of her husband’s accent, shaking her head.

Killian had the TV on to the classic movie channel and the unmistakable scent of chocolate lingered in the air. “Dash of cream liqueur, whipped cream, and cinnamon,” he said, handing her a mug as she sat down.

Emma smiled into it, letting the warmth of the drink and the liqueur slide into her belly. “Did I ever tell you Mom’s the reason I like this?”

“Mm, no.”

She watched as he deftly unzipped the largest bag and started sorting through it; she’d done little more than toss everything in without caring about wrinkles, and the whole thing reeked of sex and wine -- they’d had not nearly enough of both over the last few days, but apparently enough to let the scent sink in to all the fabric. A different kind of warmth settled under her skin, but she wasn’t in the mood to act on it just yet. “According to my dad, Mom drank this all the time when she was pregnant with me. Her biggest craving; not that she didn’t like it before, but it was like another level. So then it became our thing, once I was old enough to have some, just sitting together on the couch or in the kitchen or wherever, with our matching cocoa with cinnamon.”

Killian glanced over at her, a glint of mischief in his eyes, and her heart swelled suddenly with reaffirmation of how much she loved him. His bangs fell over his forehead in a way some might call rakish, but when he looked at her like that -- lips quirked up in amusement at his own joke he was about to tell, unable to hide his glee at his own cleverness -- she could only call it boyish. “Sweet tooth before you were even born, eh Swan?”

Maybe not a joke then, but teasing, like they were twelve and he was pulling her tail. “I’m a wolf of taste,” she said loftily, setting her mug aside and pulling up another suitcase to go through. “Unlike some mangy curs around here.”

“Mangy cur?” Emma squeaked as she found herself pinned under him on the floor, his nose brushing against hers and heat flooding her body. His grin promised absolute filth, the hard length of his body pressed against hers deliciously, and the scent of his arousal was enough to make her dizzy. “Didn’t realize we were comparing pedigrees here, princess. Too bad you’re stuck with the mangy cur and not some stuffy purebred.”

“I happen to like the mangy cur,” she whispered, their lips close enough to tease.

“Good,” he growled. “Because he likes you too.”

She moaned into his kiss, which was far gentler than she was expecting, and he let up on her arms enough to allow her the space to embrace him. Her fingers threaded through his hair, then down his back, where she teased the patch of skin revealed by his sweater riding up. “Emma.”

He pulled back and she smiled at how he already looked wrecked. She glanced over his face, refamiliarizing herself with the little details she already had memorized but still loved looking at: the old scar on his cheek, the ginger hairs in his beard, the little freckles and the way his eyebrow seemed to jump up on its own when he got curious about something. He caught her eye with his again and one corner of his mouth ticked up, a sudden shyness in the way his eyes darted around, like he wasn’t sure she was staring at him . “What?”

She shook her head, reaching down and slipping her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, earning a surprised -- and pleased -- noise from him as she pulled him in for a quick kiss. “I just… really love you,” she said when they parted.

His cheeks reddened, but just around his cheekbones, and she loved that she knew that detail about him. If she was further back, she’d be able to see his ears turning the same color, and if she really got to him she’d be able to get his nose to match. She liked the way he could get around her, quiet and unabashedly himself, someone who couldn’t take a compliment seriously and waved off words of praise. It drove her a little crazy, but she’d made her vows to voice her feelings to him and she was going to make good on those vows.

“I love you too,” he said, his nose brushing against hers, and he leaned in to kiss her again.

The laundry could wait.

---------------------------------------------------------

“ There she is!” Ruby hollered, ignoring the glares from the other bar patrons.

Emma also ignored the knowing looks on both Ruby and Dorothy’s faces as she shrugged out of her coat. She knew her hair was mussed and she had beard burn on the side of her neck -- Killian had a particular fondness for this dress and the lack of coverage it provided -- and she was definitely late for their night out, but she only felt the slightest hint of guilt over that. Besides, both Ruby and Dorothy knew what it was like to be newly mated, so they could cut her a break. “Hey, thanks for saving me a seat.”

She flagged down a waitress to take her drink order and then grabbed a handful of peanuts. “So… how’s it going?” Ruby asked in a sing-song.

“Babe.” Dorothy elbowed her.

“What? She’s got sex hair and she reeks of it. If that’s her excuse, she’d better dish.”

Emma rolled her eyes, cracking open a shell. “We didn’t have sex, thank you, he just… made it hard to leave.”

“Oh I’ll bet something was hard.”

“Ruby.”

The waitress arrived with Emma’s drink and they ordered one of those mixed appetizers platters to share, as well as another round of drinks. Emma gulped half of her drink after the waitress left again before saying, “I won’t kiss and tell.”

As Ruby made a face, Dorothy reached for her own peanuts. “Some of us appreciate that.”

Emma downed the rest of her gin and tonic; she hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate it, and seeing as how this was a wolf bar the drinks were made to match their metabolisms, but this was the first time she was getting to hang out with her friends since her wedding and she wanted to have fun. Tipsy, ridiculous fun, with no husbands and no responsibilities. Girl time. Catch-up time.

Only, she realized as the conversation started to actually move towards catching up on each other’s lives, she just had stories about Killian.

“Okay, I forbid you to talk about your husband for thirty seconds,” Ruby said, pointing a french fry at her for emphasis. The appetizers had been replaced by entrees, and Emma rolled her eyes as she took an enormous bite of her burger. Fine, she’d just chew instead. “You have to have been doing something other than banging each other silly or going to work.”

Emma took her time with her food, drawing out Ruby’s challenge and taking some small joy in the agitated tick in her friend’s eyebrow. “Well it’s not like you don’t know what I do for work,” she said finally, reaching for the ketchup. “And we’re in a post-holiday lull, so it’s gonna be a bit before things get interesting.”

“One of us has got to get a different job,” Ruby declared, while her mate rolled her eyes indulgently.

Emma didn’t bother to respond, instead flagging down the waitress for another G & T. There was definitely a happy buzz going on under her skin and she wanted it to continue; the burger would only dull the effects before too long.

“Bitch on the prowl, ten o’clock,” Dorothy said suddenly, looking towards the door.

Emma and Ruby turned to look, with what felt like most of the bar’s patrons and staff following their lead. A woman she didn’t recognize was taking off her coat, revealing a dress that would send normal humans rushing to her side in an instant; here, it only added to the allure of her scent. She was obviously in heat, unattached, and looking to rectify the situation.

Already two men were walking towards her, jostling one another to make her acquaintance first; Emma just looked back to her tablemates with a look of resignation. “They’re not wasting any time,” she said.

“Neither is she; she must be the first one of the season,” Dorothy said, watching the situation near the door with mild interest.

“Just glad it isn’t me this time.”

“If there wasn’t any concern about like, us not being turned into a science freak show, I would absolutely watch our version of a trash dating show.”

“Babe, we have too many seasons of Love Island on the to-watch list as it is,” Ruby said.

“Correction, we don’t have enough seasons of Love Island on the to-watch list.”

Emma glanced back at the display happening on the other side of the bar, letting the sound of her friends teasing each other blend into the rest of the noise. This woman was definitely taking no prisoners, making eye contact with one of the men while her hand rested almost possessively on the arm of the other, her lips spread into a wide smile. Hell, she was charmed by this kind of display, especially when the woman demurely glanced at the second man under her lashes for a moment. Maybe Dorothy was right about a dating show… She watched as the woman laughed at something one of the men said, throwing her head back to give everyone a good look -- and smell -- at her neck, and Emma found herself dazedly wondering when she might be able to slip away back home and ravish her husband.

“Oh no, we’ve lost her.”

“Pheromones side effect, tragic really.”

She blinked back to attention. “What?”

Ruby looked annoyed, but Dorothy at least seemed sympathetic. “She’s still in the honeymoon phase, babe, it’s gonna be a while before everything settles down. The coming season doesn’t help.”

“Okay, you can stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Emma snapped. Her drink had been refreshed without her notice and she downed it. “I get it, I’m sorry, I’ll shut up about Killian and whatever.”

Ruby started to respond, but Dorothy silenced her with a look. Whatever silent argument they had, Ruby lost and she huffed as she went back to her meal. The reaction stung -- it’s not like Emma hadn’t sat through hours of Ruby pining and then gushing over her own mate, she could stand being the recipient for a while -- but Emma felt it wasn’t worth it to argue and ruin the evening by just turning it into a fight.

Eventually, they started talking again, Ruby breaking first with some pack gossip. The night never got to the raucous levels any of them might have hoped it could get to, but was overall a nice time and Emma even forgot about getting her feelings hurt. It felt good to get out of the house for a while with friends -- but when someone wolf-whistled as the woman in heat from earlier waltzed out with an entirely different man clutched possessively at her side, Emma thought it might be even better to get back home to her mate.

Even short periods of absence seemed to make the heart grow fonder.

--------------------------------------------

As the new year rolled through to its second month, Emma and Killian quietly celebrated the one-year anniversary of their meeting, marveling at how much had changed in just a year. Killian noticed that Emma seemed to greet each day with increasing wariness, and his own awareness of the mating season coming into bloom turned into some kind of insatiable itch under his skin.

He’d never participated in mating season before meeting Emma. He’d been soured from pursuing any sort of relationship after the disastrous affair with Milah, and even when he’d been half underwater with alcohol he’d decided he’d never again get snared by any she-wolf’s trap. And to his embittered mind, mating season was just another trap, luring men into siring pups or trying to turn a one-night tryst into a long-term commitment. Even after he’d sobered up and straightened himself out, he’d still felt the sting of rejection in his phantom limb and did his best to stay occupied and aloof in spring.

Until Emma.

He’d known from the start that she was different, that chance encounter with her packmates. She had fire, and the way she’d immediately come at him on the offense had piqued his interest immediately. Then the wind had shifted and he’d immediately known what the source of the problem with her packmates had been, the full-blown scent of a bitch in heat burrowing down to awaken his most basic instincts. He’d done his best to remain a gentleman and let her walk away, as she’d clearly had no interest in acting on her own hormones, and once her scent faded on the wind he’d walked away as fast as he could without rousing anyone’s suspicion. He’d thought that was the end of it, until a chance meeting at a bar led to a delightful night of conversation and drinks…

And the most wonderful, passionate woman he’d ever had the pleasure to offer himself up to the next day.

Poor love had been so miserable when he’d come to see if his magical hangover remedy worked for her that he’d hardly reacted to the overwhelming bouquet of Emma in heat. He’d acted immediately to try and rectify the errors in her spice cabinet, mixing his potion and letting her recover. And as he tidied up the mess he’d made, it became increasingly hard (in many senses of the phrase) to ignore the fact that he was absolutely surrounded by pheromones and the obvious lingering scent of everything she’d done to relieve herself of the ache over the last several days. And when she’d emerged from her blanket nest again and stood there with only a shirt and her knickers and legs that went on for miles and giving him every last chance to run before they’d do something they’d regret?

He’d never wanted someone more in his entire life, mating season or not.

It wasn’t long after he returned home, he realized that long weekend in her bed (and her shower and her kitchen… and one particularly enjoyable occasion with her back pressed to the window and the lights in the living room turned off to keep the outside world in the dark to their activities) would never be enough for him. Liam accused him of moping, his friends thought he needed to get out and meet someone new to get Emma out of his system.

