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searchingwardrobes · 7 years ago

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Happy Valentine’s Day, @lassluna! I’m your cssv! It’s been great getting to know you these past few weeks. I hope this little gift lightens the load of your studies. You said you liked modern aus, friends to lovers, and angst. I hope this delivers. I’m not one hundred percent thrilled with the ending, but I wanted you to get this on v-day. Hope you like it anyways!

Title: Calling in Sick

Rating: G

Words: 7,00+

An irritating boss, a bikini, and Emma faking an illness. That’s what Killian Jones says brought them together. Emma Swan says he’s overplaying the bikini and downplaying the flu and fever-induced delirium.

Maybe we should go back to the beginning of the story . . .

A flu epidemic had hit New York, the entire US actually, and maybe beyond. But Emma Swan’s had the flu shot. Regina Mills, her boss, doesn’t know that, however. So Emma’s got a plane ticket for a long weekend in Bermuda. Just the thing she needs to escape from the bitter cold, her infuriating boss, and the sneezing, snotting masses on the subway.

Emma grins as she packs her suitcase, humming under her breath as she glances at the clock. It’s 9 am, which means Regina is most likely already on the rampage about something, stalking around the office in her sensible pantsuit with a murderous scowl on her face. Emma is already glad she’s called in “sick,” and she hasn’t even headed to the airport yet. Just as she grabs the brand new, bright red string bikini she just bought from her bureau drawer, she hears a loud knock at her door. She frowns as she walks out of her bedroom and down the hall. Security in her building is tight, and the doorman hadn’t buzzed her about a visitor. There are only two people Marco would just let upstairs to her apartment. Either Mary Margaret or –

“Killian?” Emma frowns in irritation as she leans against the door jamb.

She realizes the bikini is still dangling from her right hand and quickly balls it up in her fist, which she then tucks into her side. Killian doesn’t even seem to notice, however, which should have been her first clue that he wasn’t himself. He is a master flirt, able to turn almost anything into an innuendo. It was why she had hated him at first, until she saw that the cocky, bad boy persona was nothing more than that – a persona. Just like her prickly, screw the world attitude. In the end, they understood each other. Which switched Killian from the “work enemy” column to “work best friend” column. (“You mean your work crush,” corrects Mary Margaret’s voice in her head, but Emma silences it like she always does.)

“Why aren’t you at work?” Emma adds when all Killian does is stare at her with glassy eyes.

“On my way,” he croaks out in a scratchy voice, “but I had to stop by and confirm my suspicions. You, my darling, are clearly not sick.”

Emma huffs, blowing a wayward strand of hair out of her face, “Please, Killian, like you didn’t call in sick after the World Cup last year because you were hung over. Just call it a mental health day. Believe me, it’s in Regina’s best interest.”

“Well, your mental health day is why I’m having to drag my sick arse to the office. Because we both called in, Regina thinks I’m faking.”

Killian, who is normally infinitely patient where Emma is concerned, sounds thoroughly pissed at her. Emma takes a minute to really look at him. His hair is messier than it normally is, and his blue dress shirt is slightly wrinkled, buttoned up wrong, and only half tucked in. Killian may go for “artfully disheveled,” but he’s never downright messy in his appearance. His eyes are also dulled rather than their normal bright blue, and his cheeks are flushed. When he sways slightly on his feet, Emma becomes truly alarmed. She goes to him immediately, ushering him into her apartment as she slings his left arm over her shoulder. He sags against her.

“That bitch,” she mutters as she maneuvers him onto the couch, “she said, what? Come in today or you’re fired?”

“Pretty much,” Killian answers as he pulls the afghan slung over the back of the couch over himself. He tries to chuckle, but his teeth are chattering too much.

Emma hurries to the bathroom for a thermometer. When she comes back, Killian has discovered the string bikini that she had tossed onto the coffee table when she brought him inside.

“I must say, Swan,” he teases as he dangles it from his fingertips, “I do wish I were faking sick. You were going to don this on your getaway without me there to enjoy it?”

Emma rolls her eyes as she snatches it out of his grip. At least he’s well enough to waggle those eyebrows of his. She silences any further innuendos by shoving the thermometer under his tongue, but even with the instrument in his mouth, he grins at her salaciously. This is their thing. He flirts audaciously, she purposefully ignores him. Sometimes she tosses him a biting retort. And for some reason, it works.

“Killian Jones!” she exclaims after the thermometer beeps its result, sounding far too much like Mary Margaret when she scolds David. “103.9! You should be at the hospital!”

Killian shakes his head as he pulls the blanket to his chin. “N-no w-way,” he stutters against his rattling teeth, “th-that place is a zoo right now.”

Emma frowns and swears some more under her breath as she pulls out her cell phone and dials the office. “I’m giving that woman a piece of my mind,” she mutters, tapping her fingers impatiently against her thigh as Regina’s cell rings. “Does she live under a rock? There’s a flu epidemic for God’s – “ Emma is cut off when Regina answers in her typically half-irritated voice.

“Regina,” she bites out, standing up and pacing with her free hand on her hip, “listen, I don’t know what the crap you’re thinking demanding that Killian come in today. He’s got a fever of almost 104, and he can barely walk. It’s obvious he has the flu.”

“And yet the two of you are together,” Regina snaps back. Emma can almost feel her smug grin through the phone. “Just as I suspected. And you sound rather hearty and healthy to me, Ms. Swan.”

“We ran into each other at the doctor’s office for your information,” Emma seethes. She catches Killian’s eye, and he arches both eyebrows, clearly impressed at her smooth lie.

“Fine, Ms. Swan, but I expect a doctor’s note.” And with that, Regina abruptly hangs up.

“Crap,” Emma mutters as she tosses her cell onto the coffee table in irritation.

“What is it?” Kilian asks, his brow furrowing in concern. He starts to try and sit up, which requires way more energy than it ought to.

“Oh no you don’t,” Emma reprimands him quickly, sitting down next to him and grabbing hold of his knee before he can stand. “She just wants a doctor’s note, that’s all.”

Killian whimpers and frowns like a puppy. “I don’t want to go to the doctor either.”

Emma laughs lightly, “Don’t worry, I’ve got something up my sleeve. Now let’s get you out of this shirt and jeans so you’re more comfortable.”

Killian must be getting worse because the innuendo she was fully aware of walking into never comes. Instead, he silently lets her unbutton his shirt and ease his arms out. Emma goes to her bedroom to retrieve a t-shirt she had swiped from his place, and when she comes back he’s down to his boxer briefs and is easing his legs back under the afghan.

Emma helps him into the soft, cotton shirt, and he sighs as she props an extra pillow under his head. “Thank you,” he half-whispers, his eyes fluttering as he struggles to stay awake.

Emma shakes her head at him as she swipes his hair out of his eyes, “Why didn’t you get the flu shot like a sane person?”

“I meant to . . . just . . . ran out of time . . . “ Killian mumbles, voice trailing off as he drifts off to sleep.

Emma has to wake him up when Ruby gets there. Her friend is standing behind the couch where Killian can’t see her, and Emma shoots daggers at her as she mouths “Oh. My. God.”

“Killian,” Emma tells him as she shakes him gently by the shoulder, “my friend his here. She’s a doctor.”

Killian blinks rapidly, then groans as he sits up too fast, clutching his head as he flashes Ruby what would normally be a charming smile. “Apologies, lass. I don’t like meeting one of Emma’s friends in such poor condition.”

Ruby smiles coyly as she sits next to Killian on the couch. “Oh trust me, it won’t take much to impress me. Most of my patients require a lollypop and a sticker.”

Both of Killian’s eyebrows shoot up as he glances at Emma, who laughs. “Ruby’s a pediatrician.”

“But,” Ruby explains as she slips her thermometer in Killian’s mouth and a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm, “I can get you both doctor’s notes for the Evil Queen, no questions asked. And get you a prescription of Tamiflu.”

From her spot on the arm of the loveseat, Emma shrugs at Killian. “And she makes house calls.”

Ruby swabs Killian’s mouth so she can run the flu test. Fifteen minutes later, the test results are positive. She also finds that his blood pressure is low, which means he’s probably dehydrated, and his temperature has gone up to 104.3. It all concerns Emma greatly, even more so when Killian falls asleep before Emma’s even shown Ruby to the door. Not to mention that Ruby is extremely attractive and a major flirt, yet Killian didn’t hit on her once. At the door, Emma’s frowning deeply as Ruby gives her directions on giving him plenty of fluids and warns her that the Tamiflu and his fever might cause him to be a little loopy.

Emma nervously crosses her arms over her chest. “I won’t lie, Ruby I’m worried. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s obviously really sick.”

“I promise you, Emma, he’ll be okay. It’s not the worst I’ve seen, and he caught it early. The medicine will help.” Ruby tilts her head and narrows her eyes as she peruses Emma’s face. Then she leans forward and presses her hand to Emma’s forehead.

Emma leans away from her. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re not sick. Because I can’t understand how a healthy woman could be around a man – a single man – who is that hot on a regular basis and still have him firmly in the friend zone.”

Emma frowns and bats Ruby’s hand away. “Because I don’t make a habit of sleeping with guys I work with.”

Ruby arches one brow at her. “Not talking about just sleeping with him. Now that I’ve actually met him, it’s clear that Mary Margaret is right. You care about him.”

Emma rolls her eyes as she grabs Ruby by the shoulders and steers her through the front door. “Yeah, okay, because I want to make sure he doesn’t die on my couch. I must be madly in love.”

“You sure are protesting an awful lot,” Ruby shoots back.

“Goodbye, Ruby,” Emma tells her, shutting the door on her friend just as she goes to open her mouth again. Emma sags against the door for a moment before shaking off Ruby’s comments. She needs to get fluids in Killian and run to the pharmacy to fill his prescription.

And she also has to make a phone call to the airlines about the trip to Bermuda that she won’t be taking.

*******************************************************

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. She gets Killian to take his medicine, but getting him to take any fluids proves much more difficult. All he wants to do is sleep. At lunch time, she brings him some chicken broth, but he shakes his head. When he does, she notices that his hair is soaked and plastered to his forehead. When she checks his temperature again, it’s 104.5.

“I’m freaking out here,” she tells Ruby when she calls her friend in a panic. “Are you sure I shouldn’t take him to the hospital?”

“I’m sure. The ER is insane right now anyway. He won’t be priority, and he’ll sit there miserable for hours.”

Emma’s brow creases with worry as she shifts the phone to her other ear. Even though he’s sleeping, Emma turns her body away from Killian and whispers her next words into her cell. “But aren’t people . . .dying of this?”

“That’s mostly the elderly and very young children,” Ruby quickly assures her, “Killian is a strong, healthy man in his thirties.” Despite Ruby’s words, news stories Emma has seen swim before her mind. One about a seemingly healthy fifteen year old and another about a 28 year old mother of two. As if she can read Emma’s mind, Ruby continues, “Or they are people who waited too long to go to the doctor or they refused medication. I promise you, he’s going to be fine.”

Emma lets out a shaky breath. “There isn’t anything more I can do?”

“A cool sponge bath could help with the fever –“

Emma groans as she interrupts her friend. “Ruby! I’m being serious!”

“So am I! Geez, Emma! If you’re so uncomfortable with his masculinity, just bathe his face and neck. Of course there’s nothing I can do to protect you from his pretty face . . .”

“Hanging up now, Rubes!” Emma tells her as she pulls the phone away from her ear. Even then, she can hear her friend’s laughter before she ends the call.

Emma squares her shoulders and goes to wet a washcloth in the bathroom. When she returns to the couch, she reminds herself of all the times Killian has put her to bed when she’s had too much to drink. Of all the times she’s nabbed one of his t-shirts and then curled up next to him on the couch to watch Netflix. All of that was completely platonic.

And so is this, she reminds herself as she settles Killian’s head in her lap. He lets out a long, shuddering breath as she brushes back his sweaty bangs. Then she runs the cool cloth along his forehead, trying not to be alarmed at the heat pulsing from his skin.

“Are we on the beach?” he mutters.

Emma laughs, “No, Killian. We’re in my apartment. And it’s winter.”

“But I thought you were wearing a red bikini.”

She bites her lower lip, “No, Killian.”

“Oh. Must be dreaming then. I have lots of dreams about you.”

Emma shakes her head, smiling at his delirium. She isn’t sure if it’s the medicine or the fever, and she wonders what will come out of his mouth next.

“Because I love you, you know. I dream about you because I love you.”

Emma’s hand freezes where it was running the washcloth along his jaw. She forces a nervous laugh past her lips. “You’re delirious, Jones.”

His eyes flutter open, and even though he’s clearly struggling to focus his gaze on her face, the blue of his eyes holds an intensity that arrests her. “I’m not. It’s true. I love you, Emma. I have since that very first day.”

His voice is strong until the last few words, and then he sags a bit against her, as if speaking has drained him of all his energy. Yet he continues talking, his words slurring and dragging as he fights sleep. “But you had such high walls . . . took . . . my time . . . and now we’re friends . . . don’t want to . . . mess that up . . . “

Emma keeps bathing his face for a moment, staring at the familiar ginger sprinkled amidst his dark scruff, the tiny scar beneath his right eye, the unfairly long lashes fluttering against his skin. Skin that feels a little less heated than it had before, so Emma eases Killian off her lap, and rises on shaking legs. She paces to the window, gazing out at the dreary, gray January day. She rubs at her throat as Killian’s words play on a loop in her mind. “I love you, you know. . . It’s true. I love you, Emma.” And it is true, she knows this. She could see it so clearly in his eyes. Maybe she knew before, if she were honest, but it had been easy to pretend that those feelings weren’t there. That he was just her friend and nothing more. But now the words have been released and there’s no going back.

