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ineffablecolors · 6 years

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CSJJ Day 12: Not One of Those Lives

I’ll try to keep this brief (and probably fail). First, I have to thank everyone who has read and enjoyed this verse - it is most certainly my favourite thing I’ve ever written and all the love and support and excitement for it brings me so much joy and inspires me to keep adding to it. And I’ve added quite a bit - this is the most I’ve worked on a OS/part so I hope you like it and thank you - you are magical and truly my muses!

Second, thank you to @csjanuaryjoy and everyone involved in it (especially all the gorgeous ladies in the Discord chat that has also added so much joy to my January!) - you are all so talented and inspiring and I haven’t read a single fic written for this that hasn’t melted my heart!

Not One of Those Stories was written for last year’s CS January Joy but you do not have to necessarily read any of the previous 4 parts to get this one (but I’ve heard they are not too bad).

“So she never used to rent nice apartments because she knew she’d be vacating them at some point anyway. She never used to buy the extra fluffy blankets and pillows because she knew they took a lot of space when moving. She never used to get the fruit that caught her eye at the market because of some irrational fear that it will spoil before she even got the chance to eat it. She never got a dress she truly wanted to own because of the very rational fear that her next perp might ruin it to hell and the very rational assumption that she won’t be going on any dates she would want to dress up for.

Emma Swan had learnt her lesson. She didn’t get to keep things like that. Hers was not one of those lives.“

Not One of Those Lives; ~ 14,500 words; FF.NET @icecubelotr44 || AO3

About 8 years into her existence Emma Swan learnt how to navigate life. From then on – well, it wasn’t easy but at least it was manageable, at least she didn’t make a fool of herself and she didn’t let others make a fool of her either.

The trick was to accept that, while she might have good things from time to time, she never got to keep them. Because everyone lucked out from time to time, even Emma. It’s not statistically possible to be dealt a bad hand every single time, every day of your life. Emma caught a break on occasion as well, it’s just that her breaks never seemed to last.

A fair newborn baby girl Emma should have been out of the system in no time. And she was. And then she was back. 3 years old and carrying the damning brand of the “returned”.

She had a family – one she hadn’t even known wasn’t her own, and then she didn’t. She was a family member and then she was unsatisfactory (unneeded) merchandise. And the thing about returned merchandise is that it’s very hard to resell. You try telling people that the previous “owners” just decided to produce their own merchandise. Everybody wonders what the problem was, what was wrong with her. No one wants someone else’s sloppy seconds.

She remembers that phrase like it was thrown at her yesterday and not 27 years ago. She still perfectly recalls the curled lip of the little girl, the inflection on the words. Sloppy seconds. That was her.

It took her another year to learn that all important lesson but yes, at the ripe age of 8, Emma Swan thought she’d found the answer to her life. She watched the little blonde cherubs that had never been brought back with the receipt get into the white SUVs of their new families and knew hers was simply not one of those lives.

She watched the girls in her school showing off their pencil cases and backpacks to each other – the brands that were in, with the most popular fictional characters on them. (She used the box from some colouring pens as a pencil case.) She watched the kids who sat together at recess – their lunchboxes colourful and full to the brim.

Later she watched men running around cars to open doors for their wives or girlfriends and tried to roll her eyes and scoff. (Neal ran around the Bug alright, whenever he was in a rush to get inside so they wouldn’t get caught by another guard in another convenience store.) She watched couples inside restaurants, sharing intimate smiles over candlelight.

Those pretty, colourful and well-lit lives were not hers to have.

Frankly, the system can fuck you up in a myriad of ways. Emma went through some shit but she managed to avoid the worst of it. A few hang-ups here and there are nothing to cry about, if you ask her.

So she never used to rent nice apartments because she knew she’d be vacating them at some point anyway. She never used to buy the extra fluffy blankets and pillows because she knew she’d only have to constantly drag them around. She never used to get the fruit that caught her eye at the market because of some irrational fear that it will spoil before she even got the chance to eat it. She never got a dress she truly wanted to own because of the very rational fear that her next perp might ruin it to hell and the very rational assumption that she won’t be going on any dates she would want to dress up for.