Looking up now, watching her enter the room shyly and holding out a simple padded envelope, he knew just as well now as he’d known then: he could never get her out of his system, even if he tried.

“What’s this, love?” he asked, accepting the envelope from her as she settled in the crook of his arm.

“Early valentine’s present,” she said simply.

They had a reservation at a restaurant that day, so he was a little confused as to why she didn’t want to simply wait until then. “Any particular reason why this is an early gift?”

Her scent changed, a little surge of arousal, and amusement laced her voice, “I kind of figured it was safer to give these to you in private.”

Well now he was intrigued. “Very well then, thank you and I accept.”

Reaching into the envelope, he felt photos -- a stack of actual printed, glossy photographs. He glanced down at his wife -- fuck, he’d never be over that, his wife -- and watched her chew her bottom lip nervously as he pulled the photos out.

Each photo featured Emma in some way, posed and primping and perfect in all her glory. These weren’t amateur photos by any means, and even her hair and make-up looked like someone else had done the job -- not that Emma did poorly at her own appearance, but she wasn’t one to add such accentuation to her eyes to give them that smoky effect. Killian swallowed hard as he went through each photo, his heart thumping especially loud in his ears: Emma looking directly at the camera in some sort of modernized glamour shot; Emma from behind, shot from the waist up, looking coyly over her shoulder as she slipped a shirt -- was that one of his? -- down her arms to expose her back beneath a wave of blond curls; Emma laid out on dark satin, her hair spilled around her like a halo, wearing what was definitely one of his button-downs and nothing else from the way she gripped it closed. “Emma, how did you--” his throat felt nearly as tight as his pants as he paused at the next photo, her eyes downcast as she lay on her stomach, the curve of her breast visible in the opening of his shirt.

“I am people who know people,” she said simply.

On and on it went, all of them sensual or titillating without pushing the envelope enough to qualify as lewd, until the last one: she reclined on her side, propped up on her elbow, on a pelt that matched her own. Completely bare, her back faced the camera, her hair spilling down her shoulders as she looked to the side, not quite looking over her shoulder but enough to give the viewer a look at her demure profile in an otherwise completely shameless photograph.

“Jesus Christ, Emma…”

She rested her head against his shoulder, by all appearances merely a content wife who was pleased her husband liked her gift, rather than the mischievous seductress she truly was. Minx. “You like them?” she asked.

“Very much. And may I add, excellent call on a private viewing,” he murmured, nosing her hair. “Had anyone else even glimpsed these, I would have had to rip their throats out with my teeth.”

She hummed and he grinned as her scent flared. “The whole murderous, possessive alpha male thing shouldn’t be such a turn on,” she commented, and squeaked as he hauled her up in his lap.

Placing the photos on her lap, he tapped the last one with one finger. “This one should be blown up and professionally framed, I might hang it up in my office. Your arse is a work of art, love.”

“It is,” Emma agreed, “but wouldn’t that go against the whole ‘if anyone else saw these I’d kill them in cold blood’ thing?”

He tweaked her nose; she really was a terrible mimic of his accent. She always made him sound like a Mancunian somehow. “I didn’t say it had to be the main office, and while I admit that intimidating any potential contractors to a better profit turnover would be better, I can’t say I’d be able to get much work done with such a distraction.”

“And it being in your home office would do any better?”

“Well,” Killian said, drawling on the l’s, “for one thing, I wouldn’t have to travel far to take care of any, ah, problems that might arise from a viewing.” Emma snorted, no doubt feeling exactly the sort of problem he spoke of pressed against her bottom. “Though why would I need to look at this if I have the real thing waiting for me?”

“Who says I’ll be laying in wait for you?” she asked, poking his chest. “If our history says anything, I’m the one who pounces on you the moment you walk through the door.”

“Or sooner.”

“Or sooner,” she said. Looping her arms around his neck, she tilted her head. “You really like them?”

He opened his mouth, prepared to remind her that he’d already answered that, but then he noticed the slight furrow of her brow, the nearly invisible downturn of her lips, her wide eyes flicking between his as she tried to read his expression. Killian softened, in several ways, remembering how difficult she found it to be vulnerable; he suspected the act of posing and taking the photographs had been easy -- Emma was a beautiful, confident woman and she knew it -- but now came the hard part: seeking approval. “I love them,” he told her seriously, tightening his hold around her. “A pale substitute for the real thing, but this on my desk,” he flitted through the photos to the glamor shot, “will remind me of the gorgeous woman I have waiting for me at home. And get me through the long , hard days when we don’t see one another.”

She gave him an overly patient look at where he’d emphasized his speech. He leaned down and kissed away the wrinkle between her brows, breathing her in. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve someone such as you, my darling, but I’m grateful every day to whatever thread of fate drew us together.”

Her breath hitched and her arms tightened around him. She shifted, tilting her head up to kiss him; the intensity of it nearly overwhelmed him, telling him without words how much she loved him and appreciated what he’d said. He felt her fingers in his hair, grazing the sides of his face and neck, her lips moving against his with a hunger he recognized well. “Let’s move these,” he rasped, doing his best not to just throw the pictures all over the floor, “before we make a mess of them.”

Killian gladly let Emma take control then, pushing him flat on his back on the couch and straddling him. “Show me what you really think,” she said, and whipped her sweater over her head, the offending garment falling almost protectively over the stack of photographs on the floor.

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The dream started the way it always did: she was sixteen again and her body wasn’t cooperating as she tried to climb the height to the challenge grounds. Most of this was pulled from memory, the sounds of her mother and Regina fighting, the bitter cold, the tang of blood on the wind, but while the stones under her were covered in ice and snow, she’d been able to climb with only a little trouble. She’d been more worried about what she’d find than making sure her feet were going in the right place.

In the dream, though, it was like moving through molasses. Images came in flashes -- her mother lunging and scoring a blow on Regina’s side, Regina’s snarl and the moonlight glinting off the ceremonial silver knives, her father bleeding to death on the ground. Her voice stuck in her throat as she tried to scream for help, like her mouth was sewn shut.

She was helpless to stop what was happening; she always had been, and even in a dream she couldn’t change the reality that her parents had been murdered in front of her.

But for the first time she was able to get to the top, only to find Regina fighting Killian instead of Snow. He had no knife, no weapon at all, swinging wildly with his fist and kicking where he could, but Regina seemed to have the upper hand as she dodged his every move. It looked like she was completely fine with letting him tire himself out first before she had to do anything; Emma tried to scream, tried to get them to stop -- why would Killian be fighting Regina? -- but her mouth wouldn’t work.

Killian lunged and Regina dodged with ease, moving on the offense for the first time as she slammed her elbow into his back. He fell with a cry and suddenly a rifle was in her hands. A crack sounded in the frozen night and then Killian lay still on the ground.

Her body moved, freed from whatever had trapped her in place. Regina was gone, and Emma flung herself at her mate’s form. He lay sprawled on his stomach, a dark, wet patch spreading across his back in the same place where he’d been shot last fall. She packed snow against the wound, an animal cry ripping from her throat in a desperate plea for help. She turned him over, trying to see if he was conscious, but he was white as death and as cold as if he’d lain there for hours instead of moments --

Emma woke, a scream stuck in her mouth as she fought to get the blankets that were tangled around her and constricting her movements off. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she tumbled to the floor; the solid impact shook off the confusion between dreams and reality, but it couldn’t get the image of Killian bleeding out in the snow out of her mind. She curled in on herself as her mind blended it with the same sight of her parents that she’d relived over and over again for more than a decade, her chest aching as she tried to stifle her sobs.

It was late, but she hadn’t gone to bed as Killian had still been at work. She’d dozed off on the couch, something she hadn’t done in a long time—in the last few months, the combination of Alice’s crystal magic and the ever-present scent and feel of their mating bond in the bedroom had helped ease both of their night terrors. Their den represented safety and security, giving them peace of mind to rest easily.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

Emma took deep breaths, trying to calm down. She reached for where she’d left her phone, using the hem of her shirt to scrub her face dry with her other hand, and checked to see if there were any messages. A few warm tears leaked out still, even as she checked the time and noted that Killian had texted not long ago to let her know he was on his way home.

As if on cue, the sound of keys in the hall reached her ears, and a moment later they scratched at the lock and then the door opened. “Sorry I’m so late, darling, I—what happened?”

He was at her side in an instant, gathering her into his arms. She lay her head against his shoulder gratefully. “Bad dreams, it’s nothing.”

“Sweetling, the fear-scent hit me full in the face when I came in, it’s not nothing.”

His heartbeat under her ear soothed her, some of the lingering tension in her shoulders easing with the steady thrumming. Her arms went around him and his hold tightened, just a little, as if he could protect her from her own demons just by holding on tight.

She wished he could.

“Bad dreams,” she said again, clearing her throat after her voice came out thick. “A lot of the same, mixed up together in a shitty new brain cocktail I didn’t order.”

He knew about the recurring dream with her parents, and the newer ones from the incident in the fall, so it wouldn’t be hard for him to put together what she meant. He kissed the side of her head. “I’m sorry, darling. Why didn’t you just go to bed?”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep out here. I was waiting for you to get home and just nodded off.” Her book, forgotten until now, lay face-down on the floor, pages bunched up and wrinkled now from when it had fallen from her lap in sleep. “If I’d known you were staying that late I would have just gone to bed.”

Killian sighed. “I’m sorry. I was working on a contract and needed feedback from the overseas partner; it’s morning in Singapore so I knew I could get prompt replies. I should have said something earlier.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, but I still feel terrible.” He kissed her again and stood, bringing her up with him. “Come on, let’s have a nightcap and you can tell me how to make it better.”

She smiled wanly. “I just need you. That’s all I need to make it better.”

Emma allowed him to lead her to the kitchen. “You have me, Swan, you know that. You’ll always have me.”

-------------------------------------------------------

She woke slowly to the gentle, teasing press of lips against her own. There was a murmur in the back of her mind that sounded like ‘ wake up, darling ’ and she had the bewildering sensation of being in two places at once before a finger brushed against her neck and arousal surged through her body. Instantly she felt more alert, kissing Killian back with newly awakened vigor, and he groaned as she pushed him back, reversing their positions so she lay atop him. “Cheater,” she accused, only allowing them a moment to breathe before coming together again.

He stroked her mate-mark once more and the swell of arousal almost hurt; she clenched her thighs together, trying to ease the ache that lay between them, but Killian’s hand moved down, coaxing them apart to tease his fingers between her folds. “So wet for me,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I wonder why,” she said, biting her lip at the feel of his fingers on her flesh, the warmth pulsing through her body, the sparks of pleasure with every stroke. He ducked down, pressing his lips against her neck and she whimpered at the touch, feeling like she was melting into putty in his arms. “ Tease .”

“I’m a cheater, a tease,” he murmured against her skin, punctuating each word with another kiss. “What’s next? Scoundrel ?”

She cried out as his fingers thrust home, filling her with that delicious stretch she craved. She could feel him moving his fingers inside, teasing her further, and she didn’t know how she wasn’t just soaking his hand with how turned on she was right then. With each thrust of his fingers, he seemed to lift her up and it took her far too long to realize it was a combination of his own urging and her unconscious compliance as she rose up above him. She threw one leg over his waist and felt the head of his cock bump against her thigh; Killian withdrew his fingers and she looked down to watch him rub her juices off his fingers onto his cock as he took it in hand, quickly positioning himself in place for her to sink down on top of him. "Oh fuck me," he moaned as she began to move, her lips finding his mate-mark.