Emma contemplates continuing on as before, pretending nothing has happened. He probably won’t remember any of this tomorrow, anyway. Emma paces some more, gnawing at her bottom lip. The thing is, she will still know. And what makes it worse is that his declaration, whether he will remember it later or not, has made something else startlingly clear.

She loves him, too.

Everyone has tried to tell her. Mary Margaret. Elsa. Ruby just now. Even their boss, Regina Mills, albeit through snarky, thinly veiled comments. Yet she’s always protested, scoffed, rolled her eyes, insisted they were just friends. But now? Now she has to lie to herself, too. And to him.

Emma lifts shaky hands and rubs them down her face. She stares outside and watches the gray clouds turn to mist. There’s only one thing she can do. It will hurt like hell, but they’ll both eventually move on. It’s the only way. She squares her shoulders as she goes to the laundry room to toss the washcloth in the machine.

Emma purposefully avoids looking at Killian. He looks so vulnerable when he’s asleep, and her heart has to remain steeled.

*******************************************************

The remainder of that evening is difficult, considering she still has to make sure Killian takes his medicine, drinks his fluids, and keeps his fever down. As that last happens, his delirium lessens and his eyes get back to their lively sparkle. He only says one more thing to her in his stupefied state, mumbling that she’s “so beautiful” as she checks his temperature.

The next morning, he’s still sick, but much better. He insists on taking a cab back to his own apartment, and Emma tries to hide how relieved she is at that decision. Normally, she probably would have protested and joined him on the couch for some TV binge-watching, but she knows she can’t handle that kind of casual intimacy. Not anymore. So she gathers up his medicine, relays Ruby’s instructions, and walks him to the door. He says, “goodbye, see you at work in a few days,” casually, with a backwards wave of his hand. Emma responds in kind and hates herself for it, feeling like it’s a lie.

It’s a week before Killian is fully recovered and able to return to work. Regina was apparently ripped to shreds by corporate for endangering the office by insisting sick employees come to work, so Killian is actually told specifically to stay away for a full seven days to ensure he isn’t contagious. He starts to get stir crazy by day five, and starts texting Emma almost daily. Her responses are half-hearted, and she prays he doesn’t notice. He doesn’t seem to.

Which is probably why he’s so shocked when his first day back at work he finds Emma packing up her cubicle. He looks like a puppy again as he looks at her with a crestfallen expression.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah,” Emma says with false brightness as she weighs a half dead potted plant in her hand. She debates for a minute, then tosses it into the trash can. “Remember my college roommate, Elsa?”

Killian’s brow furrows as he leans against the partition between his work space and Emma’s. “Aye. The blonde interior designer?”

Emma nods as she sticks her pencil cup into her box of things and reaches for a framed photo of her and Mary Margaret. “Well, she’s been bugging me to partner with her in this new startup of hers, and well . . . I decided, why the hell not?”

Killian frowns for a moment, then puts on a bright smile. She knows him well enough to know that it’s forced. “That’s a great opportunity, Swan. You’ll be bloody brilliant. I have no doubt.”

Emma avoids his gaze as she finishes boxing up her things. She knows it’s cowardly to time her departure this way, on the very day he returns. But his clumsy declaration at her apartment has kept her up at night. She can’t do it, simple as that. It’s too scary. And neither can she try for some casual, physical thing. That ship has sailed; they’re already friends. It would go straight to serious.

And Emma Swan doesn’t do serious relationships.

***************************************************

Emma’s already in her pajamas, hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, her face freshly scrubbed when a knock sounds at her door. She knows it could only be two people, and while she really hopes it’s Mary Margaret with a congratulatory bottle of wine to celebrate her new job, she sort of senses deep down that it will be him even before she opens the door.

“Killian,” she says with false brightness. His face is already intense, his jaw clenching and his eyes doing that thing where they gaze right through to her soul.

So it doesn’t surprise her when his words cut right to the heart of the matter. “I know why you’re doing this.”

Emma feigns ignorance, crossing her arms across her chest and narrowing her eyes. “Doing what?”

Killian dips his chin and raises both eyebrows in that look he gives her when she’s full of bull shit. “I was delirious, but not that delirious. I remember what I said.”

The color drains from Emma’s face as she processes what he’s saying. Her mouth falls open, but words fail her. Of course, Killian’s always had enough words for both of them anyway.

“And now you’re running,” he continues, “You’re scared, and I get it. But Emma, your friendship means too much to me. If you don’t feel the same, I won’t push it.”

Emma presses her lips together as she shakes her head. “It’s not that, Killian.”

It’s his turn to look confused. “What do you mean?”

Emma has always said that words aren’t her strong suit. And maybe she could claim that lack of words is what spurs her in that moment. But it’s really more that she can’t let it go without some memory to cling to. Or without at least knowing how he kisses.

So she grabs him and hauls him in, lips crashing together and teeth scraping. Killian is a quick study, pulling her close and pressing her flush against him. One hand toys with the hem of her shirt, his fingers barely brushing against bare skin. His other hand tangles in her hair, yanking on the rubber band that holds it up so it goes tumbling down her back. Emma’s fingers are threading through his hair, too, but it’s the familiar feel of that softness that yanks her back to reality. She pulls away, breathless. Killian tries to chase her lips.

“That was –“

“A one-time thing,” she cuts him off.

She doesn’t even give him a chance to respond before turning around and shutting the door. Later, he texts her, but she never answers. It says only one line:

That was goodbye, wasn’t it?

*************************************************

The next morning, Emma’s trying to concentrate on Elsa’s tour of the office. Trying in vain to stop replaying the kiss from the night before on loop in her brain. Suddenly, they’ve completed the tour, ending up back in Emma’s office, and Elsa’s standing there with an expectant look on her face.

“I’m sorry, what was the question?”

Elsa laughs in that soft way of hers. “I was asking who the flowers were from.”

Emma shakes her head and blinks in surprise at the arrangement of yellow daisies at her desk. She knows before she even opens the card who they’re from. She told Killian once that people ought to give yellow daisies in the winter because they were like little bursts of sunshine. Then she had rolled her eyes at herself for sounding like Mary Margaret.

Sure enough, the card is in his flowery script. “Good luck on your first day, though I doubt you will need it. I also want to let you know that I’m not going anywhere. When you want me, I’ll be here. Love, Killian.”

Emma can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth nor can she resist the urge to press the card to her lips. She forgets Elsa’s even there and startles when her friend speaks again.

“What happened, Emma?”

“What are you talking about?” Emma slips the card into the top drawer of her brand new empty desk, hoping Elsa doesn’t notice that her hands are shaking.

“With Killian,” Elsa clarifies gently as she leans against Emma’s desk.

Emma groans and rubs at her temple as she collapses into her desk chair. “How did you know?”

Elsa gives her a pointed look. “I know you took care of him when he had the flu, cancelling that trip to Bermuda that you had been going on and on about –“

“Postponed,” Emma corrects with a roll of her eyes, “I postponed my trip.”

“Whatever,” Elsa dismisses with a wave of her hand, “and I’ve been begging you to partner with me in my company for how long? Then suddenly, you’re quitting your job in less than a week? Come on, what happened when Killian got the flu?”

Emma slumps further in her chair, swiveling it back and forth with her toe. “Please, can we not talk about this?”

“Okay,” Elsa concedes, pushing away from Emma’s desk. Before walking out the door, she tilts her head towards the flowers. “Those are from him, aren’t they?”

“Of course they are.”

********************************************************

The gentle knock on Emma’s front door sounds more like a pounding. She groans and throws the afghan over her head. She gropes for the remote with one hand and turns up the volume on the TV to drown out whoever is at her door. Of course, it can only be two people . . .

“Swan!”

Emma groans again, covering her face with both hands.

“Emma, love, Mary Margaret and Elsa both called me. I know you’re sick. And I’ve never done this before, but I think this constitutes as an emergency, so . . . I’m coming in.”

Emma hears the rattling of keys in the lock and rolls her eyes. She flings the afghan off her head with a huff, her hair going wild with static electricity and clinging to her sweaty forehead. Killian merely raises his eyebrows and pushes back an amused grin when he finds her that way, glaring at him when he walks through the door.

“Why are you here?” she snaps as he stops directly in front of the couch. “And you’re blocking my view of the TV. Lorelei and Luke are bantering over coffee again.”

Killian just stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, looking down his nose at her. “A lady calls in need of assistance, and I’m there.”

“I didn’t call you.”

“Your friends did.”

“They shouldn’t have.”

“But they did.”

Emma lets out a long sigh punctuated by an eye roll. “I had the flu shot, Killian. So unlike some people I know, I’m not on death’s door.”

“Mhm,” Killian mutters, practically ignoring her as he heads to the kitchen, “but I know you, Swan. What have you eaten today?”

“I nibbled a pop tart,” Emma replies as she plops back down on her pillow.

“Precisely. Let me make you some decent food. Surely you’ve got a can of soup around here somewhere . . . “

He brings her a mug of chicken noodle just as the episode she’s watching rolls credits. She has to admit the warmth of it in her hands and the steam rising to her nostrils is comforting. Killian leans over and puts the back of his hand to her forehead, and the contact of his skin makes her shiver involuntarily. He frowns.

“You’re running a fever, aren’t you?”

Emma shifts uncomfortably as she sips at her soup. “Yeah, but it’s low. 101.3. Like I said, I’m not dying.”

He pats her leg, and even through the afghan is across her lap, it causes awareness to prickle along her nerve endings. “Well, it’s still nice to be taken care off.”

She smiles at him over the rim of her cup. She’s told him about her childhood, and he’s shared about his. They both get it. So she nods her assent, and he grins. “But what about work?”

His grin broadens. “No more Evil Queen for me. You inspired me, Emma. You are looking at a private CPA who works from home and sets his own hours.”

Emma beams back at him. “That’s awesome, Killian! I’m so happy for you!”

He shrugs and waves off her compliment. “I just got to thinking about it, you know? I was miserable at that job, just the same as you were. And I realized I had all these friends with small businesses. My friend Ariel with that tourist shop of hers, her husband Eric’s fish market, Jasmine’s jewelry boutique. They’ve all struggled keeping their books, so . . . “

“You already have all three of those accounts?”

Killian scratches behind his ear, bashful from her praise, “Those three and four more based on their references.”

Emma reaches for his hand as she tells him how proud she is, and for the first time in two weeks, it doesn’t feel awkward.

The rest of the day is the same way. Killian refills her cup, making sure she drinks enough, and makes her more soup. He checks her temperature and brings her extra pillows.

“Grab my husband pillow from the corner of my room,” she tells him at one point.

“Why do women call these things husband pillows?” he asks as he slides it behind her back.

“You know,” Emma explains, patting the tall back of the pillow and the two arms that extend out at each side, “instead of a husband’s chest and arms, you lean against this pillow.”

Killian waggles his eyebrows at her as he pats at the spot near his heart. “I have a perfectly fine chest if you want it, Swan.”

She rolls her eyes, happy to once again be in that sweet place where they can tease and flirt. But just as soon as that happy, comfortable feeling flares within her, something else takes its place. She imagines him in her bed, his arms around her, her cheek against his chest. She bites her lip and glances away from him, cursing the blush that stains her cheeks.

“Um,” he says, awkwardly clearing his throat, “can I get you anything else?”

Emma swallows the lump in her throat, hating that he can sense the tension in her. “Uh, no, I’m fine.”

By that evening, Emma is already feeling better and her fever is completely gone. She tosses aside the afghan and moves to stand up. Before she can, Killian is at her side.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I feel much better, so I’m going to take a shower.”

“No, absolutely not, Swan. I’ll draw you a bath.”

Emma starts to protest, but Killian’s already in the bathroom, and she can hear the water going. She sags against the couch in defeat. She has to admit, the thought of standing up long enough to take a shower sounds exhausting.

When the tub is ready, Emma enters the bathroom to find a towel, a bathrobe, and a fresh pair of pajamas stacked next to the sink. She strips down and lets out a long, deep, contented sigh as she slips into the warm water. It feels heavenly. She runs the soap over her body, washing away the grime from her sweaty fever. Then she sinks down to her chin, just enjoying the feel of the warm water as it eases away the achiness that has consumed her entire body.

But the longer she lays there, the more conscious she is of Killian in the other room. Is he thinking of her as much as she’s thinking of him? Is he thinking of her in the next room, nude? Because her mind is definitely going places that are far from platonic.

Emma rubs her hands down her face in weariness, then eases herself out of the tub. She towels off and changes, once again touched by his thoughtfulness. She exits the bathroom in her bare feet, shivering even though she’s in both flannel pjs and a terry cloth robe. She sinks onto the couch next to Killian, who’s flipped the TV to a hockey game.

“Emma?” he says with concern as he brushes a finger over her cheek, “Are you okay? You look flushed again.”

Wordlessly, Emma curls herself into a ball and tucks herself into his side. His arm comes around her and pulls her closer against him. They’ve cuddled like this dozens of times as just friends, but now it feels different.

“I think you have a fever again,” he whispers against her hair. She’s pretty sure she does, too, considering the way she’s shaking. Or is it fear?

Killian gets her to take some ibuprofen, then obeys without protest when she asks him to hold her while they watch a movie. She falls asleep against his chest long before it ends, but she wakes up when he stands and scoops her up into his arms. She pretends to sleep so she can nuzzle against his neck as he carries her to her room. She imagines him sharing her bed for the second time in less than eight hours, but not in that way. She imagines falling asleep with him beside her, of waking up to his heartbeat against her cheek. She imagines the rise and fall of his chest against her back as she drifts off.