Emma Swan had learnt her lesson. She didn’t get to keep things like that. Hers was not one of those lives.

Emma Swan is carrying a shopping bag containing a dress that she won’t fit into for at least another five months. It’s a soft pink, elegant, billowing skirt and lovely lacework at the hem. It’s a dress made for an evening out and she does not regret buying it.

What she does regret is pulling this stubborn shit on Killian and insisting that she will finish off the month and then stop going into work.

It’s December, it’s freezing, she is 7 months pregnant and she had fuck all to do at the office all day. Now her feet are cold and her back hurts and she just wants to get home and not think about life lessons that she has been gradually unlearning.

She might have bought the dress to make a point. To fate or the universe or the snotty shopping assistant that was looking at her like she’ll never fit into a dress like that again. It might have cost as much as half of all her other dresses combined. She doesn’t have that many. It’s not that bad. She was making a point.

She sighs in relief at the sight of their apartment building. Then once inside she groans at the sight of the staircase.

“Sure, let’s get the place without an elevator. Cardio is good for you. It will help us stay in shape. Ugh. Idiots.”

The fact that she actually considers calling Killian and making him come down to carry her up the stairs the way he has threatened to do a couple of times already is testament to exactly how absolutely exhausted she is. It takes her twice as long as it should to reach their door.

When she walks in, she is surprised she couldn’t feel the heat radiating off said door.

“God, Killian. What’s going on here?”

He comes out of the kitchen, wiping his hand on his sweatpants before he cups her cheek and brings her into a soft kiss.

And here we have the reason Emma Swan has gone back on the life philosophy she’d held since she was 8 years old.

Killian Jones is the very best thing that’s happened to her and she decided some time ago that she is most definitely keeping him.

Emma hums and pulls back, only to be greeted with a frown instead of the smile she was expecting.

She has a love/hate relationship with the fact that Killian never fails to greet her with a kiss when either of them comes home. Alright, mostly just a love relationship but it leaves her all melty and totally unprepared for when it turns out that he is actually in a mood.

“You’re chilled. Please tell me you took a cab home?”

She tries not to cringe and smiles innocently instead.

“I took the subway?”

“Emma.”

It’s not a whine, Killian doesn’t really do whining. It’s worse – it’s deep and gruff and a little frustrated and probably has the exact opposite effect on her to the one he was aiming for.

“I am not taking the Bug out of hibernation or hailing a cab for a few blocks,” she slides into his personal space as much as her baby bump allows. “Look on the positive side, my love – you get to warm me up now.”

Killian gives her a look that clearly says that he is neither amused, not deterred.

“Oh, I will.”

He takes off her hat and murmurs his displeasure when she tries to take her coat off herself. Her scarf goes and then the coat. He glowers at her gloveless hands and she tries on another one of those innocent smiles. Nothing. Damn.

“I really gotta start preparing for the role of the fun parent,” she mutters half to herself.

Killian bends down without a comment and tugs lightly on one of her boots, only lifting her foot when her hand has settled securely on his back, leaning most of her weight on him. She furrows her brow and scrunches up her nose, wondering if her feet smell after a day in thermo socks and winter boots. They should really get one of those small shoe cupboards for the hallway – just so she can sit on them and take her own damn shoes off. She switches hands when he switches feet and can’t help but wiggle her toes happily in the soft slippers.

She is promptly taken to the couch and covered with a throw blanket.

“Really now?”

His look advises against her trying to get up. It’s only as Killian heads to the kitchen and Emma realizes how hot she is that she remembers her initial surprise.

“Why does it feel like our flat is a walk-in oven?”

“Because you were walking outside in the frigid cold for five blocks.”

“This is not human temperature,” she yells in the general direction of the kitchen even though she knows it really annoys him when she insists on having a conversation from separate rooms – she is really not helping her case.

“I assure you, Swan” his head pops around the corner and really, she’ll argue that the kitchen and living room are basically one big room anyway. “It is the outside temperature that is not advisable for humans.”

“And boiling alive is all the rage this season?”