His fingers dug into her hip as she rode him, skin slapping as she chased her pleasure. The combination of their teasing each other’s mate-marks was driving her nearly insane with lust -- she barely noticed when she peaked, the need for more clawing its way through her veins. Killian protested when she lifted herself off him, but he seemed to pick up on the general plan when she turned and got on her hands and knees.

She gasped, sharp and shallow as he pushed in again, her hand grabbing a fistful of blanket for purchase. He felt so much bigger this way— always had since the way he’d taken her that first time. "If we're going to do this like animals, might as well look the part,” he’d said then, and she certainly felt like an animal now as she pushed back onto him in earnest, back arching and throat rough as she keened, pleading for more.

“Greedy girl,” Killian panted through grit teeth, his hips slamming against hers as she cried out. “Drenching my cock, begging for it.”

“ You woke me up,” she retorted, gasping again as he hit a good spot. “There--do that again, fuck .” His hand found her hip again, nails stinging into her skin just enough to pull a groan out of her. Again, he snapped his hips forward, but it’s less frenzied than before, sharper, calculated, and the breath that punched out of her lungs at the next thrust felt laced with fire. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, felt her heart stutter at the way his mark stood out dark against the morning light.

She slipped against the sheet, nearly buckling, but his hand was there before she could, sliding up the length of her torso to curl his fingers around her shoulder. Too-fast, she found herself surrounded by him, his weight half-draped on top of her as he pulled her flush against him and oh, oh . Fuck tumbled out of her again as she twisted to claim a rough kiss. Distracted, his hips slowed at the contact, but she pushed back again with a roll of her hips.

The hand on her shoulder urged her down, his weight shifting off her back as he reared back and her head pressed against the mattress. The angle was just right, a keen tearing from her throat as he resumed speed, driving into her hard and fast and -- “ Fuck, Killian! ”

His hand slipped under her, between her legs, found their way to her overstimulated clit and teased, drawing circles around it and pressing--

Killian’s phone started to vibrate on the nightstand. Emma felt her orgasm slip beyond reach for the moment, her concentration broken, and she groaned in frustration. She didn’t even know what time it was, but it had to be too early for anything but an emergency. “Killian, you should see who that was,” she mumbled, her head shifting against the mattress as he pounded into her.

Her husband snarled and that sent a little thrill down her spine, reigniting what had been lost. “Whoever it is should fucking know better than to call when I’m balls deep in my wife.”

She had no idea how to articulate how absurd that was, but he moved his hand again and squeezed her breast, leaving wet streaks of her own arousal along her skin and her core clenched around him in anticipation. He exhaled sharply, another little growl escaping him, and she pushed back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. She felt his fingers move along her skin, dancing up her back and nails scratching just enough to leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake, until they found her mate-mark once more and started tracing around it, lightly circling, pressing just enough--

She saw stars. Burst of color behind squeezed eyelids and an impossible wave of pleasure crashing through her, her legs feeling numb and buckling under her as he rode her through her orgasm until she heard a grunt signaling his own. She slid weakly down onto her stomach, her skin still tingling and her core still shuddering, dragging air into her lungs as fast as she could to try and calm her racing heart. She felt the bed shift behind her, heard Killian’s heavy breathing, then felt him settle between her legs. Before she could fully understand what was happening, she felt his nose brush the sensitive seam of her ass, and then dip lower as his tongue found her dripping, abused, and still fucking aroused cunt. “ Jesus --”

Emma tried to push herself up on her elbows, tried to army-crawl up the bed and away from her insatiable husband’s questing tongue, but he satisfied himself with only a few laps before pulling away. She twisted, flushed and glaring at the smug grin on his face. “Who’s greedy now?” she asked.

“I do love the taste of us together,” he admitted, righting himself and settling back on the pillows.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes and summoned all of her strength to get up and go clean herself. Wobbly as it was, she managed the trip to the bathroom and even brought him a washcloth to clean himself up before giving her weary legs a rest and laying next to him. The heady feeling of arousal still burned inside, though more like a smoldering ember pile than the full-on inferno he’d worked her into before, but she pushed it away; she wasn’t in heat yet and her body had limits.

For now.

“So what was that for?” Emma asked.

“Do I need a reason to wake my wife and lavish her with my attentions?” She poked him in the ribs, a particularly ticklish spot, and he squirmed. “Cut it out,” Killian said, giggling. “Your smell woke me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “My smell?” she asked, her voice flat. “You know, from anyone else those might be fighting words.”

He took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “And far be it from me to challenge you, darling. No, I believe it may be close to time, your scent has… shifted somewhat.”

Emma let her head fall back with a groan. Motherfucker. Well, it was to be expected; it’s the normal time for her to go into heat, it was just… the worst. Though, having a mate would make it exponentially easier than previous years; she had that to look forward to, at least. She just hated being completely ruled by her hormones, hated having so little control over her own body. And of course Killian would be the first to pick up on it, of course he’d know her so well that he’d pick up on even the slightest change in her scent. Idly, she wondered if he could tell because he’d smelled her in full-blown heat before, but in truth she believed he’d know any changes in her body and her scent almost before she did.

Puts the kibosh on any cutesy surprise things whenever we get around to having pups , she thought wryly.

“Judging by your enthusiastic response, you’re still unhappy about the prospect,” Killian remarked.

She sighed. “It’s not that. I love nothing more than using you as my personal sex toy, I just… hate everything else about it.”

“We could try a last-minute honeymoon,” he suggested. “We did talk about going somewhere this spring.”

“It’ll be wicked expensive, not to mention both of our bosses would kill us for leaving so last minute. And don’t even try to tell me Liam would be understanding, he’d find something to harp at you about.”

“Technically I’m my own boss.”

“Yes, but what captain leaves the helm to go fuck his wife silly for a week?”

His teeth flash in a grin that sends a shiver down her spine. “I’m sure plenty do, particularly when the captain’s wife is as beautiful and alluring as you. And I do have minions to keep things running, you know I don’t do everything right?”

“You have to stop calling your officers ‘minions’.”

“I pay their salaries, I can call them what I like. Besides, which is less of a mouthful, Chief Operating Officer or minion?”

“Coming from the man who takes an hour to tell a five minute story.”

His grin widened. “One of the many charms you love about me.” She rolled her eyes and the bed shifted as Killian reached for his phone, which pinged a reminder that he had a missed call and a voicemail. “Though I could have reason for it, seeing as how one of them called at a most inopportune time.”

Emma worried her lip between her teeth as he listened to the message, the tinny voice reaching her ears perfectly as questions even she knew could have waited a few hours were relayed. If he was right, and it was reasonable to assume he was, then it would be easier to just combine the honeymoon and her week in heat. It was extremely annoying that there wasn’t any way to really tell when her body would go into heat, outside of paying attention to signs like any subtle changes in scent, and they couldn’t have planned this ages in advance. The thought of paying all the last minute booking fees made her skin crawl, but she also knew he wouldn’t suggest such a thing if it wasn’t feasible.

Marrying up a couple of tax brackets was going to take a lot of getting used to.

Killian tossed his phone back on the bedside table, muttering darkly to himself, and she settled against him again. “How about this,” she started, “we take today to make sure a quick getaway isn’t going to be a problem, and then go in a couple of weeks? I don’t think it’s going to happen in the next few days and we need some time to get our shit together.”

“Eloquent as always, Swan,” he said. “And the full moon is next week, so we should schedule around that as well.”

Remembering that gave her another sense of relief: for some reason, it wasn’t common for their kind to go into heat the week of the full moon. Some did, but it was extremely rare, and always led to complications with the litter. She thought it might have something to do with how her monthly shifting stopped when she’d been pregnant before, nature realizing that changing forms while pregnant wasn’t good for the mother or the fetus, but it wasn’t like there was anyone she could ask about that. Again, something else that the more scientific-minded of their community were studying, but it was difficult.

And it wasn’t like there was The Scientific Werewolf Monthly to publish any of that research.

Maybe there should be.

“Well, that settles that,” she said, her mood buoyed by the lunar calendar. “We’ll go in a couple of weeks. Plunk me on a beach somewhere that’s not Boston in winter and I’ll be set.”

Killian’s expression was a thrilling mix of joy and sin. “Then I’d better make sure it’s a private beach, because I have no plans of letting you wear anything more than a bikini the whole time we’re gone,” he said, shifting to loom over her as he spoke, the last words breathed against her lips before he caught hers up in another kiss.

----------------------------------------------------

The wave of pleasure that had been building inside finally crashed over her, sending ripples up to the top of her head and down to the tips of her toes. She sighed, sated for the time being and pushed away the latest of her spent toys, reclining back on the silk maroon sheets to watch as he took his leave from her bed. They all knew the drill, the men lurking in wait for her summons; she hated for them to linger, but she did indulge in the view as they stumbled away from her room.

For now, though, Regina was tired. That was the third one today, and it was barely noon on the first morning of her heat. She rolled her head on her neck, as much as she was able, joints cracking and muscles stretching. She wasn’t a young pup anymore, as difficult as it was to admit some days, so while being ravished three times by three different, handsome young things in one morning certainly sounded like an ideal way to spend one’s time, it was proving to take a toll on her.

She didn’t like to think too much about what that would mean.

She didn’t care for the reminders, the lines at the corners of her eyes getting a little deeper if she looked too long, the silver strands she kept carefully colored, and now her body tiring a little sooner than it had the year before.

Any slip might give rise to rumors, and rumors often lead to those same men lurking downstairs foolish ideas about power.

No, for now she would rest a bit, take lunch, and assess what else she could do to keep her hand on their leashes until just the right moment.

Her phone rang midway through lunch. Annoyed, Regina answered in her usual, clipped way. “This had better be important.”

- She’s leaving town for a week, her and that British wolf of hers. My sources say it’s probably their honeymoon, but we have to remember the season. If she comes back pupped-- -

“I can make my own conclusions, thank you Sidney,” she snapped, her mood darkening. “Keep tabs on them if you can, and the Nolans. We may have to move faster than anticipated.”

She hung up before he could agree to anything -- it didn’t matter, he didn’t have to agree. He just had to follow orders.

She sat still for a moment, staring at her plate, then moved suddenly, throwing her tablet against the wall. The news that Emma Swan, previous heir apparent to the pack she now ruled, had taken another mate after all the work she’d done to destroy that last relationship had sent her into a rage that kept her people on their toes for weeks. She didn’t need any reason to allow support of any kind for that little bitch to rise, and a newly mated pair with a fresh litter on the way would definitely give reason for people to remember and feel sympathy for the girl. To start rumors or petitions to restore her place.

To revolt.

She’d put in too much work expanding, improving, and keeping her pack in line to let the memory of the old alphas resurface.

Snarling, Regina got to her feet. Rage mixed with arousal, the need to take control of something overpowering anything else, and she pressed the intercom that would summon another one of her playthings to the bedroom.

She hoped he had stamina, though she didn’t quite care if she ended up breaking him in the end. He was easily replaced, just as all the others were.