He tucks the blankets around her, squeezing her hand in his before turning away. Part of her wants to tug him down to her, just like their kiss, all heat and pent up desire. But she knows deep down it isn’t what she wants. So instead, she gently laces her fingers with his. The movement startles him – clearly he thought she was still asleep – and he pauses.

“I ran because I do love you,” she confesses in the dark.

“I know.”

That’s all he says before leaning down to brush a feather-light kiss across her forehead. Most men would take advantage of the situation. Neal certainly would have. But Killian doesn’t. He leaves on soft footfalls, closes her door gently, and lets himself out.

*******************************************************

Emma calls in sick the next day, too. She doesn’t have a fever or any other symptoms, but she still feels like she just got run over by a truck. And her bed is the only place she wants to spend the day.

But by that afternoon, boredom has set in as her energy slowly returns. She’s mindlessly scrolling through Netflix, trying to find something that appeals to her when there’s a knock at her door. She knows who it is this time. Only Mary Margaret can make a knock sound perky.

“Come in,” Emma calls, voice flat.

Mary Margaret turns her key in the lock and then comes bustling in, all smiles with a plate in her hands covered with aluminum foil. She tells Emma they are fresh baked cookies. She chatters away about her day as she tidies the room. Emma clicks off the TV, finding her friend’s voice more relaxing.

“ . . . and so, while I adore Valentine’s day, I’m positively exhausted. Third graders plus tons of sugar is just chaos.” Mary Margaret ends her enthusiastic speech with a dramatic plop to Emma’s love seat.

Emma frowns in confusion. “Today is Valentine’s Day?”

As if fate wants to confirm it, there’s another knock on her door followed by Marco the doorman’s voice, “Ms. Swan, I have some flowers that were delivered for you.”

Before Emma can even process this, Mary Margaret is jumping from the loveseat as she squeals with joy. She practically bounces to the door, thanks Marco, and returns to place the bouquet on Emma’s coffee table.

“I think I know who these are from,” Mary Margaret teases in a sing-song voice. “Buttercups and forget-me-nots are your favorite, right?”

“They are.” And only three people in the world know that. Sure enough, the card is in Killian’s handwriting.

Since we met, not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you. Happy Valentine’s Day! Love, Killian

Emma sinks back down into the couch as she traces her thumb over the writing. She’s been purposely pushing the memory of last night far from her mind. Hoping that she dreamed the whole thing. Surely she didn’t actually tell Killian Jones she loved him. Because she wouldn’t do that. Would she?

“What’s going on between you two?”

Emma fiddles with the corner of the tiny square of cardstock. “In a nutshell, he had the flu and confessed his love to me. Then I got the flu and did the same.”

Mary Margaret smiles eagerly as she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “That’s great!” but her smile quickly falls to a frown instead when Emma sighs deeply and tosses Killian’s little note on the coffee table. “Wait, it’s not great? How can this not be great?”

“Because,” Emma groans, tilting her head back and covering her face with both hands, “I don’t do relationships, remember?”

“Yeah, I know,” Mary Margaret deadpans, “which is why I stopped setting you up. Remember?” She pauses for a moment, then leans forward to squeeze Emma’s knee. “But I think this is different, don’t you?”

Emma lets her hands drop to her lap as she glares at Mary Margaret. “Yeah, it’s different. Killian was a great friend, and now I don’t even have that.”

Emma expects Mary Margaret to launch into one of her famous hope speeches, but instead the brunette rolls her eyes in exasperation. “Or you could have something even better.”

“But how can I be sure? How do I know that it won’t result in a broken heart like every other time?” Emma’s gesturing with both hands as her voice rises.

Mary Margaret gets up and sits next to Emma on the couch, grabbing both her hands in hers. “Listen to me right now, okay? We can never know the future, but with Killian there are a few things I do know. Neal abandoned you, I get that. But hasn’t Killian proven that he sticks around?”

Emma’s brow furrows as she thinks over their friendship. Of all the times her prickly attitude and high walls should have sent Killian running in the opposite direction. But instead, all of that had only seemed to draw him closer. She thinks of his actions since she packed up her cubicle. Two bouquets of flowers and taking care of her when she got sick. Emma lets out a shaky breath.

“Yeah, I guess he has.”

��And Walsh,” Mary Margaret continues, “he lied. He pretended to be someone he wasn’t, and you got your heart broken. But has Killian ever lied to you?”

Emma gnaws on the bottom of her lip as she avoids Mary Margaret’s gaze. “No, he hasn’t,” she admits begrudgingly.

“So are you going to let those two jerks from your past keep you from a guy who already makes you so happy? You’re going to let those assholes have that kind of power over you?”

Emma practically flinches at those words. Emma prides herself on making her own way in life, of punching back when people try to tell her who she ought to be. Mary Margaret knows this well. She’s leveled a sucker punch, and Emma can’t ignore the truth of what she’s said. Emma leans forward and fingers the soft petals of one of the forget-me-nots. Then she makes a decision. Maybe the scariest one of her life.

“So it’s Valentine’s Day . . . “ she muses out loud.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Mary Margaret sighs as she sags against the back of the couch, “it’s cheesy and commercial and –“

“Actually,” Emma says with a huge smile, “I was going to say maybe I want to celebrate it for once.”

*****************************************************

The look on Killian’s face when he opens the door makes Emma second guess this whole thing. Shock is the number one look in his eyes as he blinks three times in rapid succession.

“Swan?” he asks tentatively, as if she might be some sort of hallucination.

“Surprise!” she announces with a shrug. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

The silence stretches on, and the only thing that calms Emma’s nerves is the slight half-smile that hitches up the left corner of his mouth. “Um . . . well, this is a surprise,” he finally says with one arched brow.

Emma clears her throat awkwardly, almost dropping the giant chocolate lips as she juggles the even more gigantic stuffed monkey to her other hand. Killian reaches out and takes the monkey and the candy leaving her standing there holding the string of the red, heart shaped balloon like a kid at the county fair. She shuffles her feet from side to side.

“I shopped last minute, and the selection wasn’t that great, plus I wasn’t sure what you’d like . . . “she trails off when she realizes she’s rambling. “Look, I’m trying to say that I . . . think, anyway . . . that I might possibly . . . want to stop running. From this. I mean us.”

She grimaces at her horrible, stuttering choice of words. She watches Killian’s face closely. Watches as that humorous, half grin morphs into a generous smile that fills his face and lights his eyes. He drops the stupid monkey and the tacky chocolate lips and steps quickly forward, cupping her face in his hands. Just as his lips are about to brush against hers, Emma lifts her fingers to his mouth to stop him.

“I might still be contagious.”

Killian’s eyes darken with desire and his voice drops lower as he brushes a kiss against her cheek and whispers in her ear, “Don’t care.”

Then his lips are on hers, soft and slow. Emma lets go of the balloon string to wrap her arms around his neck, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. She can see the balloon out of the corner of her eye bouncing against the ceiling until it reaches the stairwell where it floats up to the next floor and out of view. Emma kind of feels like that balloon right now. Weightless and soaring, the dizzying heights of Killian’s kisses making her feel free and light for the first time in years.

*****************************************************

The airline had been understanding when she called about her ticket. She told them her plans had changed due to the flu, though she hadn’t offered any details. Since they clearly didn’t want the flu virus sealed in an airtight cabin with dozens of people, they had been incredibly accommodating. She had ninety days to transfer her ticket to another flight.

So here it was, March, and finally Emma was packing for Bermuda. Luckily, she had been able to get a second ticket as well. She’s folding a yellow sundress when Killian comes up behind her and nuzzles her neck.

“Morning love,” he mutters against her skin, “excited about our trip?”

Emma leans back against him, giggling as he nibbles her ear. “Incredibly,” she teases with a suggestive bat of her eyes.

Killian actually growls low in his throat as he grasps her tighter with one arm. With his other hand, he lifts something in front of Emma. Dangling from his fingers is the same red bikini she had bought months ago.

“Don’t forget this,” he teases, “I’ve been dreaming of seeing you in it for weeks now.”

Emma tosses the bikini into her suitcase then turns in Killian’s arm. He grasps her tighter around the waist as she loops her arms around his neck. Their lips meet in a kiss that starts sweet and slow, but quickly turns passionate. Emma is tempted to shove him backwards onto her bed, but suddenly a thought overwhelms her and she breaks the kiss to gaze long into his eyes.

“What is it, love?” he asks, his brow furrowing with concern.

“I’m just happy,” she tells him, fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He cups her face gently and smiles at her in return. “Me too.”

#cssv #cs ff #cs ff au #friends to lovers #the flu

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emmandhook · 7 years ago

Photo

CS SECRET VALENTINE 5th edition fuck yeah! Ahoy! We’re in the fifth edition of this game, it’s a great time to spread and share love about these dorks up there! NOTE: IF YOU DON’T READ THE RULES OR “HOW TO PARTICIPATE” CAREFULLY, CHANCES ARE THAT YOUR MESSAGE WILL BE IGNORED (it’s just the way tumblr works, please, respect it.) WHAT IS THIS GAME?

CS secret valentine is a gift exchange, where you gift something to a random person and receive a gift from another random person! This event is open to everyone, regardless of skill level! The only requirement is a love for Captain Swan.

You will be assigned a person to send nice anonymous asks until valentine’s day! You can woo your valentine, send her pick up lines, fangirl with that person, send her jokes, question about their day, share headcanons, get to know her… Then, on Valentine’s day you can reveal yourself off anon.

HOW TO PARTICIPATE?

Enable the anon option for obvious reasons.

(if the anon option isn’t enabled, I won’t be able to assign you a valentine)

Send me a message ->HERE <- saying you’d like to participate.

ex: emmandhook, I'd like to participate.

SIDEBLOGS CAN PARTICIPATE.

I IGNORE CHAT MESSAGES.

If you have A particular skill and you only want to do that as a gift: let me know in the same message.

Also, if you want to receive a certain type of thing, let me know in the same message too.

I’ll answer you with a blog that will be your Valentine.

Message your valentine anonymously until it’s Valetine’s day (aw!)

WHEN WILL I ANNOUNCE WHO’S YOUR VALENTINE? I’m a busy girl now, so this year, I'm getting help from Ally (@snarkycaptainswan, go and say hi to Ally) AND there are going to be only three days where we'll be able to send you PRIVATELY the name of the blog you’ve been assigned. jan 29th (monday) feb 5th (monday) feb 7th (wednesday) RULES AND SUGGESTIONS

REBLOG THIS POST TO SPREAD THE WORD.

DON’T tag in #captain swan. It can be annoying for many people. Tag your messages as #cssv or #csvalentines instead (use whatever you like).

WOO YOUR VALENTINE (get to know her, make her some pancakes, send poems, compliments, buy her onion rings or you can always give your sibling’s ring to say ILY)

Be relatively active in sending asks / answering asks! You don’t have to send daily asks but at least 2-3 times a week. It’s unfair if someone puts a lot of effort in and you don’t or if you don’t reply to your secret valentine. Let’s make this game enjoyable for everyone!

Ask your valentine what they’d like to get! Your valentine chooses the content of gift, the gift is for them, not for you. (What does this mean? It means that your valentine makes a wishlist and you’ll do your best to surprise her by choosing one -or more, whatever suits you- of those wishes. Don’t ask her to pick a certain thing when you never asked her what she’d like to get or see, for example).

Don’t tell your valentine you’re her/his secret valentine. Pretend you’re a random follower who’s interested in that person. This is a great way to make friends without feeling commited (this is a suggestion, do whatever you want).

ABOUT THE GIFTS:

1. We’ll post our gifts on Valentine’s Day (and with that, we’ll reveal our identities).

note: if you can’t post your gift on 14th, it’s all right as long as you alert your valentine.

2. The gift can be whatever are your skills. Again: ask your valentine what she’d like to get.

3. And, again, if you have a especial request about the gift (you only like stories, you only like drawings, you only like…) let me know and I’ll assign you a especial valentine.

4. Your valentine can get all the gifts you’re willing to make. Deadline to join us: February 7th If you have any other questions feel free to send me messages here. There will be days I won’t answer that quickly, don’t freak out if you don’t get an answer soon. Let the game begin. ;D

#captain swan #cs crew #cs secret valentine #cssv

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huffleporg · 7 years ago

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Happy Belated Valentine’s Day, @theblacksiren! Thank you for being so patient with this! I hope you enjoy my Captain Swan in Han/Leia style! :) This is the first thing I’ve done completely digitally (or at least, nearly completely, since I did draw it out on paper first but had issues with my scanner so I decided to try this).

Thanks for being such a great Valentine!

#captain swan #ouat #fanart #Emma Swan #Killian Jones #my art #my work #my drawings #cssv #cssv 18 #captain swan secret valentine #star wars

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awkwardnessandbaseball · 7 years ago

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Galentine’s Day

Happy Valentine’s Day @pearlmackie :)

I’m your CS Secret Valentine! It’s been so lovely to get to know you over the past few weeks, and I hope you like this fic I put together for you ;)

AO3

GALENTINE’S DAY , Emma began to type. She’d been assigned a story on the phenomenon and was less than eager to get started.

“It’s like Valentine’s Day, but with your friends. The girls. The gals, if you will,” Regina had said earlier that day.

“Right but… I don’t have any ‘gals’ to celebrate with. I’m the worst person to assign this story to. Give it to, like, Mary Margaret. She’s probably got enough friends to have Galentine’s Day every day of the week.” Emma really didn’t like to turn an assignment down, but this was just so out of her realm of expertise. She normally did stories that required hours of research and difficult-to-obtain interviews. She’d nearly forced her way into politicians’ offices and snuck into at least three press conferences she hadn’t been invited to.