He is gone. Emma sighs and finally fully sinks into the couch. OK, so this is not terrible for her aching back and tired feet but he really doesn’t need to know how much she hated making the trip from the subway. Or going to work in general.

She feels the movement inside her seconds before the light kicks start. Her hands settle over the spot where their baby is making her presence known.

“Is someone happy to be home?”

She twists her head around to find Killian leaning over the back the couch, his hand holding out a mug of tea. She keeps one hand on her daughter and wraps the other around the warm porcelain.

“She missed you.”

“Oh?” he struggles to go on with his teasing despite the smile that’s deepening the lines around his mouth. “Is she the only one?”

And Emma is about to pick up his tone and the little glint in his eye and tease right back, and then just like that she feels her own eyes fill with tears instead.

“No. And I’m not going into work anymore. I’m not going out at all.”

“Emma?”

He is beside her in a second, taking her mug again and setting it on the coffee table with a hasty thud before he pulls her into him. She is all too willing to bury her still cold nose in the scorching heat of his neck, her hands wrapping all the way around him.

“Shhh. Swan, what’s wrong? I’m sorry I was a pain—“

She shakes her head against him, squeezing him tighter.

“No, no, I— I was bored and restless and uncomfortable all day. And I just sat behind my stupid desk and that chair is absolute hell and my feet have been cold all day and then on the way home and—“

She sniffs a little, trying to hold back the tears from actually falling. Killian has never once used the phrase “pregnancy hormones” but Emma uses it plenty.

“And that means she was cold,” she whispers against his warm skin and can’t help thinking that their daughter would never be cold, if she was with Killian all the time.

“Oh, Emma. You know that’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.”

He says okay and continues to rub her back with his stump and her belly with his hand until both girls calm down and only then he goes back to contradict her.

“Darling, it is biologically impossible for her to have been cold. It is also impossible because you’ll never let that happen.”

“But I did.”

“Swan—“

“Why am I still going to work?”

That shuts him up. They both know Killian suggested that she start her maternity leave a month ago. They both know the #1 reason he sold his cabin in Storybrooke in a hurry – even outranking his definite lack of desire to ever go back – was that she will be able to take as much time off work as she wants when the baby comes.

“Why am I out in freaking December?”

He frowns at that.

“Swan, I know you, you’ll go stir crazy, if you—“

“What does it matter? So I go a little crazy? This is already risky ‘cause I’m over 30—“

“The doctor said—“

“I’m keeping her! We are—“

“What are you on about? When was this even a question?”

There is a tinge of panic mixed in with his confusion now. Almost unnoticeable, unless you are Emma, unless being attuned to Killian’s emotions is one of your life goals.

“No, never, I— not like that, I just— Oh, God. Killian, I…”

She drops her forehead on his shoulder and breathes deeply, grateful that his arms are still around her, grateful that he hasn’t pulled back in his confusion.

“I was just…,” she sighs heavily and wraps her arms around his left bicep, rolling her head back and forth, trying to order her thoughts. “My mind’s been so… all day. And I guess I’ve been thinking how nothing good ever lasts for me and... I freaked out. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, love. I think I’m still ahead in the freak outs tally.”

She snorts and it’s choked and watery and she reaches up to wipe his shoulder.

“Also,” she feels the rough pad of Killian’s finger under her chin, angling her head to the side and up until she meets his gaze. “I thought I classified as a good thing that’s currently lasting.”

He sounds almost shy about it and she will laugh, if she wasn’t worried that laughing might lead to crying. So she sighs instead and smiles in a way that she thinks most people will probably define as smitten.

“Yeah, we’re just hoping you’re not the exception that proves the rule or something.”

“Emma—”

“I know, I know,” she straightens a little and Killian smooths out her hair and tucks it behind her ears.

“Everything is going to be alright. We’re going to keep you both warm and happy over the winter and in a couple of months you’ll have another exception to your frankly outrageous rule.”

Her hands settle on his cheeks, the stubble prickling her pink and oversensitive fingers and she drops her forehead to his and smiles.

“I’ll call my boss tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to rush—”

“No, really, I’m not… even if I had actual work to do, there’s no way I’ll be able to concentrate. All I can think about is if we need more baby bottles.”