She was in control here. Not them. Not any of the hotheads she dealt with on a regular basis.

And never, never Emma Swan.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs smut #cs fluff #amanda writes #cssns #oh god it's been so fucking long #please yell at me in reviews it will help me move faster

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kmomof4 · 4 years

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Do you know of any Captain Swan fics were Liam is alive? I just thought I'd ask since I've been looking for them, and i love big brother Liam stories. Thanks in advance!

Boy do I!!!! I love big brother Liam too and while I would say that in most CS fics Liam is gone, there are several where he is very much alive and stays that way. These are just a few that I can think of off the top of my head.

If you’ll forgive a bit of shameless self promotion, I personally have three fics where Liam is alive and well.

In my State of Emergency universe, Liam plays a major role in the third fic, State of Emergency: Code White.

Make Me Look Good features big brother Liam hosting Killian and Emma over the Christmas holidays.

And finally,

Time and Again, my first MC, Killian and Liam are in business together.

And now to other fics that feature alive Liam!

The first fic that I’ll always think of when I think of big brother Liam is Old Habits Die Hard by @lenfaz. Canon divergent in which Liam was alive all those years on Neverland, but escapes to the EF just as Regina casts the curse. One of my all time favorite fics! As a matter of fact, Liam appears in a lot of her fics.

The Reason by @xemmaloveskillianx where Liam, Snowing, and Emma welcome Killian to the empty apartment in their building.

Alii Dimidium Lunam by @artistic-writer is a werewolf fic that features Liam.

@seriouslyhooked has several fics that feature Liam. Hope Springs, Emma and Killian meet after Ruby marries Liam while on vacation. Lost Souls and Reveries her @cssns 2018 fic (that she’s writing a sequel for for this years event!), and two currently posting fics, Feels Like This and When We Collide. She has more, but these were the ones I thought of first.

The Perils of Firemen and the Food Network series by @shireness-says. Roommates Emma and Elsa plus the Jones brothers.

We Own Tonight by @totheendoftheworldortime, in which CS and Liam are dropped into the Frozen storyline.

And the last that immediately came to mind was @profdanglaisstuff very recent series inspired by a discord chat, Modern Misthaven. Absolutely HYSTERICAL but seriously tugs on the heart strings too.

As an aside, I don’t know if this would be up your alley or not, by @totheendoftheworldortime has a polyamory series, The Unlocked Series, featuring the Jones brothers in a romantic relationship with Emma. VERY hot, VERY smutty, but no incest between Liam and Killian. Mischief Reimagined features the trio in the Harry Potter universe.

Thanks for the ask nonnie! I hope you enjoy these as much as I have!

#anon ask #cs fics with liam #fic rec list

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hollyethecurious · 3 years

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For the Fanfic Writer Friday (FFWF) Ask, I'm curious how you came up with the idea to blend "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" with OuaT to come up with such an awesome supernatural CS story as "Some Legends are Best Keep as Legends"? Did the idea come to you fully formed? Did one scene just strike you out of the blue? Or did you come up with it bit by bit? I'm actually curious about the same sort of thing for "Varcolac" - both are brilliant ideas, but I woudn't have known how to start like you do

Oh, wow! Thank you for this!

Okay, for Some Legends, the idea came about from my love of the original short story, a rewatch of the FOX TV show, and seeing a piece of fanart that had Killian maniped in a Colonial uniform (unfortunately, it’s been so long, I can’t remember who did the manip, nor do I have a link to it.)

On the FOX TV show, Ichabod Crane wakes up in the twenty-first century after having died on the battle field. Right before his death, he decapitated a Hessian soldier (the Headless Horseman), and Ichabod’s wife (a witch) bound them together by magic. The SH show had some terrific moments of introducing Ichabod to the modern world, and although I don’t think Killian would have stayed clueless about the modern age for long, I DO love the Killian vs the modern world trope, so I could immediately see him in that role.

Because of my love for the short story, I knew I wanted to incorporate it too, but I couldn’t see Killian in the Ichabod role, so I cast him as Brom and channeled S2 Captain Jones during the time he tormented Rumple, and made their original feud it my flashback origin story.

The first scene that came to me was Killian digging himself out of his grave. Next, was Graham’s death with Emma as witness, which is borrowed from the TV show. Then came the flashback, and the rest just came bit by bit as I went through my process of asking myself a TON of questions.

For Varcolac, I had a vague werewolf story idea waaaaaaaaaaaaay back in high school, that involved a woman being chased down by a pack of werewolves and having to trust strangers (a man and his sister) to help her after her car breaks down, only to discover they are werewolves, too. Obviously, some of that changed by the time I started formulating the story for Halloweek back in 2017. The first scene I remember coming up with specifically for CS was the opening; Emma stranded on the side of the road, and a stranger (Killian) offering to help get her back on her way.

I shelved the fic for a few months in order to write The Legend of Captain Killian Jones, but when I picked it back up for the cssns in 2018, that original scene flowed into the confrontation with Walsh, but I struggled with how to get Emma to overpower Walsh, and thereby incurring his wrath and vengeance. Plus, I wanted a more dramatic reveal for when Emma learned about Killian’s nature, because I had held on to the idea of a dramatic reveal for so long, but I felt like I couldn’t have the reveal I wanted if Killian had to come out as a werewolf in the diner.

BUT THEN...

@allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 made a comment about Killian being a hybrid and it all just clicked into place after that. The reveal, the door conversation, the full backstory, etc. (Fun fact, I hadn’t completely decided between Neal or Walsh as the werewolf from the diner until after I’d fully fleshed out the backstories) Crafting the backstory is what first planted the seeds for parts 3-5. I knew I eventually wanted to bring Neal back around so I that story line in each of their pasts could have some closure. It was much more complicated at first, with Neal having an entire crew working with him, but I scaled back because it was too many moving parts in comparison to the intimacy of the first two parts.

#curious replies #ffwf #fanfic writer friday #slabkal #come legends #varcolac #snowbellewells

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wistfulcynic · 4 years

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Happy Holidays! I'm dropping into some of my fave creator's ask boxes and encouraging them to Spread the Cheer by Sharing What You Created This Year! Before a new year starts, take some time to reflect on the things you wrote or created to bless the fandom this past year. Remind us all of the awesomeness you put out there in 2019, and feel free to tease us with things to come in 2020! Then pass this along to your faves, so they can share in the fun!

Aaah! Thank you anon(s)! ❤️❤️❤️

2019 is my first full year of fic-ing, and according to AO3 I have written nearly three hundred and sixty-six thousand words, which considering that I was always the kid who submitted nine and one third pages for a ten page essay is kind of astounding.

I had three fics begun in 2018 that carried on to this year, the first is Finding the Altar, my first attempt at the secret dating trope, mostly written last November but I wrote the epilogue for the 2019 January Joy. The second carry-over is Another Brick in the Wall, begun exactly a year ago and finished a few months into the year. It is the high school AU that I never meant to write but that ended up taking over my life, still one of my favourite fics because of how much I enjoyed writing it. Finally there’s also Both Are Infinite, which was started last September and is still unfinished. I am SO sorry for that, but I promise it will be finished. It is not abandoned!!

For things started in 2019 we have:

The Key, an angsty, smutty one-shot written for January Joy

Their Way By Moonlight, the love of my life and my number one priority for 2020. It’s a 3B canon divergence in which Emma and Killian are soulmates who can share dreams, which leads to him coming for her and restoring her memories in New York in a very different way than in canon. There’s also a different curse on Storybrooke and a very different development for Emma and Killian’s relationship, along with loads of Captain Cobra and cursed Snowing, and an arc for Regina (including a partnership between her and Killian) that I really love.

Honeysuckle, the purest thing I’ve ever written. Precious cinnamon roll Librarian Killian, and single-mother Emma who gets caught in a precarious situation until he comes to her rescue. Inspired by @shireness-says

Three Non-Blondes, secret-dating attempt number two. Very silly, but fun, with maybe my favourite version of Mary Margaret.

The Depths of Love, another 3B divergence with no second curse. Emma trying to work out her feelings and Killian trying to protect himself from heartbreak. Also my very first collaboration with @thisonesatellite and honestly I’m not sure this story would exist without her.

The smutty trio of Schadenfreude parts One and Two, and Steak and Something on the Side. Voyeur Neal and Asshole Walsh.

Osaka-shi Serenade, the most personal thing I’ve written. Based on how my husband and I met when we were teaching English in Japan. Still unfinished, but again, *will* be!

Two Sunday Mornings, a pair of angsty ficlets from each of their POVs, plus Brothers Jones.

One More Kiss, a Lieutenant Duckling short fic that I didn’t love when I wrote it but has really grown on me, to the point where I might (*might*) expand it at some point. Quite angsty, but happy at the end.

The Great Grammar Caper, a very very VERY silly future fic in which Deputy Jones is the hero we need but his efforts are foiled by a devious Granny.

Rainbound, a take on the snowed-in trope, only with rain.

The Parquet Man, absolutely and without question the most fun I’ve ever had writing. The storied romance that is Captain Floor, told from the POV of Killian (by me) and Floor (by @thisonesatellite, who writes unorthodox POVs like NO ONE ELSE).

The Very Witching Time and its follow-up The Sleep of the Sun, written for @cssns and @cspupstravaganza respectively. My very favourite verse, in which Emma is a witch and Killian cursed in the form of a dog. There is magic and an extraordinary house with a sentient garden, and creepy forest, and more magic, and Cora with an evil plot, and even more magic, and some adorable and surprising children at the end. PLUS some absolutely stunning art by @mariakov81 to accompany it ❤️❤️❤️

How Not To Flirt, based on a prompt. Emma tries to flirt with Killian but he fails entirely to see it.

Words Unspoken, a friends-to-roommates-to-lovers story full of mutual pining and very, very poor communication.

The Ballad of Emma and Killian, in which they are not famous when they meet, but when their careers take off they stand by each other through it all. Rockstar!Emma and actor!Killian.

On What They Fall, my magnificent octopus. Angry, damaged Killian who can’t see how much Emma loves him. Mutual pining, angst, Captain Book brOTP, and people working through their emotions, prioritising their mental health, and coming out of hard times strong and brave enough to allow themselves to be happy. Another personal favourite.

abandon, a birthday gift for @kmomof4. Neverland sex-pollen smut, pure and simple. Well, simple anyway.

come sit at our feast, a Halloween fic written for @csrolereversal Halloweek. Without question the most out-there thing I’ve written, with all the OUAT characters reimagined as supernatural beings who come together every Halloween to throw themselves a hell of a party.

Drink The Wild Air, a birthday gift for @thisonesatellite which will be finished SOON. The Captain Duckling high-seas swashbuckling adventure tale I’ve wanted to write for some time. Featuring Brothers Jones 2.0 and CASTLE STORMING.

Drabbles, a series of short fics of all kinds, written when I need to clear my mind.

Across The Snowy Places, a Thanksgiving tropestravaganza. Featuring secret dating, snowed-in, only one bed, heater not working, favourite author, found families, matchmaking, and drunken affection/confession. ALL THE TROPES.

To Keep It All The Year, my Christmas gift for @katie-dub. Final chapter coming soon! This story has just flowed out of me. It features angry, broken Killian, single-mother Emma, adorable wee bab Henry, and some extraordinary Christmas magic.