Storybrooke Press was a no-name newspaper in a no-name town, but it was Emma’s paper and it was her town, too, dammit. She loved stories that exposed hard truths and made people question everything they were being told.

“Mary Margaret’s got some sort of special romance story she’s working on,” Regina had rolled her eyes. “She wants it to be a surprise, but I told her I obviously have to give the ‘OK’ before it goes to print. Regardless, she’s busy. Galentine’s Day is yours.”

Knowing there would be no arguing with Regina anyway, Emma left her office in a huff. Now, she sat in front of her computer, the cursor blinking at her, taunting her.

It wasn’t just that Emma didn’t have any ‘gals’. She didn’t have any… anything. She’d grown up alone, bounced around within the foster system until she’d finally aged out of it. She’d tried her hand at romance, but Neal Cassidy had been the wrong person to try it with. He’d done nothing but lie and cheat, but at the very least, her story about him had gotten her onto the paper to begin with.

When he’d left her broken-hearted and just plain broken, Emma had written a detailed account of all of the jobs they’d pulled – every store robbed and every pocket picked – right up until the stolen watches he’d left in some locker on the other side of the state. She’d written it as a form of self-healing, posting it to a blog she’d kept anonymous.

Regina had been intrigued by her writing style and her voice and had emailed the address Emma had created for the blog. She’d asked her to come into the office. Regina promised to keep the blog separate from the conversation, to never bring up Emma’s past that she’d revealed.

It was unconventional, but it was the first time Emma had seen a future for herself. From the moment she’d walked into the Storybrooke Press offices, she’d felt a sense of comfort that she could only assume felt like coming home.

But just because the writing world had welcomed her with open arms, that hadn’t mean her co-workers needed to do the same. Emma knew she came across as a bit prickly and standoffish, but she’d been alone for… ever. She didn’t know how to approach people with anything less than a large amount of distrust and a small dose of fake smiles. The ladies at the paper all knew she was faking, and made no attempt to coerce her into conversation.

Except Mary Margaret.

The lead writer for the Lifestyle section, Mary Margaret Nolan was the kindest, most giving and open person Emma Swan had ever met in her life. There were times – like when she was sick, and Mary Margaret reached into her purse for tissues and cold medicine; or when she’d locked her keys in her car and there was Mary Margaret with a wire coat hanger, shimmying the window down – when Emma really wished that she could have been adopted by the Nolans. They were the same age, of course, but there was something distinctly motherly about Mary Margaret and Emma felt like a kid again whenever she came around with her freshly baked cookies or collecting signatures for someone’s birthday card. Her husband, David, had come to visit once, delivering a full bouquet of flowers to his wife, but also a single flower for everyone else in the office.

It was part charming, part ridiculous. Emma secretly loved it.

Still, even Mary Margaret was no match for the sky-high walls Emma had built around herself. At first, Mary Margaret had tried inviting her to group outings – trivia night, bowling, happy hour, you name it – but Emma declined, and she stopped asking.

Staring at the yet-to-be-written story on her screen, Emma nearly jumped out of her skin when the very subject of her thoughts spoke from behind her.

“Oh, Regina gave you that story? That’s so lovely!” Mary Margaret was nothing if not genuine, despite all the times Emma had tried to see some sarcasm or skepticism in her tone, a darkness behind the light in her eyes. “Have you decided who you’re going to take?”

“Excuse me?” Take where? , Emma thought to herself.

“Well, which girls you’ll be taking out for Galentine’s Day, of course!” Mary Margaret was bouncing on the balls of her feet, and Emma breathed out a deep sigh.

“I hadn’t really planned on throwing a Galentine’s Day… thing. I’m not sure who to invite.”

Mary Margaret’s jaw dropped.

“Oh, Emma, you should come to mine! We’re going to that restaurant across town with the silly pirate statue out front. They do a really great brunch special to celebrate!”

“I’m sorry, The Jewel of the Realm does a special for Galentine’s Day ?” Emma tried to keep the nasty tone out of her voice, she really did. She snorted, despite herself. “They probably just want all the girls to come in so they can hit on them.” To Emma’s surprise, Mary Margaret giggled.

“Probably! But it’s worth it – all-you-can-eat for two people for twenty dollars!” She bit her lip. “Please come, Emma. I’d love to help you with your story, and some of the girls from the office will be there, and some of my other friends, too.”

“How many… how many people, exactly?” Emma really didn’t relish the idea of sitting at a table with a ton of strange women, watching to them get champagne-drunk on mimosas and listening to them talk about… what did large groups of women talk about? Emma assumed that on a day like “Galentine’s”, they didn’t talk about men.

“Hmm,” Mary Margaret silently counted on her fingers. “I think I’ve got five for sure, including myself. Six, if you agree.” And there she went, bouncing again. Emma resisted the urge to put her head in her hands and instead forced a smile.

“Sure, I’ll be there.”

“Oh, Emma, that’s fantastic! We’ll be there at ten in the morning, and stay till about noon.” Before Emma knew it, Mary Margaret was hugging her, bending down and wrapping her arms around both Emma and her chair.

The things we do for journalism , Emma thought to herself.

~~~~~~~~~~~

At roughly quarter after ten, Emma strolled into the Jewel of the Realm. It was packed, with laughter echoing in every direction. Emma heard champagne glasses clinking and smelled a whole lot of bacon.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Emma! Over here!” Mary Margaret was waving her arms over her head from a round table with one empty seat. Emma made her way over and Mary Margaret jumped right in with introductions. “So you know Ruby and Elsa from the office,” the two brunettes waved and looked at each other, seemingly surprised that Emma had actually shown up for something, “and this is my neighbor Belle and my childhood best friend, Ashley.”

Emma lifted her hand up in a small wave and promptly took her seat, eager to have all of the attention focused on literally anything in the entire world but her .

The conversation picked up quickly, and Emma felt a bit lost. Here were five women who’d clearly known each other forever. They were talking about memories Emma wasn’t a part of, stories she hadn’t been present for. She had nothing to share, nothing to add.

“Emma, what was your favorite birthday party theme when you were a kid?” Mary Margaret asked her suddenly. “Ashley and I had a joint party one year and everyone dressed up as princesses. It sounds so silly, but it was so fun at the time!”

“I um… I never had a themed birthday party.” It would have been easy to lie, to say she’d had a princess theme too, and to simply agree with everything the other girls said, but Emma was never going to get a story out of this ridiculous day if she didn’t participate on some level.

She was a journalist, dammit.

The table went silent for a moment.

“Me neither,” Elsa said. Every head at the table turned her way and Emma instantly felt herself cool off. “My parents passed away when I was very young. My sister and I were raised by our aunt, and she didn’t really believe in large birthday parties. We each got a cupcake or a few brownies, but never a party.” Her eyes met Emma’s from across the table.

“I was raised by my Grandma,” Ruby jumped in. “She’d bake me a cake or something, but I almost always had to work at the diner on my birthday once I was old enough. No bouncy castles for me, either.”

Emma cleared her throat.

“I was raised in the foster system.” Oh God, what have I done? She hoped Elsa and Ruby didn’t think she was trying to out-do their stories, make her own childhood sound worse, as though it were a competition. “I get myself a cupcake on my birthday every year now, though,” she added with a shrug. “We all have our traditions, I guess.”

She looked around, and all the women at the table were smiling at her.

On her second trip to the buffet, she was so focused on the seven different bread options, that she completely missed the man behind the station talking to her.

“Miss?” he said, and he sounded exasperated, as though he’d said it more than once. Emma looked up and instantly felt herself blush.

A man with dark hair and blue eyes, who looked as though he hadn’t shaved in three days, was staring at her. And he was hot .

“Sorry, yes?” Emma blinked a few times. He grinned, clearly pleased with himself for catching her off guard.

“I was asking you if you’d like bacon, ham, or sausage.” He winked. Oh, God . Emma tilted her head.

“This is the bread station,” she replied, instantly feeling absolutely ridiculous. The man laughed good-naturedly.

“Yes, it is. But the meat station is up ahead, and my brother asked me to find out what you’d like, so he can have it ready for you. That okay?” He raised an eyebrow and smirked at her, waiting.

“Oh. Okay.” He was far too good looking to be taking her breakfast order on a day when she wasn’t supposed to be talking about men. Or was she? Was that rule ever actually established? “Bacon, I guess.”

“Excellent.” He walked away and reported her order to the man at the grill. The man handed over the spatula and Emma watched as the dark-haired man started cooking her food himself. It shouldn’t have been hot, but she found herself biting her lip. Focus, girl!

“I thought you said your brother was manning this station,” she said as she reached the grill, plate half covered with a slice of wheat toast alongside an everything bagel.

“I told him this was a special order, so he could take a break.” The man looked up from the grill, his eyes meeting hers. “That okay?”

“You ask that a lot,” Emma mused.

“I try to make sure I’m not offending anyone,” he grinned, passing the sizzling bacon from the grill to her plate.

“You’re not,” she smirked at him. Belatedly, as she sat back down at the table, Emma realized they’d been flirting.

By the time noon came around, Emma was full of mimosa and eggs and toast and bacon… and a little more mimosa.

Spilling her past about the foster system had been tough, but once it was out in the open, Emma found it easier to relax and tell stories – good and bad – about her childhood. She listened to Belle’s stories about her beast of an ex, and shared her own gripes about Neal. Mary Margaret talked about her struggles to get pregnant and Emma found herself tearing up.

“You can adopt me,” she said before she could think better of it. The whole table laughed, and for a moment, Emma was embarrassed.

“Um, me too, please!” Ruby shouted.

“You and David have enough room for three grown adult women to become your adopted children, right?” Elsa was nearly crying with laughter.

And then they all had tears streaming down their faces, and Emma wasn’t sure how much of it was out of sadness for Mary Margaret’s struggles or their own pasts and how much of it was out of pure, unadulterated amusement at the idea of David Nolan being surrounded by four adult women, three of whom were proclaiming to be his children.

She was nearly out the door, check paid and phone numbers exchanged with girls she’d barely even known a few hours ago, when Emma caught the eye of the man who’d made her bacon.

“How was it?” he shouted from his post – he’d moved onto eggs, apparently.

Emma found herself walking back into the restaurant towards him.

“It was decent,” she shrugged. His jaw dropped.

“Just decent?”

She shrugged again.

“Let me cook you something else.”

“I’m pretty full, actually. Mimosas and eggs and toast and all that.” She looked up at him, wondering what his next move would be.

“Tomorrow then.” He was determined, the set of his jaw and the furrow in his brow told her as much.

“Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day,” she laughed. He raised an eyebrow.

“Have you got plans?” She couldn’t read his face or his tone anymore.

“Well, no, but—”

“Great. We’re having a Solo Special. If you come in and let me, Killian Jones, co-owner of The Jewel of the Realm, cook you the meal of your choosing, it’s on the house.”

“I’m sorry, you’re offering a free meal tomorrow?” A short gentleman serving himself some eggs interrupted. Killian didn’t turn away from Emma’s stare.

“Only for her,” he said simply. “She said my bacon cooking skills were decent. I’m simply out to prove her wrong.”

Jaw hanging open, Emma was speechless.

“What do you say, then? One-time only offer. Unless you like the food. And me. Then you can probably come again some other time and chances are, I’ll cook you something on the house again.” He winked at her.

Flirting, again.

“Okay,” Emma was surprised to hear herself say. It must have been all of the mimosas. She’d see if she actually felt like showing her face in this restaurant again when she woke up clear-headed.

“What shall I place the reservation under?” he asked her as she turned to leave.

“Emma Swan,” she told him, and she left.

~~~~~~~~~~~

GALENTINES DAY , Emma typed in a brand-new Word document. She hadn’t gotten any further than the title in her original attempt, but starting fresh with a brand new perspective felt like it would be good for the story.

For someone who grew up on the outside looking in, Galentines Day seemed like little more than an excuse for a bunch of women to get drunk on mimosas and complain about their lives. There didn’t seem to be a point to it – don’t ladies get together all the time to talk about menial things? Why a whole day dedicated to it?

But then I realized Galentines Day is about more than just champagne served before noon.

Valentine’s Day is about showing the person you care for romantically that you cherish them. You show them love every day, but on one day every year, you’re allowed to get as cheesy and romantic and heart-eyed as you deem fit. You can get sappy and wax poetic about the first time you met, and how their eyes struck your soul or some other over-used line that would seem out of place on any other day.

Galentines Day is about showing your friends that you cherish them. It’s about sharing your past and your present and your hopes for the future, and about making new friends when you didn’t think you could. It’s about appreciating each other in a way that maybe you don’t go out of your way to do the rest of the year.

And maybe it’s also about drinking champagne before noon.

It turned into a late night and an early morning, Emma writing and editing and writing and editing. She made it strictly factual, then added opinions back in. She shared one of her own experiences from brunch, then erased it for fear of exposing some part of herself she wasn’t ready to share.

She handed in exactly 700 words to Regina exactly nine minutes late, but there were no complaints, and both women seemed to think they’d won, somehow.

“So, are you going back to see that hot guy today?” Ruby asked Emma at lunch. Apparently, making friends also meant that Emma didn’t have to eat her lunch alone at her desk anymore. She was invited to the diner next door, owned by Ruby’s grandmother, with the rest of the girls.

“What hot guy?” Emma, of course, knew exactly what hot guy, but she hadn’t realized that anyone else had even noticed their interactions from the day before.

“Don’t play dumb,” Ruby grinned. “I came out of the bathroom and saw you talking to the guy at the egg station. I thought I heard him offer you a free meal.”

“Wait, the owner of The Jewel of the Realm offered to cook for you?” Elsa’s voice reached a record-high pitch.

Ruby, Mary Margaret, and Emma all turned to her, surprised by her reaction.

“I’ve had a crush on Liam for forever ,” Elsa admitted. “I go there, like, once a week, hoping I can get his attention somehow.”

“Liam? Oh… that must be Killian’s brother,” Emma realized.

“There, now you have to go back!” Ruby grabbed Emma’s hands. “If only to set poor Elsa over here up with Liam.” She gave her best attempt at a puppy dog pout, but only ended up looking like a model posing for a photograph.

By the end of lunch, Emma was pretty sure she was going back to The Jewel of the Realm.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello, do you have a reservation?” The hostess smiled at her.

“Um, maybe? If I do, it’s under Emma.” She couldn’t believe she was here. It was Valentine’s Day, and some stranger was cooking her dinner. Was this a date? It seemed like a date. But did dates generally cook you food… in the restaurant you were eating in?

The hostess grinned even wider, somehow.

“Emma Swan?” Emma nodded. “Yes, there’s a reservation here. You can follow me.”

The girl led her to a table off to the side, somehow just a bit quieter than the rest of the restaurant. There were two place settings and a candle in the center of the table.

“Killian will be with you shortly,” the hostess told her, as though Killian were just another server and not the owner of the damn restaurant .

What the hell was Emma doing here?

She sat for a moment and considered getting right back up and walking about, but a man approached her with a wine list and she decided that if nothing else, alcohol would certainly help her feel a bit more at ease. She’d done all of the flirting in the world yesterday with just a bit of champagne in her system after all.

She chose a cheap white from the bottom of the list, but she knew as soon as she tasted her glass that it was top-shelf. Cheap wine didn’t go down that smoothly.

“I hope you didn’t order a low-grade wine because you thought you’d have to pay for it,” Killian said as he sat down, seeming to appear out of nowhere.

Emma blushed.

“I told you this was on the house,” he raised an eyebrow at her.

“You said the food was on the house,” she pointed out, unfolding her napkin across her lap, simply for something to do.

He sighed.

“The whole thing is on the house, Swan. You’re lovely and I would have asked you on a proper date for Valentine’s Day, but I own a restaurant, so this is pretty much the best I can do.” He bit his lip, and for the first time, Emma realized that he might be as nervous as she was. “Is this okay?”

“This is nice,” she assured him. “It’s great, actually. I’ve never had anyone cook me a meal before, so you’ve got a low bar set for you.”

“No one’s ever cooked for you?” He looked far more surprised than she’d expected. She shrugged and shook her head. “What’s your favorite food? We’re talking, last meal before the electric chair, guilty pleasure, absolutely cannot live without it meal.” He stood as he spoke.

“Um, I don’t have a very refined palate,” she admitted. She admitted that she’d grown up on lukewarm French fries and day old peanut butter sandwiches, mostly.

He smiled.

“Chicken tenders and onion rings it is.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

Wine with a kids meal , Emma thought to herself. The epitome of romance .

Killian came back with a huge pile of onion rings and a basket of chicken tenders. It smelled incredible, and Emma’s mouth began to water.

“I know it’s not exactly a romantic meal, but I find that eating whatever food makes you happy also helps you enjoy the company you’re with.”

“Is that some long-winded cliché you just made up on the spot?”

He grinned.

“Maybe.”

“So, did you make all of this fresh, just for me?” She hadn’t kept track of how long he’d been gone, not wanting his staff to catch her glancing at her phone constantly. They were no doubt all watching her, and she didn’t want them telling her she was an impatient jerk who couldn’t wait for her food to come out.

“I did,” he said. He at her, and she met his eyes. She believed him.

The food was unsurprisingly delicious.

“How are you able to sit and enjoy an entire meal in the restaurant you own on such a busy night?” She asked him as she finished her third glass of wine.

“My brother’s running the floor right now, he’ll come and get me if he needs me.” Killian sipped his water, still working despite the fact that this was very clearly a date.

“Speaking of your brother, I have a friend—”

“That blonde girl from your party yesterday? Oh God, please tell me she’s interested in him.” Killian rolled his eyes. “She’s in here constantly and all Liam does is whine about how pretty she is, but he won’t just go and talk to her.”

Emma laughed, and Killian tilted his head.

“She is,” she said when she caught her breath. “When she heard the owner of this place was cooking me dinner, she almost lost her mind. I had to tell her it was you, not your brother.”

This time, Killian laughed with her, and they must have looked quite the pair, cracking up with a half-empty bottle of wine on the table.

“Bring her with you next time, then.”

“Next time?”

“Yes, if… if you want to come back, that is.” There was that nervous smile again.

Emma nodded.

“I do. This was… nice.”

“Killian!” came a voice from the opposite end of the restaurant. Killian’s eyes closed as his head fell forward.

“I’ll be right back ,” he assured her, reaching over and squeezing her hand before he went.

He was only gone a few moments, but he looked much more disheveled upon his return.

“I’m afraid we’re down a cook, so I’ve got to head into the kitchen and take over. I’m so sorry. I hope—”

“Do you have time to walk me out?” Emma bit her lip, feeling the buzz from the wine bring a flush to her cheeks. She pulled out her phone to order an Uber. “I’ve got… six minutes until my driver arrives.” She looked back up at him.

“Yeah, I can spare that,” he grinned. He helped her into her jacket and offered her his arm. They walked out of the restaurant together, and the hostess erupted into giggles as soon as they passed her.

“This was a really nice night, Killian. Thank you.” Emma told him as soon as they were outside.

“I’m glad. I was a bit nervous you wouldn’t come.”

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted. “But the girls at work convinced me that it was a good idea.”

“I’ll have to thank them sometime.” He took a step closer to her.

“When should I come back with Elsa?” she asked, feet glued to the spot they were in. Would he come closer still?

“Whenever you like. I’m usually not here Tuesdays and Liam’s not here Thursdays. Other than that, I’m all yours.” He was nearly flush against her now.

She tilted her chin up, wondering if people still kissed on the first date. She thought for a moment about how horrible her onion breath probably was, but before she could consider it too deeply, he was kissing her.

He stopped quickly.

“Was that ok—”

She grabbed his jacket and kissed him again. Her phone buzzed with the arrival of her Uber. She pulled away and sure enough, there was the blue Ford Focus she was supposed to be waiting for.

“I’ll be in on Friday,” she told him before she could think better of it, and climbed into the car. She could see him through the passenger side mirror, touching his lips and staring after her, and she smiled.

#captain swan #captain swan fic #galentinesday #galentinesgift #csvalentines #valentinesday #captain swan ff #captain swan fic rec #captain swan secret valentine #cssv #cs #cs fic #cs fanfic #pearlmackie

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iwonderwhenyousleep · 7 years ago

Text

Cinnamon Fudge Birthday Cake

A/N: Happy Valentines Day @nerdyhuntress! I'm your Captain Swan Secret Valentine! I really enjoyed getting to know you the past few days and hope that we can continue to be friends! This is a little story that is set on Emma's first birthday after the S6 finale. I really hope you like you gift! (BTW this is an actual recipe for a real cake, if anyone ever gets the urge to make it. You can find it by googling Land O Lakes Cinnamon Fudge Birthday Cake. It should be the first thing that pops up.)

2 cups all-purpose flour

What the hell does all purpose mean? Can I use it to sharpen my hook?

1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa

1 teaspoon baking soda

Soda? Like that bubbly brown drink Henry loves so much?

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 3/4 cups sugar

1/2 cup butter softened

1/3 cup vegetable oil

How does one oil vegetables? At least there are some vegetables in this recipe. My Swan will not get scurvy on my watch.

1 large egg

What makes an egg large?

1 tablespoon vanilla

1 cup buttermilk

Does that mean putting butter into a bottle of milk? Gross.

3/4 cup hot coffee

FILLING & FROSTING

4 (1-ounce) squares semi-sweet baking chocolate

1 pint (2 cups) Heavy Whipping Cream

Heavy? So, I need to weigh all the different creams?

1 tablespoon butter

1 tablespoon light corn syrup

Corn? Like that stuff that got stuck in between my teeth the time Dave grilled last summer?

1/4 cup powdered sugar

1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon

STEP 1

Heat oven to 350°F. Grease and flour 2 (9-inch) cake pans; line bottom of pans with parchment or waxed paper; set aside.

Waxed paper? Do I need to get a candle and drip wax on a paper?

STEP 2

Combine flour, cocoa, baking soda, salt and 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon in bowl; set aside.

STEP 3

Combine sugar, 1/2 cup butter and oil in bowl. Beat at medium speed, scraping bowl often, until creamy. Continue beating, adding egg and vanilla, until well mixed. Gradually add flour mixture alternately with buttermilk and coffee, beating at low speed until well mixed.

STEP 4

Spoon batter evenly into prepared pans. Bake 30-32 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool 10 minutes. Remove from pans. Cool completely. Remove parchment paper.

STEP 5

Combine chocolate, 1/2 cup whipping cream, 1 tablespoon butter and corn syrup in saucepan. Cook over medium heat until chocolate is melted. Refrigerate 1 hour or until thickened.

STEP 6

Beat remaining 1 1/2 cups whipping cream in bowl at high speed until soft peaks form. Add powdered sugar and 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon; continue beating until stiff peaks form.

STEP 7

Place 1 cake layer on serving plate. Spread chocolate mixture over cake layer. Spread 1 cup whipped cream mixture over chocolate mixture. Top with remaining cake layer; frost with remaining whipped cream mixture. Store refrigerated.

When Killian got the idea to make Emma a birthday cake, he thought it wouldn't be quite this complicated. He read and reread the recipe, but after about the tenth time the words stopped meaning anything at all and became lines on the page. First, he'd gone through all the different recipes that Belle had gotten him from the library. There had been the traditional vanilla, triple chocolate, something called carrot cake which confused Killian to no end (why would anyone want a cake to taste like a carrot?), and about a dozen others. Once he saw the recipe for a cake with cinnamon in it, he knew he had to make it for Emma for her birthday.

He wanted to prove to Emma, and the rest of the town, how well he was adjusting to life in Storybrooke. He remembered how to turn on the oven, and where the baking supplies were. He knew how to go grocery shopping for all the ingredients. He'd even arranged for Will Scarlet to get into a bit of "trouble" so the sheriff would have to be out of the house for a few hours while he made his creation.

He'd gone to the grocery store the day before and hidden all of the ingredients in the hardly used tool shed. While he didn't have the greatest track record with keeping things hidden in that particular area, he was hoping that that would be the reason that no one would suspect he had hidden anything out there. When Emma had left, he quickly hung up a banner that happily proclaimed "HAPPY BIRTHDAY EMMA!" and inflated the dozen balloons he had picked up, and put the roses he had bought safely far away from where the cooking would be taking place.

All of a sudden, he found himself standing in front of a kitchen table filled with different ingredients and he was baffled. He started to question the resolution he had made to do this by himself. Surely, Granny or someone would be willing to help him. He wanted everything to be perfect for Emma. She deserved a perfect birthday after all of the horrible ones she'd had growing up.

After a minute of staring at the ingredients and looking at the recipe one more time, he moved to the oven and turned it on to what he really hoped was the correct temperature. He grabbed a large bowl from the cabinet where they were kept and became combining the ingredients as the recipe instructed.

After forty minutes, two broken eggs on the floor, a bag of flour spilled in his hair, somehow, and only one burn from the oven, Killian began to rethink his plan again. He was just about to take out his talking phone and call for backup when he heard something outside that made him pause and his heart beat faster. The closing of a car door. Emma was home early.

Without thinking, he ran to the door to prevent her from seeing the complete mess he had made inside.

He slammed the front door shut behind him just as Emma was walking up the driveway. "Swan! You're home early! I mean, you're home!"

He was scrambling and Emma could tell. Killian might have liked to boast that she was an open book to him, but that went two ways. "Did I somehow time travel again?"

"What, love?"

She pointed to his hair and then he remembered that, in his haste, he still had flour covering his hair, turning it gray. "I gotta say, I kind of like it." She tenderly brushed away the flour as best as she could. "What's going on?"

In certain moments, it really hit him how much Emma had grown since he first met her. She knew he was keeping something from her, but she was still looking at him with love and trust. She was totally open with him and that was the greatest gift Killian could ever hope to receive. "Um..." He nervously scratched behind his ear. Emma went to reach for the door handle to let herself into the home, but he quickly pressed his lips to hers in an effort of distraction that quickly got out of hand for the public setting of their front porch.

"Now, why was I here?" Killian asked, dazed by the kiss. Distracted by his own diversion, Killian couldn't stop Emma from walking into the house.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the kitchen. The floor was a sticky mess, the counters were coated in a little bit of every single ingredient.

"I'm sorry, love. I had Scarlet fake a call to the sheriff's office so I could have some time alone to make you a proper birthday cake. But, turns out, I am not as skilled at baking as I believed I would be." She had her back to him so he couldn't see her expression. "I just wanted to make this birthday perfect for you."

When she turned around, Emma had a big smile on her face. "I am torn between wanting to laugh at the comedy of this mess, and hug you because this might be one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me. And you yourself have done some unbelievably sweet things." Apparently, she decided to go with a combination of the two because she flung her arms around him and he could feel her laughter shaking her body where it was pressed against his. "I love you." She said when the laughter had stopped.

"I love you, too." He responded.