WHEW!! I think that’s all of them! I’m a bit 😮😲😳🤯 looking at this list. It’s been a less-than-great year on the whole, to be honest, but at least productive on the fanfic front!!

Thanks for the ask, anon, and I hope you have a great Christmas and a brilliant New Year!!

#asks #asked and answered #2019 round-up #holy heck #that's a lot of fic #kind anon #anon ask #profdanglaisstuff

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spartanguard · 4 years

Text

top 5/bottom 5 kudos

I was tagged by the darling @searchingwardrobes! I know I did this a while ago but I’m not gonna go digging for it...so here goes again!

What are your five most popular works by kudos (in descending order)?

1. Something In The Water - 273 kudos

aka mermaid!Killian #2; soulmates AU where Emma shapeshifts into a swan and Killian is a merman. CSSNS 2018. Definitely a personal fave--and apparently for others, too.

2. A Tall Tail - 225 kudos

mermaid!Killian #1; canon-divergent from 4B wherein Killian transforms into a merman. My first major MC, and apparently still one of my most popular. (as evidenced by the fact that i’m still writing one-shots in this verse 5 years later)

3. A Rose In The Deeps Of My Heart - 224 kudos

fae!Killian! AU where Emma meets exiled fae Killian on a trip in Ireland...and learns a lot more about her family history. Just a sweet little three-parter.

4. Sick of Love - 214 kudos

another soulmate AU (for CSSNS 2019), but a bit whumpy--set in a universe where if you are separated from your soulmate for an extended period of time after last making skin contact, you get sick. and Emma and Killian take every precaution to not make skin contact with anyone. so you can probably guess what happens.

5. An Affair of Honor and of the Heart - 165 kudos

Ren Fair AU! Honestly a bit surprised it’s in the top 5, especially since it’s a one-shot. But it’s fun!

(Savage Garden is the next one...157 kudos...at least it’s well out of the bottom 5!)

What are your five least popular works by kudos (ascending order)?

5. The Dutchman Must Always Have A Captain - 25 kudos

AU where Deckhand Hook becomes captain of the Flying Dutchman (POTC version), written for @cocohook38. Transformation whump. There are tentative plans to revisit this but I don’t think I wrote them down; a fatal error.

4. Captain Charming/OUAT Drabbles & Ficlets - 24 kudos

What it sounds like--some random old ficlets that weren’t standalones, but I stopped updating it when I got too many ficlets. (I might get back to it at some point.)

3. (Love Will See Us Through These) Dark Days - 12 kudos

Current WIP; Hunger Games AU done for CS Rewrite-A-Thon 2020. Crossing my fingers that goes up...I’m really proud of this story.

2. Drunk Dial - 11 kudos

Drunken Storybrooke shenanigans...also my first fic!! kind of bummed it’s down here.

1. Once Upon a Time in Panem - 7 kudos

The first Hunger Games AU...not surprised it’s at the bottom.

tagging @optomisticgirl @laschatzi @let-it-raines @stubblesandwich @profdanglaisstuff

#tumblr tagging games #responses to my ff

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cssns · 2 days

Text

It's Time to Get to Know Your Mods!!

And we're back to welcome @winterbaby89 back to the mod team!!!

Name

Laura

How long have you been a part of the CS fandom?

Officially since 2016

What is your favorite part about fandom?

The camaraderie and content.

What drew you to this event?

K, and her "Strong arm" techniques ;P ... She wrangled me to help on the inaugural season and I've been here since.

Will you be participating either as a writer or artist? If so, what will you be doing?

I will be writing in Multiple capacities. I am still working on my 2018 CSSNS MC - The Fate of The Medjai, as well as writing a Phantom/Ghost OS for the event's final year.

What do you do in your "real life?"

I now work as a Accounts Payable Specialist for a global corporation, when I'm not on medical leave (too many surgeries), and a Dog Mom of 4 ornery puppers (I'll happily talk about my babies any time).

What are you most looking forward to in this event?

All of the amazing new content to come.

Hehehehehehe, Laura...

Couldn’t have done this without you!!! Love you, babe!!! Laura's new fic will close out the event on Aug 30!

#cssns24 #get to know the mods #winterbaby89

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captainswanbigbang · 4 years

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CSRT Promo: the-corsair-and-her-quill

Today’s promoted story is All's Fair in Love and War by @the-corsair-and-her-quill! Read it on AO3!

When did you start writing this story, and what inspired you to write it?

I started writing it for CSBB 2017, and I was really inspired by Reign, especially the first two seasons. I was also interested in exploring the arranged marriage trope.

What is it about this story that made you feel like it was worth rewriting?

Well, I sort of abandoned it because I felt like I spent a lot of time and effort writing it, and it just did not receive much traction or support. I kinda regret some of the storyline and felt like I wanted to go back and write it differently as well. I felt like I could maintain the essence of the original fic while writing a new version of it, with some (major) changes to the character plot while the background remained more-or-less the same.

What is one detail about your story that you're almost definitely keeping?

Do I have to pick just the one? Well, one detail that I was 100% on - and one that I really loved from the original story - was Regina's romantic life and how it affects the plot of the story and everything about King Stefan.

What is one detail about your story that you're almost definitely throwing out or changing?

Well in the original story, Killian and Regina were illegitimate children of King Brennan and Emma was supposed to marry his heir, Prince William. But I threw that out in this version, mainly because I'm going a different direction in the relationship between Emma and Graham.

What has it been like so far to rewrite your story? What has the experience been for you?

It's been good so far. I feel like I've learnt a lot with the past writing events, like CSBB 2018, CSLB, CSSNS etc. I feel like I have a more concrete idea for the plot because I know for sure the stuff that I want to avoid. I've read some of the negative press the original version received, and I've addressed them in the rewrite, so hopefully it works out!

What would you like readers to know about the original version if they decide they're going to read it?

Well, one thing I'd tell is: be patient. I know it takes a long time before the Captain Swan content actually begins but I'm really proud of my set-up. But, it is unfinished/abandoned. I'm not so sure I will get back to it, esp since I'm rewriting it, and it would have very very similar endings. But if you want to get a glimpse of what I'm talking about in terms of my new version, you can take a look and see if you'll be interested in the new and improved version!

#csrt #captain swan rewrite a thon #Captain Swan #csrt promo #the-corsair-and-her-quill

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winterbaby89 · 3 years

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The Fate of the Medjai

ALL 3 of these amazing pieces were made by @abeylin1982 for my 2018 CSSNS fic, so please go give her all the love for these amazing pieces. And keep your eye open for Ch 4 coming soon.

#The Fate of the Medjai #winterbaby89 writes #art by abeylin1982 #Captain Swan #cs au #cs ff #cssns

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iverna · 3 years

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Tactical Magic (4/8)

Emma is out for more than revenge. But maybe, Killian has more to offer. And together, they might just be able to make it work.

Written for @cssns 2018. Catch up on Tumblr or on ao3!

Rated M | ~5,200 words | read on ao3

Chapter 4: Deal With The Devil

Neverland was not what Emma had expected. She’d always had a vague idea that demons lived in some kind of fiery pit, and in all their talks, Killian had never said anything to set her straight on the matter.

She hadn’t expected it to be so... green.

Granted, she could barely see the colour. Because it was also dark, lit by something like moonlight and a faint reddish glow from various points in the distance. It was unmistakably a jungle, though. Leaves rustled and branches creaked in the darkness around her, and the air was heavy with humidity. She could feel the darkness—it was pulling at her, mirroring an ache in her chest, making her feel...

Lost.

There was no indication where she should go, and no one around to ask. All she could see was dark jungle and dark sky overhead. Stars blinked at her, the constellations strange and somehow wrong. There was a path of sorts leading off into the underbrush, though she had no idea where it led.

Still, it had to lead somewhere, and staying here wouldn’t help. Giving herself a mental kick, she walked into the jungle.

It was suffocating; leaf-laden branches pressing in around her, black vines with wicked-looking thorns coiling around trees, making her flinch away. In the distance, every now and again, sounds pierced the night. At first, she thought they were animal calls, birds perhaps. After a while, she realised that it was the sound of crying.

Children crying. The sound echoed somewhere inside her, heartbreak and longing and pain all rolled into one. Emma clenched her jaw and tried to ignore the sound, and the memories that came with it.

Distracted as she was, by the time she heard the whisper of movement behind her, it was too late. A figure slammed into her, knocking her off the path and against a nearby tree, and a knife pressed against her throat.

“You,” a woman’s voice said, low and dangerous, “shouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah?” Emma raised her head, away from the knife, scrambling for some kind of defence. Magic surged in her veins, familiar and hers once again, and she let it fly.

The force knocked her attacker back, though she didn’t fall. She was around Emma’s own height and age, slender and blonde, but the similarities ended there. Her hair was piled on her head in a messy bun, her face was dirt-streaked, and her clothes were torn and frayed. She was glaring at Emma. “Who are you?”

“You first,” Emma countered immediately.

“Tinkerbell,” the woman said, still glaring. Emma couldn’t place her accent—Australian, maybe, or New Zealand? She could never tell the difference. “And it doesn’t matter who you are, really. You need to leave. Now.”

Emma drew herself up. It occurred to her that she was probably talking to another demon, but the thought didn’t bring any fear with it. She’d come here expecting to encounter demons, after all, and something about this woman felt… not quite familiar, but reassuring.

She didn’t know if she should keep her plans to herself, but she didn’t see how she was going to get anywhere if she didn’t tell anyone what she wanted. At the very least, here was someone to ask for directions.

“Not until I find Killian.”

The glare vanished from Tinkerbell’s face as her eyes widened. “What? You—you’re here for Hook?”

“You know him,” Emma said.

“Of course I know him.” Tinkerbell was staring at her. “Why do you? And why would you come here?”

“’cause that’s where he is,” Emma said impatiently—then paused. “Right?”

“Well, yeah, but—” Tinkerbell still looked more than a little confused, but there was a cunning gleam in her eyes, too, like she was putting the puzzle together. “You’re a witch.”

Emma nodded, aware as she did it that she was standing up a little straighter. “Yeah. Emma Swan.”

Tinkerbell blew out a breath. “Go home, Emma Swan.”

“Not until I find—”

“Forget him,” Tinkerbell snapped. “You can’t help him, and you shouldn’t care, and you definitely shouldn’t be here.”

“You know what happened to him,” Emma said, and it was a guess, but she was pretty confident about it. “Tell me.”

Tinkerbell scoffed, and now her anger reminded Emma of Regina, snapping at her for doing something stupid. “Got himself chained up again, didn’t he? You can’t help him.”

“Chained up?” Emma asked, trying to ignore the way her stomach was churning. “By who?”

“Listen.” Tinkerbell took two steps towards her, not threatening, but urgent. “His soul is bound to Pan. He belongs to Pan. And he broke the rules, so Pan is torturing him, teaching him a lesson. Not that he’s going to learn anything. That’d be a first.”

Emma’s insides felt like they were turning to ice again.

“That’s how it works here,” Tinkerbell went on, still with that anger simmering in her voice, though it wasn’t directed at Emma. “And there’s nothing you can do except get yourself caught along with him, so leave.”

Emma was shaking her head before she’d even thought it through. She might not be an expert, but she knew enough about Neverland to realise that she couldn’t hope to take on Peter Pan.