They broke apart and Emma insisted on helping Killian finish the cake. While he wouldn't let her do any of the actual work, he did let her instruct him while seated in one of the kitchen chairs and after he got her a hot cocoa with cinnamon. It went much more smoothly with Emma helping and the kitchen was soon filled with the smell of chocolate baking. They may have made some extra frosting for other purposes, but most of it did end up on the cake.

Later that night, they met up with everyone else at Granny's with the cake in tow. Granny gave them a somewhat dirty look at bringing their own food into her diner, but Emma soon explained and Granny had a piece herself after dinner.

For the first time in her life, Emma Swan had a perfect birthday, surrounded by family and loved ones.

Baking a cake together became a tradition for birthdays in the Swan-Jones household, and every time someone would have a birthday, the kitchen would be filled with the smell of sweets baking and the sounds of love and laughter.

#captain swan #cssv #csff #cs au #cs mafia #cs crew

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onceuponaprincessworld · 7 years ago

Photo

Emma was on their bedroom getting ready for tonight. Killian had everything planned, Mary Margaret and David would babysit the twins, he had already drop them off, then he was taking his wife for a quite walk by the water and they will continue for dinner and some alone time at the Jolly.

Killian knocked on their bedroom door asking “Swan, are you ready?”

“Yes, I am, come in” Emma answered answered as she applied the final touches on her make-up.

“Wow, you look beautiful” Killian said with awe in his voice. Emma was wearing a red dress that was showing all of her assets.

“Thank you, so do you” she said with a little smile and gave him a little kiss.

“Before we go love, I would like to give you a little something” he gave her a pink valentine card with a swan.

“Oh Killian it’s great. I was going to give you yours with your gift later but here, Happy Valentine’s day.” She gave him a card with a pirate and a ship.

“Thank you, Happy Valentine’s day, wife.” And he leaned down to give her a more passionate kiss.

Happy Valentine’s day @captainodonoghue. I was your CaptainSwan Secret Valentine, it was so nice getting to know you. I hope you like your gift, I try to include your thoughs for a perfect valentine’s date.

#captain swan #cssv #cssc18 #cs photoset #my photoset

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nerdyhuntress · 7 years ago

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“How Do I Love Thee?”

@effulgentcolors Hi there! I’m your CS Secret Valentine and here’s your fanfic! I really hope you enjoy it :)

Summary: Season 3 canon divergence. After months of courting, Emma wishes to make Killian happy on Valentine’s Day. Fluff abound!

Note that this is the dress Emma’s wearing <https://xo.lulus.com/images/product/xlarge/2956630_127386.jpg>. If anyone would be a dear and photoshop her into it, I’d love it so much!

Killian Jones wasn’t a foolish man. He spent centuries traversing the realms and encountering many cultures along the way. But no land had as many festivities as Storybrooke seemed to have.

When he walked into Granny’s one morning, he was surprised to find the whole diner tinted pink. The place was hardly recognizable. Rose ribbons and streams hung from the ceiling and hearts patterned the walls. His Swan was sitting at the counter, sipping coffee.

Emma grinned when she saw him, “Hey, you got my text?”

“Aye, love,” he smiled, taking the seat next to her. “What’s this valentime’s day about?”

“Valentine’s,” she corrected in a patient tone. “It’s a holiday. Like, where you do things for people you lo - like.”

There it was again, those walls of hers. He waited ever so patiently for her, and he’d wait centuries more if need be, but oftentimes, she was so infuriating. Adorably, yes. But it was infuriating to see her deny her feelings.

“I see. So what festivities does one plan?”

“I mean, whatever you want. I was thinking we could maybe have a picnic on your ship. Or if you want to stay in, we could finish ‘Empire Strikes Back’ ”.

Killian stroked her back, “Whichever strikes your fancy, Swan.”

She giggled, “No, really. I kinda want to make this day about you. Come on, what do you want?”

“Well, I’d be partial to a picnic on my ship, love. But why? I know the occasion, but there’s no need for anything big.”

“Don’t you want a day where we just do what you want, babe?” she said, stroking his arm. “It’ll be fun, trust me. I’ll see you on your ship at noon, ok?”

“I’ll be anxiously awaiting your arrival, my sweet,” he grinned, placing a chaste kiss on her hand.

Emma didn’t know why she was overthinking this.

She spent ten whole minutes trying to figure out what to wear. It may not seem like much, but she hardly ever spent that long deciding on an outfit.

It’s just Killian, she kept telling herself, he’d be impressed by you if you appeared in a goddamn potato sack. Just pick something, damn it!

But her transient dwellings hadn’t really left her with much of a wardrobe. Or much of anything, really. She wasn’t sentimental and preferred not to hold onto things, unless they had practical uses. It was a habit, a frustrating one that she never really grew out of. Jumping from foster home to foster home hadn’t given her something stable to focus on.

Until now.

She was seriously considering wearing the black leather dress she wore to the last date with Walsh when she had another idea.

Emma headed to Henry’s room and found his storybook. Flipping through the pages, she finally found the illustration she was looking for. She and Killian dancing at the ball in the past. Herself in that red gown and Killian looking dashing in his princely coat.

She didn’t wish to replicate the dress entirely, for she had no desire to spend the night struggling to breathe in a tight corset. Emma simply wanted to mimic its style, but with a smaller skirt and no sleeves. She hadn’t tried this type of magic before and was unsure how it would work. Nonetheless, she focused deeply on how good this dress would look on her and concentrated.

“So what am I to wear to this type of an occasion again?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a suit or something?”

It was his turn to walk Henry to school and despite the boy’s insistence that he was too old for this, Killian thought he really did enjoy it. Especially when he regaled the lad with tales of the high seas and swashbuckling adventures. Though he knew Henry didn’t regard him as kin yet, Killian hoped it was only a matter of time before he did.

“Hey, Hook,” he said, “Just make her happy. I don’t think she cares, really.”

“You think so, lad?”

“Yeah.”

Shouldering his backpack, he waved goodbye as he boarded the schoolbus. Killian pondered the boy’s words, once again admiring how he truly was wise beyond his years.

Killian walked up the gangplank on his ship, knowing he was early.

He hadn’t really changed his clothes much. Just a black leather jacket, jeans, and a dark blue shirt. He held a boquet of roses behind his back, bought fresh from Game of Thorns. They were said to be the greatest symbol of romantic love or at least that’s what the shopowner insisted. His pulse was racing, hoping that she would appreciate his new change in attire. He’d had that leather dust and black vest on for as long as he could remember.

Killian then heard heels clicking on the gangplank and watched Emma come in. All the air seemed to be siphoned out of the room once he laid eyes on her. She had on the most stunning scarlet dress (red was most certainly her color) and her hair was curled, golden curls cascading down her shoulders.

“Swan….uh, you look….”

“And you look….” his Swan replied, struggling to form words too.

An awkward silence settled upon them. Killian wasn’t sure how long it last. It could have been months or even centuries. All he knew was that he’d never stop looking at her.

His Swan cleared her throat, holding up the picnic basket, “Well, I suppose we should…..get started on lunch?”

Emma couldn’t remember a time where she felt more at ease with Killian. He was the perfect gentleman during their date. Pouring them wine, placing his jacket around her shoulders….it was all adorable and something she hadn’t experienced, well, ever. She loved the feeling of being pampered and appreciated.

But that wasn’t what she wanted at the moment.

She wanted this day to be about him. To make him happy. Emma couldn’t recall a time she had grown fond of a man like this, so fond that she wished to give the romantic gestures.

They were lying on their backs now as the sun set, feeling full from the meal they had eaten. Emma was rubbing the back of his neck casually, but then noticed something.

“Killian, babe. You have knots here. Do you want me to massage them?”

A blush suddenly came over her, unsure of what she had just said. Did she really just ask to rub his neck? She didn’t really think of herself as that type of a woman, but hell, when else had she gotten this type of a man in her life before? A little doting wouldn’t be strange.

“Huh, oh sure, love.”

Making him sit up, she gently placed her fingers on his neck. She started it out slowly, unsure of how it would go. But she was amazed at how well she managed to massage the knots out. All the while, Killian was groaning and telling her how well her fingers worked. She was sure she’d put those fingers to another use later tonight, but for right now, she wanted to help her man.

Perhaps this massaging would be a good part time job.

After her massage, Emma didn’t stop there.

Killian was amazed at the food she brought out, even a delicacy she called a “chocolate covered strawberry”. She fed it to him and giggled at his delighted reaction. Granted, he always had a sweet tooth, even when there was only the blandest of foods available aboard the ship.

His Swan swept her hair back, exposing that ravishing clevage of hers. Gods, he spent the whole morning toiling away at the fishery and right now, he wanted nothing more than to relax and bed her.

“Anything else you need, Killian?”

“Not really, lass,” he whispered, putting his hand forth and stroking her hair. “Just you.”

“You have me,” she said, leaning into his touch.

“Aye, that I do.”

They both seemed to lean forward at the same time. The kiss was chaste and sweet; he wondered why he waited so long for this. Killian craved her in a way he never had before.

When they broke apart, Emma was breathless, her gorgeous cheeks were flushed. She still kept her hands on him and he wished she’d never let him go.

“Swan, I….I have to say I’m very happy with everything and all. All this for me….I rather liked it, I have to say. But why?”

Her green eyes suddenly seemed to glow in the moonlight. And he was sure they’d nearly filled with tears, but with the gentle smile on her face, he was sure those were derived of hpapiness.

“Killian, I think I would’ve said the same thing if you’d done it for me. I did it because….well, I don’t think we’re used to it. Never have been, you know? Someone taking care of us or pampering us. I just….I wanted you to feel special.”

He grinned, “Well love, then I’d say it’s….”

“Mission accomplished?”

“Aye, that.”

She giggled and leaned in for another kiss. And as the night went by below decks with much pleasurable activities, Killian Jones felt that he was the luckiest man in the world, indeed.

#cssv #cs secret valentine #captain swan #ouat #captain swan fanfiction #cs ff #cs fanfic #emma swan #killian jones #my fanfiction

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briannasroger · 7 years ago

Note

It's okay! You have nothing to apologize over! I'm the one that's had to scrap her initial idea because in the process of having too much to do, I also had too much time to think and it was not working out the way I had hoped. So here we are! I'll definitely explain that once I reveal myself by tomorrow night. So there, that's my deadline! Be on the lookout for me! Bless this Monday off from work so I can catch up on life! - 🌹

I had issues like that during my last time in this event! The idea became too much and I didn’t have time to finish it so I ended up scrapping it -- and then my second idea was the same way so I had to just make it a two-parter. Thankfully, I just forced myself to finish the one for my person this year and ended up with that 6k mess I posted for them (which I’m actually semi-proud of). But no worries, I get that life, I hope your next attempt didn’t cause so many issues! Can’t wait to see you! :D

#cssv #cssv2018 #shush mira #Anonymous

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stophookingatmeswan · 8 years ago

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And All This Devotion (1/1)

Happy Valentine’s Day, @once-upon-a-captain-swan!

Hi, dollface! I’m your CSSV and had so much fun writing this for you. I’ve enjoyed our little chats over the last few weeks and I hope you enjoy the story. I tried to put as many little touches of you in it as I could.

xoxo,

Megan

****

The knock came at 2:05. It was tentative, barely pulling Killian out of a dreamless sleep and for a moment, he thought he’d imagined it. Fuzzy-brained, he was a second away from chalking it up to a rattling pipe or noise from the street when another knock came, this one more insistent.

Tossing the covers off and cursing as he kicked his feet free from the tangled sheet, he padded through the living room, throwing the deadbolt and dramatically pulling the door open, ready to give his untimely visitor hell while wearing nothing more than a pair of boxer briefs and a scowl.

The piss and vinegar was short-lived when his eyes fell onto the figure standing in the hallway.

Her face was red and blotchy with strands of blonde hair sticking to tear tracks. A cheap diaper bag, stretched to the limits and overflowing, was slung over her shoulder, one of those infant car seats designed for carrying at her feet, the baby inside asleep.

Chin lifting just enough to convey some measure of pride, her eyes wouldn’t rise enough meet his. When she spoke it was to the dog tags resting on his chest.

“We didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

****

He’d left them. Run off with another woman while she was at work, leaving behind nothing more than a few clothes, an eviction notice and heartbreak. She and the baby had been sleeping in her car for weeks, her job lost due to not having money for a babysitter, moving around to different parks and parking lots to avoid being ticketed for loitering. It was an exhausting way to live at best and dangerous at worst.

The final straw had been witnessing a midnight scuffle that turned bloody, the assailant tossing the knife he’d used to stab a man as he ran past her beat up yellow VW, yelling, “If you tell the cops, you’re next, bitch!”

The open-palmed smack he’d delivered to her window had both terrified her and woken Henry, who had been sleeping peacefully in her arms. As her son started to wail, so did she, hot tears of frustration, anger and shame flowing with no signs of stopping. She quickly consoled Henry, popping him into his car seat and a pacifier into his mouth, the trilling hum of the car’s engine lulling him back under as she left the park, trying to convince herself she was driving aimlessly when she damn well knew she wasn’t.

“Any time, Swan.”

“You’re always welcome.”

“Anything you need.”

It would take her two hours and nearly all the gas she had left in her tank to make the drive to find out those words once spoken were true.

****

“You look tired. When was the last time you had a good night’s sleep?”

Emma didn’t have to look up from the steaming mug of tea he’d brought her to know Killian’s eyebrows shot up when she mumbled, “Month, maybe.” The Earl Grey was nowhere near as interesting as her intense stare may have suggested, but it kept her from seeing any pity he be may throwing her way. Aside from an initial sweep to ensure he hadn’t moved and that the man opening the door in his underwear was her old friend from high school and not a random stranger, she really hadn’t looked at him much at all, and she balked when he said her name softly, shaking her head.