But Killian had known the rules, and the consequences of breaking them. And now he was paying the price for it—for helping her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “I want to talk to Pan.”

Tinkerbell glared at her. “I don’t think you understand—”

Emma raised her chin. “He’s here because of me. I’m not going back. Either take me to Pan, or get out of my way.”

For a moment, they looked at each other, Tinkerbell glaring, Emma meeting her head-on.

Tinkerbell’s anger faded, and there was a new respect in her eyes as she said, “Fine. Makes no difference to me—in fact, bringing you to Pan will gain me some favour.”

Emma almost smiled. Tinkerbell was like him—like Killian. She’d been trying to scare her off for her own good. “So do it.”

Tinkerbell shrugged. “Follow me.”

* * *

Pan’s lair was a huge, cavernous place, like a twisted, half-natural castle of sorts. The huge, heavy oak doors were edged with iron and held by carved-stone pillars that were half-overgrown with thorny vines, a massive, forbidding entryway. Emma stared up at it and swallowed back her dread.

Tinkerbell marched right up to the gate and knocked. It opened, and a young man with a hood over his blond hair walked out, followed by two others who looked even younger, barely more than boys.

“Got someone here to see Pan,” Tinkerbell said, a casual, almost bored expression on her face. “Found her wandering around the jungle.”

“Found her?” the young man repeated. He was skinny, in the lanky, slightly underfed way of a boy in his late teens, but his slow, drawling voice carried an undercurrent of threat. “Hardly. No one wanders around Neverland.”

“She’s a witch, you idiot,” Tinkerbell said, hard disdain in her voice.

The young man turned to Emma, who tried to look as tough as Tinkerbell, although she wasn’t sure she succeeded. “Who are you?”

“Emma Swan.”

He grinned. “Oh. Well, that’s interesting. Come on in, Emma Swan.”

Emma had to swallow back more dread as the gates clanged shut behind her. Two more boys appeared to guard her, while their leader disappeared along a passageway. He returned after a few minutes, grinning more widely than before, and gesturing for Emma to follow him.

The castle was more cavern than building, Emma realised as she walked through it. The walls were rough, vines coiling around the openings that might have been windows or doors or just gaps in the rock. The ground was uneven and slippery in places. Rough-hewn stairs led them downward, footsteps echoing, and the walls turned damp with condensation and moss and algae.

She heard the screaming before she saw anything, and her heart tripped, because she knew the voice, even raw and rough like this. Killian.

She walked along another short passageway, and into a cavern, and saw him.

He was chained, just as Tink had said, lying on a table of sorts with his arms above his head. He wore only a pair of black leather pants and his boots, and the leather straps of his brace. The hook was missing; instead, a chain had been attached to the brace. Emma couldn’t make out his expression from this angle, but she could see the blood. He was covered in it, pale skin almost completely obscured by red.

He turned his head, blue eyes widening as they met hers, and she saw the fear in them. He said nothing, made no sound, but his eyes screamed at her: Run. Get out. Run.

“Ah.” A slight figure stood behind the table—another teenager, sandy-haired and pixie-faced. He walked around the table, arms spread as he beamed at Emma. “You must be Emma. Welcome.”

Emma tore her eyes from Killian, and met those of Peter Pan. It had to be him—she could sense the power in his aura, and even without that, the eyes would have given him away. They were cold, empty, utterly cruel. “Hi.”

“Where are our manners?” Pan asked, half-turning back to Killian. “On your feet for the lady, Captain. Felix, help the captain with his manners.”

The blond young man walked over to a wheel, and began turning it.

“No, don’t—!” Emma took half a step forward, her arm raised, as if she could do anything to stop him. It was her first mistake. Pan’s eyes lit up with cold triumph, and her stomach dropped.

Chains clinked, and Killian’s arms were raised upwards. He gave a strangled groan that became a scream, quickly stifled, as Felix kept turning the wheel, pulling him upwards steadily, mercilessly. He staggered off the table, his body sagging as he tried to get his feet under him. Blood was still seeping from many of the cuts on his body, drops of it making their way downward.

“Stop—” Emma began, and cut herself off at Pan’s delighted smile. They weren’t going to stop. Any pleas she made would only make matters worse.

“You’ll have to excuse the captain. He’s paying his dues.” Pan’s eyes glittered with malice. “He broke the rules, you see. Betrayed me, you might say. I’m very disappointed.”

He looked like he meant it, and it struck Emma that for all that Pan was a centuries-old demon, in this, he was still a boy. A child throwing a tantrum because he’d broken his favourite toy.

Killian stood there, his arms above his head, his hand gripping the chain for support.

Emma had thought she was ready for anything, but she’d been wrong. All of her half-formed ideas and plans had evaporated. She pushed away the panic that wanted to rise, and raised her chin. “Let him go.”

“Oh, no, no. I give the orders around here,” Pan said. “But you... considering you came all this way for him, you must want him quite badly. I’m a reasonable fellow, you know. Maybe we can come to an agreement.”

Killian made a choked sound that might have been a, “Don’t.”

“But first,” Pan went on, “I’d like to talk about how you got here. Snow!”

He snapped his fingers, and a glowing portal appeared in the wall beside him. Once again, Emma watched as the image of her mother appeared, wreathed in flames. She looked defiant as she faced Pan. “What?”

“I’ve got your daughter here,” Pan said. He gestured, and the two boys flanking Emma grabbed her arms and held her there. “And I’d simply love to know how she got here.”

“She’s resourceful,” Snow said calmly.

“Hmm.” Pan grinned wolfishly, and held up something metal. With a pang, Emma recognised Killian’s hook, the silver metal dripping with bright red blood. “Would you like to try that again? Or shall I carve her up like I did your errand boy here?”

“No!” Snow gasped, horror flooding her face. “I—I helped her—it was my idea.”

“Oh, I know it was your idea,” Pan said softly. “I know all about your idea.” He stepped closer to her, his expression turning sharp and sneering. “Did you really think I wouldn’t catch on? You sent him to her. You thought you’d get them to break your curse. And it may be part of the game, but you didn’t play fair. You tried to use him. You corrupted one of my best men. Filled his head with nonsense about love and hope—”

Snow shook her head, fear flashing in her eyes. “I didn’t—”

“He’s a demon,” Pan snarled. “He’s mine. There won’t be any true love, not for him, and not for her.”

Emma had no idea what he was talking about, but her mind was going a mile a minute, and some of it was forming a picture. Pan had something to do with her mother’s curse; he clearly didn’t want it broken. And her mother...

Had she sent Killian to her so she would fall for him?

She shook her head. Surely not.

“And,” Pan continued softly, “not for you. As it happens, Emma being here serves my purpose just fine. But let this be a lesson: you can’t smuggle anyone in here. I know everything that happens in Neverland. No one moves a finger without my permission.”

Snow raised her chin. “I wasn’t trying to smuggle her in. She wanted to talk to you. I enabled that.”

“Sorry I didn’t call ahead,” Emma put in. “Couldn’t reach anyone for some reason. And I don’t have your number.”

“I see.” Pan turned his attention back to her. “You wanted to talk to me? And here I thought you’d come for him.”

“Wanted to talk to you about him,” Emma said evenly. “Let him go.”

Pan shook his head. “Emma. Emma. You ought to know better than that. You don’t make demands of the king of Neverland. You offer him a deal.”

Emma shrugged, feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “Let him go, and I won’t punch you in the face.”

Pan laughed. “Oh, I can see why he likes you. Fun.” He stepped closer, and she braced herself, but he just walked slowly around her, eyes never leaving her. She fought back a shiver. “The captain has a very large debt to pay. He broke the rules. Got involved.”

“Hurt your feelings,” Killian suggested, the words coming out rough and hoarse, between gasps, the taunting, faked sympathy hardly recognisable as such. He was standing, but barely; Emma could see the manacle cutting into his wrist, the straps of his brace digging into his skin as the chains pulled taut above him.

“And he keeps forgetting,” Pan went on cheerfully, with a casual wave of his hand that sent Killian stumbling off-balance, “that he’s not actually immortal. Not to me.”

With a pained grimace, his body straining, Killian managed to stay on his feet. Emma could tell that the effort was agonising, but likely nothing compared to what would happen if he lost his footing and his arms had to support him. It would likely wrench both out of their sockets, and she knew from experience how much a dislocated shoulder hurt.

And with his hook gone, he only had one hand to grab the chain and keep himself upright.

Killian bared his teeth at Pan, eyes burning under those dark brows.

“So,” Pan said, turning back to Emma with another twirl, “a very large debt. Your soul would be enough to pay it.”

“Try again.”

He laughed, looking genuinely delighted. “Ooh. Not worth your soul, is he? Excellent. It seems she doesn’t fall as fast as you, Captain. In that case, I’m going to give you a choice.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“You give up your ability to fall in love,” Pan said. “Or I kill him.”

She felt her eyes widen. “What?”

“Come on, Emma, it’s not complicated,” Pan said, as if she were a simpleton. “You relinquish falling in love, I let the pirate walk out of here. Or you refuse, and I kill him. Either way,” he shot a grin at Snow, “I win.”

“No!” Snow burst out. She looked, if possible, even more horrified than when Pan had stabbed her. “Emma, don’t—”

Pan waved a hand, and Snow fell silent, though her eyes stayed wide in mute appeal. “That’s enough commentary. What do you say?”

Emma looked at him. This was what he wanted, she knew; this was what he’d wanted all along. She glanced at Killian again, found him looking back at her, trying to shake his head.

She swallowed. She’d only been in love once before, and it had ended about as badly as these things could end. For a long time, she’d sworn that she’d never let it happen again. Then, later, she’d thought that there’d been no need to worry on that score, since falling in love required someone to fall in love with, and she hadn’t met anyone who qualified.

Until she’d summoned him. The thought was there at once, but she shook it off. She wasn’t in love with Killian; she’d known him for less than three weeks, for crying out loud. And she wasn’t stupid enough to fall in love with a demon anyway. Demons couldn’t love. She might not be an expert, but she was pretty sure that was a rule.

Wasn’t it?

She shook her head, trying to think. The loophole that Pan was exploiting was clear: love was one of the few things that couldn’t be created or destroyed by magic, so he couldn’t take it away. This was the next-best thing, ensuring she would never develop feelings for anyone.

And given Pan’s words, she was pretty sure why. She looked back at her mother, who was still looking horrified, though Emma couldn’t tell whether it was at the threat to Killian’s life, or from concern for Emma, or something else. Maybe all of it.

Pan knew about her mother’s curse, and didn’t want it broken. And... he thought that preventing Emma from falling in love would prevent that. Was that it?

It couldn’t be that simple. It made no sense. Emma knew that deals like this were always more complicated than you thought; anyone who’d ever read a fairytale knew that.

So maybe there was more to it that she wasn’t seeing. Or maybe he’d made a mistake. She didn’t know, but she also didn’t see much of a choice. Killian’s life was hanging in the balance, and she couldn’t walk away. She couldn’t.

Anyway, she’d lived most of her life so far without being in love, and considering what had happened with Neal, she was probably better off without it. “To be clear,” she said, “you want me to give up my ability to fall in love with someone. Not give it to you or someone else, I just give it up. No one can use it.”

Pan nodded. “Oh, believe me, I’ve no interest in anyone falling in love. You just give it up. Poof. No one can or will use it.”

“And in return,” Emma said, “you’ll let him go.”

“No.” Killian’s voice was little more than a croak, coming out between pained gasps. “Swan—”

“In return, I’ll forgive this transgression,” Pan said. “No more punishment. He can live. But I’m not releasing him from service. His soul is bound to Neverland. To me.”

She knew that he wouldn’t budge on that account; she hadn’t really hoped for it. She nodded. “Okay, but I get to take him with me. Out of here, to... to recover.”

“No,” Killian repeated, louder now. She glanced at him, trying to tell him to shut up; he sent the same look glaring back at her.

Pan cocked his head. “That’s asking a lot.”

“You’re asking a lot, too,” she countered.

Pan considered that; then he nodded. “Fair enough. We have a deal, then. Your ability to fall in love in return for the pirate’s life. He can go with you until he’s recovered. I’ll give you a week.”

He held out his hand. Emma hesitated, glancing reflexively over to where Snow still watched the proceedings, mute but desperately shaking her head. Killian was straining against the chains again, making choked, growling noises like he wanted to strangle Pan with his bare hand. She swallowed. It was too easy. Pan was too eager.

But she knew that saying no would mean Killian’s death.

Looking right at Pan, she took his hand. “Deal.”

“Excellent.” Pan beamed at her, stepped back, and turned on his heel towards Killian. “Well, let the man down, Felix, fair is fair. We’ll find someone else to play with.”

Chains rattled, and Killian hit the ground with a thud, another hoarse scream wrenching from him as he fell. Pan waved his hand and the chains fell away, and Emma hurried forwards, no longer concerned with appearances.

“That—you—” Killian began, but Emma shushed him.

“Can you walk?”

“I—’course I can bloody—” He broke off on a grunt as he tried to get to his feet. Emma slung an arm around his shoulder and helped him up, wincing at every hiss of pain. She didn’t know where he was hurt, or rather, she couldn’t tell where he wasn’t hurt, and she didn’t dare stop and try to heal him before they got out of here.

“One more thing,” she said, glaring at Pan as Killian leaned on her more heavily than he probably meant to. “His hook.”

“Oh, of course,” Pan said with another awful, wide smile as he held up a hand. Killian’s hook dangled from it, glinting in the torch light. “Got to collect all his broken pieces. He does have rather a lot of them.”

Killian said nothing, but Emma could see his jaw flex as he ground his teeth together. She reached out and grabbed the hook from Pan, and all but dragged Killian towards the door.

* * *

Killian felt like he was adrift on the sea, his body agony, his mind numb. His arm was fire where it was slung over Emma’s shoulder, strained muscles crying out for relief, the open cuts burning. Pan’s taunting voice receded behind him, and then there was an endless cold stone passage, and slick, hard stairs, and his legs didn’t want to obey him—had Pan cut off his feet again? But no, he could stand, move, walk, one foot in front of the other, steady, steady...

He didn’t know how they left Neverland. It was a blur, darkness and pain pushing at his mind, Emma’s voice in his ear, telling him to hang on, hang on.

There was more darkness, and the bright spark of magic, and a familiar kitchen that smelled faintly of pizza and cinnamon.

Emma half-carried him into the living room, and he collapsed onto the couch. She knelt down beside him, worry etched on her features. “Hey. Hey, Killian, stay with me, okay?”

His body relaxed slightly, and his mind was slowly catching up to what had just happened. Pan had—she had—

“What—” he rasped, and had to clear his throat. It made him cough, his ribs aching with it, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. “What do you want?”

She’d brought him here. Here, to her apartment, to this soft couch. And she was looking at him with that soft, desperate concern, like she cared, like he mattered. She’d made a deal—that deal. For him.

It had to be a lie. A trick. A trap. There had to be more to it.

“What?” She shook her head impatiently and made to get to her feet. “Just lie still, okay? I just need to go get a few things and—”

He grabbed her arm, stopping her. It hurt like hell, but he held on grimly. He had to know. He couldn’t lie here, waiting, hoping-not-hoping... “What,” he gritted out, “do you want? With me?”

She stared at him. And then she seemed to understand, because something in her expression broke—for him. His heart, battered and jaded as it was, ached. She shook her head, a gentle sadness in her eyes now. “Nothing.”

“You brought me here—”

“I want,” she said, firmly, “to get what I need to help you. I might not be a great witch, but I’m pretty good at healing magic.”

“Healing,” he repeated, coughing out a laugh.

She cocked her head. “You know, you’ve got some trust issues.”

“I’ve got issues of not knowing anyone I can trust,” he corrected, not proud of the way that sentence came out. His thoughts were still rather scrambled.

“Uh-huh.” She grasped his hand and removed it from her arm, his grip pathetically easy to break. His arms shook and ached.

Metal glinted: his hook, held in her hand. She wiped it clean on the hem of her shirt, quick and efficient and heedless of the red stains she left behind. He fought not to wince, not to plead.

He didn’t need to. She took hold of his brace, her movements gentle as she slid and clicked the hook into it. “Look, no offence,” she said, “but you’re not exactly in great shape right now. So how about you let me fix some of those cuts, and then worry about my nefarious agenda?”

She left before he could reply—not that he had a reply. She was right. The mere thought of getting up off this couch was enough to make him want to cry. That last session of being strung up by his arms had left his entire body aching, muscles and ligaments stretched in ways they shouldn’t be. The leather straps around his arm and shoulders had dug into his skin, pressing against bruises and making more. Blood was still seeping from the cuts on his torso and arms, and he knew he’d lost a fair amount of it.

He might as well stay here. Whatever she was planning, she’d do it, and he was in no shape to stop her. And if she wanted to fix him up first—he had no reason not to let her.

Emma returned before he’d finished taking stock of his injuries. She was carrying a cloth and a glass of water, and Killian almost groaned at the sight of it.

“I wasn’t sure if—” she started, but he cut her off.

“Please.” It came out as a croak.

He reached for the glass, but the weight of it was too much; his hand shook, and the other wasn’t there to help steady it. Emma made an impatient sound and took the glass, helping him to keep his head up as he drank. He would have protested at the indignity of it all, but the first drops of water were touching his parched lips, and he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything else.

“Whoah,” Emma said, gripping the glass so he couldn’t tip it further. “Easy does it.”

He had no time for easy. His body was burning, and the water hurt his throat going down, but he didn’t care. He needed more. More.

“What did he do?” Emma asked, her eyes sweeping over his body, taking stock of his wounds. “I take it you can’t heal this yourself.”

“Enchanted steel,” he said. “My hook. His knife. It takes time to heal.” A week, Pan had said. It wouldn’t be enough to recover completely, but he’d take any reprieve he could get.

“Bastard,” Emma muttered, glaring in the general direction of his bellybutton but presumably meaning Pan. Then she nodded. “Right. We’ll see about that.”

She left to refill the glass, and when she returned, she was also carrying a small saucepan with aromatic steam rising from it; he smelled sage and something softer, sweeter. When he’d drained the second glass of water, Emma took it away and set it down. “That’s enough for now. I know,” she added at his look, “but it’s better if you take a break, trust me. Let’s fix you up first.”

She was right, though he didn’t like it. She ignored his grumble, dipped the cloth into the saucepan, and put her free hand on his shoulder. “Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

“It hurts.”

She shot him an exasperated look. “I mean tell me if it hurts more.”

“Aye.”

“Are you always this difficult?” She ran the cloth over a cut on his chest as she spoke. Killian had tensed, bracing himself for the burn, but it didn’t come. Instead, there was a light tingling, and an almost overwhelming relief as the pain faded.

“I’m not difficult.” He closed his eyes as she put a hand on his cheek and brought the cloth to his face. The stinging pain in his eye died away, and he felt the swelling go down. “You really are good at this.”

“Told you.” She sounded a little smug, and he opened his eyes again to see it, the little curl to her lips, the spark in her eyes.

Perhaps he was a fool, but surely, surely, no one could look like that and have an agenda. He’d been betrayed and stabbed in the back often enough to recognise the nuances. “Why did you bring me here?”

She shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea? I mean, I figured after all that,” she waved the cloth vaguely to indicate his torture session, “you might want to get out of there. Even if it’s not for good. Sorry.”

She’d done it for him. She’d bargained with Pan, pushed for this, for him. For his comfort. Anticipating, knowing, that he hated it there and wanted, more than anything, to get out.

When was the last time anyone had considered his wishes?

“Aye, I did,” he managed. “But it wasn’t worth the price, Swan.”

“He was going to kill you.” She said it like it was obvious, like that was all the explanation needed, like it hadn’t been a choice at all.

“He might’ve done,” Killian allowed. His voice was coming easier again, too, the pain in his lungs receding in the wake of Emma and her miraculous cloth. “Even so.”

“Oh, we’re not doing that,” she said, looking exasperated again. “You shouldn’t have, I’m not worth it, blah blah. It’s done. You could just say thanks.”

He laughed, more from surprise than amusement. She’d saved his life. More than that, she’d even bartered for a reprieve. And now she was here, looking after him, her mere presence soothing in a way he could barely fathom. He was used to looking after himself, but part of him, a part he’d done his best to bury, had craved this for centuries. Someone on his side. Someone who cared. For the first time in centuries, he wasn’t alone.

And if she had a selfish reason for it, he couldn’t think of any, not even after centuries of deals and loopholes and hidden agendas. It was hard to believe that someone would do this for him—but it was harder to believe that Emma would do anything else. “Thank you.”

She grinned at him. “You’re welcome.”

And that, as far as she was concerned, was the end of it. As far as Killian was concerned... he thought that perhaps Pan hadn’t been so far off in his assessment of Killian’s feelings, after all.

Damn it.

* * *

Tags: @optomisticgirl @mariakov81 @courtorderedcake @tomeandflickcorner @spartanguard @snowbellewells @karl0ta @heavenlyjoycastle @queen-serena88 @stahlop @inkerii @therealstartraveller776 @bubblegum1425 @iamanneenigma @elegies @itsfabianadocarmo @winterbaby89 @kday426 @sals86 @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @laschatzi @scientificapricot @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @ilovemesomekillianjones

#cs ff #captain swan #ouat ff #cs au #cs fanfic #cs crew #fic: tactical magic #whump #hurt comfort #cssns #cssns 2018

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years

Text

Of Earth and Sea: 2/9

In celebration of the one year anniversary of my first @cssns fic, I’m reposting a chapter a day until my 2019 drop date, especially since each chapter has never been posted to tumblr before. Amazing art above done by the talented @shipsxahoy.

Summary: Five years after their wedding, Emma and Killian are ready to start a family. But Emma discovers that raising a family isn't that simple when your husband is a Dunedin (half-elf) and your mother-in-law is neither dead nor alive.

Rating: T

Tagging: @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @welllpthisishappening @optomisticgirl @wellhellotragic @jennjenn615 @kday426 @mythologicalmango @thislassishooked @xhookswenchx @resident-of-storybrooke

Chapter One

Killian grunted as he swung his arm up to the next ledge. He dug his hook into the craggy rock and pulled himself over the edge. Arms trembling from the long climb, he stood at the pinnacle of stone and gazed out at the horizon. He pulled the water skin from his satchel and took a long drink. He could see the Jolly Roger moored just a few leagues out from the rocky shore. His crew, especially Smee, hadn’t liked the idea of him making this quest alone. The witch, however, had made it clear. This was his journey to take and his alone. He was glad now for it; climbing over these rocks would have been even more difficult with a companion.