“It’s okay. It’s been a little rough lately. I just – we need a place for the night, then I’ll figure something out in the morning. I wouldn’t have asked but – Henry.” Voice trailing off, Emma barely caught the sob working its way from the back of her throat, but the teardrop falling into her tea was almost deafening.

The couch shifted, the three-foot gap Killian had left between them as if she were a skittish kitten after his trip to the kitchen suddenly filled. He smelled the same, the softness of the ratty tee shirt he’d pulled on hauntingly familiar and both served to undo any strength she had left to keep up a wall.

She let her cheek fall onto his shoulder as his arms circled her, stronger and more muscled than they used to be after a stint in the Navy, and Emma let herself melt into his embrace, her shoulders wracking as she cried until she couldn’t cry anymore.

****

The morning brought two waves of panic that raced like ice water through Emma’s veins.

One, she was in a bed, not her car. When the events of the previous night rushed back and she realized Killian must have brought her into the guest bedroom. Two, when she leaned over the edge of the mattress expecting to see Henry asleep in his ring of pillows only to find he was gone.

Jumping up, Emma raced out of the room, stopping short when she saw two dark heads at the small kitchen table.

Henry was in Killian’s lap, happily fisting what looked like Gerber puffs and drooling copiously over the wrist their host had wrapped firmly around the baby’s midsection to keep him upright. Emma pressed a hand to her chest, partly to ground herself after the moment of panic and partly to quell the tug on her heartstrings at the sight of someone acting more fatherly to Henry than his own had a day in his short life.

“Morning, Swan. Coffee maker’s over there.” Killian’s head jerked toward the counter next to the sink and the smile on his face faded when she didn’t move. “I hope this is okay.” He looked over at the Gerber canister and then to the crushed, gummy mess in Henry’s hand. “I watch Liam’s kids sometimes and their youngest is right around his age and loves these things.” Killian’s eyes widened comically. “He doesn’t have any of those allergies, does he? Like…soy? Or gluten?”

As Killian grabbed the canister and scowled at it, Henry kicked his legs and started babbling, giving Emma a toothless grin. He looked happy and she felt more rested than she had since everything had gone to Hades in a hand basket. And coffee did sound good. Maybe a night away from the current wave of bullshit the universe was currently handing them was something they both needed.

“Those are fine for Henry. Uh, thanks.” She took the baby from his lap and nudged Killian with her other hip as she walked past him to the Keurig, stopping short when she saw the box of hot chocolate K-cups and a plastic shaker of cinnamon; a throwback to their high school days when everyone they knew gleefully ordered double espressos just because they could while Emma wrinkled her nose and artfully sprinkled spice on the extra tall swirl of whipped cream on her own drink.

A lump rose in her throat.

Killian had always been too much.

Too nice.

Too giving.

Too open.

Too earnest.

Too willing to give her his heart.

Too willing to shoulder her burdens.

It made her want to run.

Haphazardly fixing herself a cup of the breakfast blend coffee in a box next to the hot chocolate and leaving the nostalgia where it sat on the counter, Emma turned and went back to the table, putting down her mug and apologizing when the baby blew a raspberry and what was left of the puffs he’d been hording in his mouth like a hamster landed all over the table. She took a sip of coffee after settling with Henry and looked down at her cup.

“Thanks for letting us crash with you. I think we’ll get on the road after I finish this.”

To avoid looking at Killian, she busied herself with Henry’s hair. At four months, most of the sides and back had fallen out – totally normal according to the ratty copy of a child development book she’d found at a thrift store while pregnant. The shedding had left him with a tuft of hair on the top of his head and not much else. Emma thought it was adorable and buried her nose in it, dreaming of the day he’d smell like Johnson’s baby shampoo and powder again instead of the industrial soap from gas station bathrooms.

“Swan –“

She didn’t wait to hear him out. Taking a last gulp of coffee, Emma stood, slung the baby onto her hip and walked back to the guest bedroom, praying to a God she wasn’t sure was even listening that Killian wouldn’t follow her.

No such luck.

Putting Henry down in his pillow ring for some tummy time, Emma started gathering their meager things. Her stomach churned just thinking about the impending awkwardness of leaving made infinitely worse by the weight of Killian’s stare from where he leaned against the doorway.

“Stay.”

The casualness of his tone was designed to put her at ease and Emma cursed internally because it almost worked. She faltered just a bit before picking Henry up off the floor and putting him into his car seat.

“I can’t. We have to go.”

Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.

“Go where?”

Dammit.

Her pause gave Killian the opening he needed.

“I have a proposal for you.”

It wasn’t funny and he didn’t mean it matrimonially but Emma chortled anyway. A few weeks ago she had a fiancé and an apartment and a real family. And now? Now she had a broken heart, a literal mobile home and a son whose father had abandoned him. She didn’t think she had it in her to accept any more proposals.

“And for Henry.”

Emma’s temper rose in a flash and she stood, turning on Killian.

****

“Don’t use him like that. Don’t use him to get me to accept your charity.”

Emma looked him dead in the eye now and, for a split second, Killian pitied the idiot who had left her high and dry should she ever catch up to him. Luckily, he was used to this version of Emma – the one for whom fighting was a natural state – and Killian went on calmly.

“I have an empty room.” He gestured with flourish. “I have a flexible schedule. It’s one of the perks of managing the bar instead of being a lackey. That means if someone needed a babysitter while they got a job to get back on their feet, one would be available.”

He could see the wheels turning in Emma’s head and Killian wanted to simultaneously roll his eyes over her stubbornness and pride, and high five her for the bone-deep tenacity she had to make her own way. Tossing Henry into the mix was risky and, if he was being honest, a pretty low blow, but desperate times call for dick move measures.

“I’d pay you.” She said it quickly and definitively, crossing her arms.

“After you’re settled.”

“Jones.”

“Swan.”

She bit at her lower lip with her teeth, eyes darting to Henry who had fallen asleep, a pile of smushy baby with his chin resting on his chest.

“Just until I can afford a place of my own.”

“Of course.” He crossed his own arms and, when he saw her gaze leave his, flexed his pecs to make them jump. Her laugh was short, but he’d take it.

“And you don’t buy anything for Henry. He’s my responsibility.”

“Understood.” Killian gave her a cheeky grin and saluted.

“Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.” Emma’s head tilted and she grinned back as he bowed dramatically.

“I would despair if you did.”

****

Emma recognized that look - the darting eyes, the spiking adrenaline, the wistfulness, and the fear. The hunger.

And as the young girl in the same too-large shoes and the flannel with the worn out elbows reached for the box on the shelf with one hand while fidgeting with the flap on her book bag, Emma pretended to be occupied with one of the toys hanging on Henry’s carrier, Killian in the next aisle over muddling over exotic spices Emma had never even heard of.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the girl stuff the box into her bag – strawberry, her favorite, too – and Emma took a few quick steps to grab the thin wrist before it could clear the dirty khaki canvas.

“Take it out and come with me.”

The girl, scared into silence, walked beside Emma as she grabbed a few more things, meeting back up with Killian and rolling her eyes as he bent to pick up one of the many jars he was juggling. Before she could say a word, he turned and popped a butt cheek out in her direction.

“What the hell are you doing, twerking in the grocery store?” Emma looked down at the proffered ass. “Get that away from me.” She laughed as he bumped it even more in her direction, giving her a salacious grin.

“There’s a twenty in my pocket. Take it to cover these.” He held up his treasures. “Who’s this?”

He finally noticed the girl standing by Emma’s cart and went back to standing normally once the money had changed ownership.

“A friend. Let’s get Henry moving before he realizes we’re standing in one place and loses it.”

Heading to the checkout, Killian made quick work of emptying her cart onto the conveyer belt and when he finished loading and moved forward, she nodded to the box of Pop Tarts the girl was holding.

“Put them on.”

The girl balked, shuffling her feet. A hand with bitten nails came up to tuck a lank of neglected hair behind her ear.

“I don’t understand. I thought you were going to turn me in.”

“I don’t think you need help getting into trouble. But I’d bet you could use a little help staying out of it. Put ‘em on.”

Emma stepped to the register and counted out the cash for her purchase. Money was tight and she was still counting every penny, but two months of working in a bail bonds office afforded her the ability to trade off with Killian when it came to buying the weekly groceries along with taking care of Henry and saving for an apartment. When she heard a gurgling laugh, she looked back to see the girl making a silly face at Henry and cooing at him.

Killian caught her eye as Emma shuffled a few things around in the grocery bags, raising an inquisitive eyebrow but she shook her head. Emma thanked the cashier and grabbed few of the bags, watching as the girl rushed to help then blushed and apologizing when Emma bumped into her.

“No, those two are yours,” Emma said as the last of the bags came off the carousel. “There’s some bread and peanut butter in there, and some apples. And Pop Tarts.”

She started pushing the cart toward the exit, Killian quiet – for once - at her side, and heard the slap of sneakers coming up behind them. They were ten feet past the doors before the girl was able to step in front of her.

“I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Look, kid. I’ve been where you are. I get the pride. I get feeling like you have nothing. I even get slipping some things in your pockets just to have something in common with the kids at the next lunch table. And I’ve had somebody help me out before. So…just take it and pay it forward when you can.”

The girl nodded, blinking back tears and mumbling a thank you. As she darted off around the store, Emma looked at Killian. His eyes were soft, searching her face and he shook his head slightly as he stared at her.

“Just who are you, Swan?

It sounded like a loaded question and coupled with that look – the one he’d been giving her for months when he doesn’t think she’s looking as she rocked Henry to sleep or they fought over the small sink in the bathroom in the mornings – it was too much.

Whipping her ponytail over her shoulder, she started toward her car, tossing a flippant, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” back to where Killian was standing.

As she turned her back and walked away, she could have sworn she heard him say, “Perhaps I would.”

****

Killian knew he’d had his share of women. Probably more than his share. And he knew from the long-distance relationship that hadn’t worked out when he was in the Navy to the string of one-night-stands since that “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” was an apt description on occasion. That he was prepared for, learning as a sixth grader watching his older brother navigate the early waters of dating and getting an earful over the phone for stupidly breaking up with one girl to ask out her friend.

What he hadn’t known about, and was currently getting a crash course in as Henry wailed uncontrollably, was that hell also hath no fury like a teething baby.

He swayed in the living room with an armful of sweaty, angry baby going through the list of remedies in his head.

Henry had chucked the teething ring behind the sofa the second it had thawed and no longer provided icy relief. The Tylenol Killian had carefully measured out and given him couldn’t touch the pain from cutting four teeth at the same time. Neither could the Orajel he’d massaged on Henry’s gums. Even his favorite – a slice of cold celery to chew on that was carefully monitored to ensure he didn’t bite of a piece and choke – was flung aside in favor of screaming.

Two seconds away from calling Emma on the chance the only thing that Henry really wanted was his mom, Killian’s brain floated above the deafening sounds of crying and offered a last-ditch idea.

As he walked down the hallway to Emma’s room – it hadn’t been called the guest room since the second night she’s stayed – chatting to Henry over his bellows.

“Alright, kiddo. Your mom is working overtime trying to catch that skip, so we’re doing to give this a shot.” He went to Emma’s dresser, sparsely decorated with a few garage sale and Dollar Store finds, and picked up a necklace and slipped it over his own head.

****

Counting the cash in the envelope twice before letting herself believe it, Emma’s hand smacked down onto her steering wheel.

“BOOM!”

She’d done it. Six months since the man Killian had officially dubbed “That Asshole” had left her and she’d knocked on Killian’s door in the middle of the night with twelve dollars to her name, she’d done it. There was finally enough money to get an apartment and even furnish it if she bargain-shopped.

The grin on her face stretched from ear to ear and, after a long night of getting dolled up for her “date” with a skip who’d tried to run on her and cried like a little bitch when she gave chase and tackled him to the pavement, she felt like celebrating.

The time on her phone said she had fifteen minutes to hit the liquor store before they closed, so she drove as fast as a pair of 6” honey heels would allow. Ignoring the double take the employee did when his last customer of the night came in wearing a skin-tight dress and FMPs, Emma went straight to the small section of champagne. Looking over the labels, she threw up her hands when she realized she had no idea what to get. Eighty dollars was still a bit steep for her and the only brands she recognized were in that price range. And what the hell was Brut?

Scrubbing her hands over her face, Emma huffed and reached out for a pretty (and affordable) bottle of something pink, reminding herself she needed to get home.

****

Her chest seized up the minute she stepped through the door, her purse and the bottle of champagne left behind on a small table as she quietly kicked off her shoes.

They were both asleep sprawled on the couch, Henry’s face squished against a faded Navy tee shirt, his chubby hand clutching the amber teething necklace that was around Killian’s neck. The baby was only wearing a diaper and Emma could see that his hair – long grown in from his four-month-old Mohawk – was lightly matted with dried sweat. There was a puddle soaking Killian’s shirt near Henry’s mouth and that – along with the burp clothes they were using to deal with the copious amounts of baby drool, discarded sticks of celery, a tube of Orajel and the infant Tylenol on the coffee table – painted a clear picture of how their night had gone.

Emma drank in the sight; two dark heads, tandem soft snores. She’d found them on the couch like that more than once coming home after a late night at work.

Her boys.

Her…loves.

The word flew into her head and she gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. She backed up until her knees hit the chair by the window and she sank down into it.

Before she could even start figuring out what the hell it all meant, Henry whimpered at the noise she’d made. Emma started to stand but the large hand on his back started to move and a soothing whisper of, “Shhh, shhh, shhh” quieted him back down.