The salty breeze ruffled Killian’s hair and tugged at his blouse. He breathed deeply of it, the scent calming him as it always did. And yet there was another tug on his soul. That of rich loam, green moss, and the ancient groaning of trees. He shook his head as if to fight off that half of him. One thing was for certain; he was eager to be away from this rocky terrain.

He turned away from the view of the coast to make his way down into the valley below. The rocks were loose, held together by pebbly soil. Going up it had been both an aid to his hook and a danger. Imbed his metal appendage into a crevice too loose, and he could have gone tumbling to his death. It had been slow going. Now, the loose ground beneath his feet made it a quick journey to the floor of the valley below.

As he walked along the tiny trickle that he supposed could be called a stream, the ground slowly became less rocky. Soon, the water was a true stream, tumbling merrily over smoother rocks. Then it became a lazy river that emptied into a tranquil pool. A thin waterfall streamed from the cliff above, casting a shimmery rainbow in the mist.

By this time, the sun was beginning to dip low, so Killian made camp. He found a spot near enough to the water for the ground to be softer and more comfortable, but near enough the rock wall to keep him hidden in shadows. He didn’t dare make a fire. He ate from his meager rations and then curled up upon the grass, using his satchel as a makeshift pillow.

Dawn had barely come when a rustling sound awakened Killian. He started up from a light sleep, his sword quickly drawn. Heart pounding, he gazed about to see nothing. The silence surrounding him was an oppressive thing, causing the hair on his neck to stand up.

Then suddenly, something white was swooping down, almost clipping his head. He ducked, swearing under his breath, and then blinked in shock when he lowered his arms and looked up. There, standing calmly and regally by the water’s edge was a pure white swan. It lowered its head as if in greeting and Killian rose slowly to his feet. He eased closer to the bird, a question furrowing his brow.

“Is this the sign the witch spoke of?” he asked in a whisper. It felt odd to speak at all in this still and quiet place.

The swan bent its neck slowly, its beak almost to the ground. It seemed to bow before him. Then it turned suddenly, flapped its wings, and rose into the air. It spun in a circle above Killian’s head, then dove into the stream of the waterfall.

Killian rolled his eyes. “I suppose it wants me to follow it,” he muttered sarcastically.

He re-sheathed his sword, slipped his satchel over his head, and made his way gingerly across the slippery rocks to the waterfall. He reached out with his hand tentatively, and jumped slightly when the water parted like a curtain. On the other side, he could see the swan standing patiently, as if waiting for him.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered as he stepped through, “this better not be a trap.”

Once beneath the waterfall, the swan disappeared. Killian swore again as he turned in a circle. What now? He edged closer to the smooth, rock wall behind the falls, running his hand over the slick, wet surface. He paused when he felt indentations beneath his palm. He drew closer, and sure enough, there was a carving there. The elegant neck of a swan, the etchings of feathers at its back. Killian pressed harder against the carving, and a disk of rock collapsed into the wall, light shooting around its edges. Killian squinted against the sudden bright light, backing away hesitantly from the magic. But as the spots of light cleared from his vision, he saw an open archway and beyond it a tunnel carved into the side of the mountain.

Killian stepped inside, wondering how he would see in the dark cavern, only to see a light bouncing ahead of him. When he hesitated over following it, the light seemed to become agitated, coming closer and then skittering away again. As if the light were entreating him to follow.

Killian took a deep breath, reminding himself that swans – white ones at least – were an omen of light magic, not dark. Then again, his own heart was filled with nothing but black deeds. Perhaps the light here wished to snuff out the darkness of his villainous heart?

He made his way down the tunnel, hand hovering at the hilt of his sword, his hook held aloft and ready. The tunnel suddenly curved and dipped downward, and the light he had been following suddenly enlarged and morphed once again into the beautiful white swan. It seemed to stare at him for a moment, then it turned and flapped upward, disappearing in a shower of rainbow colored light. When the bird disappeared, there before him was a simple pirate’s cutlass hanging in an alcove of rock.

Killian shook his head in confusion as he stepped close. He picked up the cutlass, weighing it in his hand and examining the hilt. He rolled his eyes and tilted his head back when he saw the language etched there.

“Elvish,” he muttered, a bitter edge to his voice.

“You found it,” said a breathy voice behind him. He knew that voice well. It’s soft, airy quality that used to soothe him as a child.

Now it sent anger pulsing through his veins.

“You?” he choked out. He had meant it to come out accusing, but instead he sounded like a hurt and betrayed child.

Tauriel came closer, steps hesitant, her hands clasped before her. Her ginger hair was covered by a hunter green cloak. Killian took a step back, wary of her intentions.

“You were the witch in that glade?”

She shook her head, pulling the cloak from her head. “No, but she wasn’t a witch. She was one of my kind. One of the few willing to help elves in my position.”

“You mean the ones neither living nor dead?” Killian spat. “Nice of her. I should have known this was about you, not me. This weapon won’t even work against the Dark One, will it?”

Tauriel remained completely serene, though her eyes became dull and sad. It was an elven trait that Killian had always found infuriating, especially since his own emotions were always so volatile.

“No to both. No, it won’t help your quest against the Dark One. And no, my son, this is not about me at all. You are floundering, Killian, and I can watch it no longer.”

“Ah, yes,” Killian quipped, gesturing with his hook, “watch. All my mother ever does, ever has done. Watch. And what exactly about the show bothers you?”

Tauriel blinked as tears formed in the corner of her eyes, “You are in pain, Killian. You have closed your heart off, wary of love, and filled it with darkness instead.”

“What worries you, mother? That I will waste away like you?” Killian is practically snarling now, his fist clenching. His mother’s form is shifting, and he knows soon she will fade away. Trapped between the living and the dead, she can only communicate with him for brief moments at a time.

“No. For thankfully, the woman you lost was not your true love.”

“How dare you!” Killian cried, his face contorting with pain. “How dare you question the depth of my love for Milah!”

“Oh, my darling,” Tauriel said, reaching her arms out towards him, but they were now so ethereal, she couldn’t touch him, “that isn’t what I mean at all. But you can love again, I have seen it.”

Killian shook his head, “Please, none of your elven prophecies. All your kind ever does is speak in riddles. I’ve no time for it, nor do I put any stock in it.”

Tauriel was only a mere shadow now. “Even so, take the cutlass, my son. The swan would not have led you to it if it weren’t meant for you.”

Killian looked down at the weapon in his hand. It wasn’t delicate enough or ornate enough to have been wrought by elven hands. And yet the words etched into it were elvish. “What does it say?”

He looked up to find his mother gone; his question unanswered.

***********************************************

Killian Jones had varying types of dreams. Like anyone, some were a bizarre mixture of sights, sounds, and thoughts. Ridiculous tumblings of his mind with no meaning. And like anyone he also had dreams that represented his deepest desires and fears. Emma figured prominently in dreams like that and had for some time.

But being a few centuries old with far too many regrets, Killian also had dreams that were simply memories. *Most of them painful, causing him to wake with a start. Then he would take in his surroundings, see Emma lying peacefully next to him, and feel his heartbeat return to normal.

This morning was one of those times, though the memory of the swan, the cutlass, and his mother was not particularly disturbing nor wrought with regrets. Nevertheless, it troubled him, and he spent several minutes watching Emma sleep. He admired the way the early light of dawn shone against her hair. He lifted a few strands, relishing the soft feel of them between his fingers. The strap of her tank top had slipped from her shoulder during the night, and he leaned forward to fix it, his hand lingering against her skin longer than necessary. He leaned forward and planted a kiss there as well. Emma sighed and shifted, but didn’t waken.

He rose quietly from the bed, grabbing a t-shirt from the hamper and slipping it over his head. He didn’t bother with his brace, a fact that still, five years into marriage, filled him with gratitude and wonder. Emma truly loved every part of him.

He walked downstairs to the kitchen and used the Keurig machine to make a quick cup of coffee. He grasped the mug in his right hand and made his way to the back porch. His eyes scanned the quiet yard. Many would have missed the figure on the edge of the property, her green and brown garments blending into the trees. But Killian had the keen eyes of a sailor.

Okay, and the keen eyes of an elf, too.

He ground his teeth, his jaw clenching as he made his way across the yard to her, the dew on the grass wetting his bare feet.

“Mother.”

“Killian.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m always near, my son.”

Killian closed his eyes tightly. So many emotions swirled through him, it was hard to pin down exactly what he was feeling.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

Tauriel raised her hand as if to touch him, then retreated. “Now that you’ve made a home, and are no longer at sea, perhaps we can . . . get to know one another again?”

“And how is that going to work exactly? 5 minutes at a time?”

As if to confirm his words, Tauriel’s shape began to fade. As she disappeared into mist, she smiled and said, “I love you, Killian.”

When she was gone, his fist clenched around the coffee mug. For some reason, anger surged through him and he threw the ceramic as hard as he could against the nearest tree where it shattered into pieces.

“Killian?”

He turned to see Emma standing on the porch, her arms tight around her chest as she shivered barefoot in her knee-length bathrobe. As he walked towards her, he tried to give her a bright smile, and she gave him a crooked one in return.

“I never liked that mug either,” she quipped with a nod of her head towards the trees.

That got a laugh out of him as he walked up the porch steps. He enveloped her in a hug, placing a kiss against the top of her head. “Sorry, love. Tis nothing.”

“Why are you so upset with her still?” she asked, lips pressed against his collar bone. “I thought you both said what you needed to.”

Killian sighed as Emma pulled back to look into his face. His mother had shown up five years ago, right before their wedding. It had been a lot for Emma to process, finding out he was a Dunedain – half-elf. But she had taken it all in stride, including his mother who hovered between the land of the living and the dead.

“So did I, love. But I didn’t expect her to linger here.”

“She loves you,” Emma said, rubbing his arms gently up and down.

Killian gave a half-hearted smile. “I know. It’s just hard having a mother who’s . . .”

“A ghost?”

“I told you, she’s not a ghost. She’s not dead.”

Emma shook her head. “Okaaay, but she’s not really alive, either. Ghost is the easiest label.” Killian opened his mouth, and Emma lifted her hand to stop his explanation. “I know, I know. She’s immortal, but your father broke her heart, so she wasted away, blah, blah, blah. Got it.”

“Are you regretting marrying me? With my elf ears and my half-dead mother?”

Emma truly laughed as she lifted her arms to loop them around his neck. “With my life? You’re one of the most normal people I know. Even at three hundred plus and counting.”

Killian quirked a brow at her teasing. “And at least I’m not a flying monkey.”

Emma rolled her eyes and smacked him in the chest. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

She kissed him lightly as they both laughed. Killian then steered her towards the door back into the kitchen. They made breakfast, moving around the space together with five years of practiced ease. Then Emma went to take the first shower while Killian did the dishes.

If she noticed that he had side-stepped her question about his mother, she didn’t let on.

#cs ff #cssns #cssns 2018 #ouat x lotr crossover #killian as half elf #cs canon divergence

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