“I hope your night was better than ours.” Killian’s whisper was rough but she could see him smile as he lifted his chin up and over the top of Henry’s head to look at her.

Swallowing hard, Emma pushed the word down and plastered a smile on her face.

“I had to dress like a Kardashian hitting up the number one paparazzi-staked gas station in Beverly Hills to reel in a skip who ran on me anyway.”

Killian made a show of looking her up and down, tongue tracing over his upper lip.

“Dumb as hell on his part, but go on – wait, is that blood??” He braced a hand behind Henry’s neck and swung his legs off the couch, holding the baby tightly to his chest as he sat up and craned his neck to look at the road rash decorating her leg.

“Yeah, but I caught him.” She couldn’t keep the pure satisfaction out of her voice. “And,” she took a dramatic pause for effect, “I scored a commission. Do you know what that means?” Emma propped her elbow on a knee and dropped her chin into her hand, leaning forward and waggling her eyebrows at Killian. “It means that I finally have the money to move out.”

“Oh.” He paused, an unreadable look on his face before it brightened. “That’s great, Swan. I’m happy for you. For you both.” His chin dropped as he pressed a kiss to the top of Henry’s head. “This one’s had one hell of an evening. Do you think he’d stay asleep if I put him down?”

Crossing over to the couch, Emma leaned over and picked up the hand not holding the necklace, raised it a few inches and let go.

“I guess we have our answer,” Killian said as they watched it drop with no startle reflex. Emma reached for Henry as Killian stood. “No, no, I’ll take him. You tend to that gash on your leg before you get gangrene and it falls off.”

They peeled off in the hallways with Emma giving Henry a kiss, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo and muttering, “You’re so dramatic” to Killian’s back as he went to put Henry to bed. She nearly walked into the doorframe when he stage whispered but you love me in retort and she couldn’t get into the bathroom and close the door fast enough before almost hyperventilating.

Leaning over the sink, she splashed cold water on her face as if the flow from the faucet could drown the thoughts racing through her head.

But you love me.

She didn’t believe in fate. Or magic. Or fairy tales. Or that orphans found happy endings with deliciously pretty men with big hearts and blue eyes. But the tiny part of her that wasn’t walled up and jaded wanted to believe it was a sign. That’s she’d just been thinking that maybe she loved him not five minutes before he said the same thing.

The first aid kit under the sink was tidy and, of course, fully stocked. Emma squeezed her eyes shut when she saw a bundle of Elmo Band-Aids; damn sure Killian hadn’t bought them for himself. But he’d always been like that.

He had always been there. Even when she didn’t want him to be. Even when she’d run, scared of all of the devotion he’d always had in his eyes when they were in school, and gone to live a life with someone else. Someone who had never promised to give her the world so she wouldn’t be disappointed when he didn’t. Because nobody ever had.

He was even there when she’d shown up with that other man’s baby at his door. But was that it? Gratitude and a sense of obligation disguised as love? With a bone-deep, ridiculously strong attraction contributing to it?

She felt like they’d been dancing around something for months.

The first sign – aside from his piercing gaze - was the unwillingness to talk about why neither of them had gone on dates since she and Henry moved in. Emma’s hasty excuse made sense; she was concentrating on herself and her son, not looking for a rebound. Killian abruptly got up to get another beer and when he’d come back to the table, the subject was pointedly changed before she could press him.

Then there was the morning she’d walked in on him while he was getting out of the shower. Exhausted from a rough night with Henry, she’d pushed the door to the bathroom open without a thought and got an eyeful. Lean muscles and rivulets of water running down his belly to where he’d managed to loosely clutch a hastily grabbed towel over himself. Mostly.

The visual had stayed with her. Wet hair slicked back, making the curve of his cheekbones more prominent. The v-cut just inside his hipbones. And, as her eyes traveled down, the length of him along his thigh just barely hidden by the towel.

Emma had avoided him for a week until he reeled her in on Saturday night with spag bol, a moderately priced bottle of Pinot Grigio loosening her tongue. She brought up that night. The one their senior year where they’d kissed messily on a camping trip, pouring three years of what ifs and maybes into a stolen moment in the trees. It had scared her and she ran without looking back. The morning after she clumsily tripped down memory lane, she wondered if Killian had the same stunned, slightly hurt look on his face then as he did when she drunkenly leaned in four years later over empty pasta dishes and tried to kiss him. He’d dodged, bussed her cheek and walked her to her bedroom before going on to his own.

Since that night, she’d been careful. Careful to not lead on, although she wasn’t quite sure who she was worried about leading on – him or herself.

****

A by-product of his military days had Killian hanging Emma’s purse up on a hook by the door and lining up her discarded shoes next to his on the mat while she was cleaning herself up in the bathroom. He’d seen scores of women in heels just like that but none could have held a candle next to her when she’d come out of her room, the stilettos paired with a red dress that made his head swim and the bulge in his pants twitch. She was unbelievably sexy and that was just the surface. Her toughness, intelligence, tenacity and kindness shone just as bright as the cascade of blonde hair and ass that wouldn’t quit.

He’d been trying his hardest to not let his brain go there. For all of her strength, Emma carried a certain degree of fragility, and he didn’t want to push her or, even worse, think that she owed him something for letting her and Henry stay with him.

They’d had a connection from the day she’d shown up in his English class halfway through sophomore year, all darting eyes and fidgeting fingers worrying the hem of her shirt as Mrs. Wolfe instructed her to tell the class about herself. It wasn’t until the following year during a rare moment of candor that he found out she wasn’t a military brat whose Naval father had been moved around a lot.

Emma had popped up in their town as a ward of the state, her transience a byproduct of bad foster homes and a system that had never worked in her favor. He supposed the pretend life she’d made up for herself was part of the reason he’d joined the Navy; a fool’s hope that he could be the stable home she so desperately wanted and that the rigidity of the military could rid him of his youthful, rakish ways.

She’d kissed him the night he told her he was shipping out, all teeth and tongue with a sand dune at his back and an order for him to not follow her when she’d had her fill. Killian always wondered if she’d succumbed to a moment of weakness or if the news he was leaving gave her the strength to let him in, even just momentarily, because the safety net of him leaving made it easier. Either way it had left him pining, the only reprieve a relationship with another sailor that started out strong but fizzled when she was reassigned and the distance was too hard to bridge.

Emma herself had moved on quickly from their shared moment, moving in with someone who had graduated a few years before them the ink on her diploma had dried. Killian stayed single for a while, scratching the itch whenever the need arose, but the drive to find someone else wasn’t there until news of Emma’s engagement hit his email inbox by way of a mutual friend. The universe was telling him to move on and he did, sending a congratulatory Hallmark card that gushed with a sincerity he didn’t really feel.

It was harder to be bitter when word of her pregnancy reached halfway across the world. He was happy for Emma and the chance for her to have the family she deserved. By the time Henry was born, Killian was out of the Navy and working at an upscale bar in Boston, raking in tip money thanks to his looks and the bottle flipping tricks he’d perfected on the long nights stationed overseas. He could well afford a decent place and a one-bedroom bachelor pad loft was at the top of his list until he went to sign a lease and balked, telling the rental agent he really needed a second bedroom and refusing to allow himself to dig deep to ask himself why.

Killian scowled at the bottle of champagne Emma had left on the table when she walked in, fisting a hand through his hair. Having her and Henry pack up and leave didn’t feel like something to celebrate.

“You can’t will the cork to pop out on its own.”

She startled him and Killian let out an inventive string of expletives. He’d been lost in thought so long he hadn’t heard her leave the bathroom and go change. She was wearing a tank top and pajama pants, the curls she’d sprayed into submission before her “date” brushed out. The heavy fake eyelashes were gone, as was any stitch of makeup. Suddenly exhausted, his thoughts draining him more than a night with a teething toddler ever could, he gestured toward the bottle.

“Do you mind if we save this for another night? It should chill anyway.” When Emma nodded, he picked it up and took it to the refrigerator, walking back toward her. “See you in the morning, Swan.”

His head swam as he headed down the short hallway. A box hadn’t so much as been packed and Killian’s stomach churned. When he passed the door to her room, he felt fingers on his. Jaw clenching, he closed his eyes for a second before turning, looking down at Emma’s pinkie curled around his own.

“Thank you. For everything.”

Killian swallowed hard and nodded, not quite sure what to say.

Fingers moved, first hers and then his, until they were completely laced together. Killian was so focused on the sensation of her palm against his that he missed the fact Emma was on her tiptoes and leaning in.

The feel of her lips on the corner of his mouth took him by surprise and his first reaction was to back away like the last time when nostalgia served as a chaser for a few glasses of liquid courage.

She wasn’t having it. Her other hand came up, fingernails lightly scratching his scalp as her fingers anchored in his hair, pulling him back toward her. The kiss was sweet and Killian savored it, careful to only take what she was giving and not ask for more. It felt like a metaphor for their entire relationship, friendship – whatever the hell it was. When it was over, he pressed his forehead against hers, more breathless than he should be after a kiss that bordered on chaste, and when her arms circled around his back, he dropped his head onto her shoulder.

“I wish I could stay.”

Heart leaping into his throat, Killian drew back.

“You can. I mean…not because…it has nothing to do with,” he gestured between them, “whatever this was just now. But you can stay. You and Henry. With me.”

Smooth, Jones. Just babble in her face.

Her fingers smoothed over the nervous twitch in his jaw.

“I know. I know you’d let us. And I lo – I appreciate you for that. But I feel like I have to do this. Go out on my own. To prove to myself I can.”

Huffing out a breath, Killian rubbed her upper arms and smiled.

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have.”

“You actually mean that, don’t you?” She sounded…shocked.

“Does that surprise you?”

Leaning in once more, Emma kissed him again; the only difference between this one and the last a tiny flick of her tongue against his bottom lip before she drew back.

“Not anymore.”

****

The knock came at 11:15. It was tentative, barely pulling Killian out of a dreamless sleep and for a moment, he thought he’d imagined it. Fuzzy-brained, he was a second away from chalking it up to a rattling pipe or noise from the street when another knock came, this one more insistent.

The piss and vinegar was short-lived when his eyes fell onto the figure standing in the hallway.

Emma was in a sundress, a picnic basket at her feet. Before he could say anything, a bundle of energy charged at his legs and Killian bent to swoop Henry up into a fireman’s carry as he backed up to let Emma in, carefully dipping his head to kiss her so Henry’s gleefully kicking feet wouldn’t hit her.

Six months had passed since the day Killian had helped Emma pack up the truck she borrowed from one of the bondsmen at her work and moved her and Henry into their own place. It had taken minutes for him to miss them terribly. It had taken another few days for him to work up the courage to call and ask her out on a proper date. Since then, his weekend days were filled with petting zoos, trips to the park, picnics by the water and running Henry ragged.

On the nights neither of them worked, they made up for lost time.

The first time they were together, they hadn’t even made it to the bed. Lying in a tangle of sweaty limbs, Killian had loudly proclaimed the rug burn was worth it and Emma had shushed him by rolling him onto his back for round two.

A few days had passed and today was picnic day, Killian squinted at the clock as he twisted his torso to swing Henry to and fro.

“Am I late or are you early?”

Setting the basket down, Emma walked up to them, ducking at the last moment to avoid a kick to the head, and reached her arms up toward Henry.

“We’re early. Too early? I should have called.”

The look on her face was comical and even though a few more hours of sleep would have been nice after a rare fight at the bar during last call drew blood and a few arrests, keeping Killian there until nearly seven, he didn’t mind the wake up.

“It’s fine, Swan.” He hunched his shoulders and let her take Henry.

She settled her son on her hip and kissed his flushed cheek.

“Come on, kid. Let’s let Killian get dressed.”

“Killy dress,” Henry agreed, clapping his hands and they both laughed.

“I would pay so much money to see that – EEP!” Emma jumped as Killian passed and flicked his hand back to swat her ass.

****

A quick shower and the decision not to shave had him ready to go in no time. When he came back to the living room, Emma was sitting on the couch with Henry in her lap, a sippy cup of what looked like apple juice in his hand. Two champagne flutes and an open bottle were on the coffee table in front of her.

His eyes darted from the bottle to the kitchen. It was the same brand as the one she’d bought the night she’d told him they were moving out. The one that they’d never opened and had been in his refrigerator for the last six months.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Come sit with us.” Emma waved him over and handed him one of the flutes. “I’d like to propose a toast.” She reached for the other one and held it aloft. “To us. Ewwwww.” She giggled when Killian surged forward and planted a smacking kiss on her cheek, and made a show of pretending to be disgusted and wipe it off. “Gross! Like I was saying…um, so Henry and I have something to ask you.”

The glass she held trembled just a little, and the smile on her face faded. Before he could ask her what was wrong, Emma took a breath and sat up a little straighter.

“Jesus, I’m horrible at this,” she muttered and cleared her throat. “We wanted to know if you would move in with us.”

Killian was all too aware how monumental a moment this was. Both for them and for Emma. She was inviting him in.

Into her life. Into her space. Into her home.

He looked at her, tears pricking at his eyes, nodding his head effusively in the affirmative because he was too choked up to say yes. She was laughing through her own tears and held up her glass for him to clink since neither one of them could speak.

“Sad, Mama?” Henry was looking up at Emma from his spot on her lap and making an exaggerated frowny face. Those Baby Einstein books Killian gave him for Christmas were really paying off. “Sad?”

Killian put an arm around her and drew them both into a hug, kissing her hair and resting his chin on the top of her head.

“No, Henry. Mama’s happy.”

#once-upon-a-captain-swan #cssv #Happy Valentine's Day!#cs fic #cs au #captain swan fic #cs angst #cs fluff #cs ff

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