“We have four packs of different baby bottles.”

“I know, I’m surprised I didn’t buy another one today.”

“You didn’t?”

She pinches his left ear.

“No. I bought a dress I might never fit into again.”

Killian’s eyes darken a little and he leans further into her, his hand sliding down her spine and boldly helping itself to some of her ass.

“Tell me more.”

“About the dress I won’t fit into?”

“It matters not, darling. If you don’t fit into it, you’ll just be naked that much sooner.”

Her burst of laughter is probably not the reaction he was going for but it seems to satisfy him nonetheless.

///

She finishes her tea and manages to talk Killian into dinner on the couch, using how warm and comfy she is as her unbeatable arguments. Now her feet are tucked under his thigh and she is appreciating the way he rubs her calves and only half paying attention to what Kevin McAlister is doing on her laptop.

“So, Christmas?”

Killian blinks at her and she pushes up the black frames that have almost slid off his nose.

“You want to do something different?”

“Well, I’m afraid we’re gonna have to break the wine and tragic backstories tradition.”

“Thank the gods, I was running out of ruined relationships to tell you about.”

“Ha ha.”

Actually Emma has always been quite proud of how non-Grinchy she and Killian are. Sure, they’re not overly zealous about it and haven’t really bothered with a tree or many decorations the last couple of years but for the most part they seem to have avoided letting their aloneness and their loneliness spoil the family holiday for them completely.

“I actually had an idea of sorts,” Killian lets go of her leg and tugs on his beard.

It’s getting long again. She kinda likes it – all the black and white and ginger mesh together beautifully.

Emma bends her knees further and shuffles closer, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin on her palms. She looks up at her boyfriend and blinks expectantly. He huffs in undisguised amusement and cards his fingers through her hair.

“I was thinking that we’re rather lowkey about the whole holiday.”

“We specifically put on Home Alone for the second night in a row and last week you tried to make me a peppermint hot chocolate.”

“I did make you a peppermint hot chocolate, the fact that you dubbed it “totally gross” is another matter altogether.”

“Totally the same matter,” she fires back even as she leans her head to the side so his hand can slip lower and massage her neck. “I eat like a billion times better thanks to you but your taste in hot drinks is shit, my love.”

“That is not at all what you said the first time I made you a proper Irish coffee.”

Killian might not whine but Emma most certainly does. It’s plaintive and just a little angry.

“Why would you say that right now? Coffee and alcohol are two of the things I miss the most.”

He leans over and replaces his fingers with his lips, leaving a damp trail along the curve of her neck.

“My apologies, Swan, but there are other Irish things you can have any time you wish.”

She hums in faux contemplation.

Emma would be a shameless liar if she said she didn’t freak out a bit around the fifth month of her pregnancy when she realized exactly how limited their sex life was about to get and exactly how unsexy some parts of her were already getting. If Killian’s indignation and reassurances took her 70-75% of the way to being secure in her sex appeal again, his sex drive (and her own for that matter) over the last couple of months have definitely boosted her up to around 90%.

So she untucks her feet (still in their Christmas-y socks – what is he even on about – they have holiday spirit to spare) from under Killian and carefully swings one leg over him, adjusting herself so she doesn’t completely crush him but she can press her full breasts (that side effect she isn’t complaining about) against his chest.

“Tell me the thing first and then I’ll take a closer look at those things.”

“So demanding.”

“Killian.”

“Alright, alright. Hmm, just the short version or…”

His fingers come up to play with the zipper of her hoodie and she can feel his left forearm tapping a nervous rhythm against his own thigh so she reaches out and grabs both, bring their hands between them. Killian tugs her knuckles to his lips and she mirrors the action with his left arm. His breath hitches a little. Emma has his stump all mapped out and she can navigate with almost perfect accuracy the parts that have no feeling in them and the little spots that are almost hypersensitive.

“Long version. You know I always want the long version.”

He snaps his slackened jaw shut and his eyebrow shoots up and yeah, alright, she walked right into that one.

The thing is, she is still caught by surprise sometimes. Turns out Killian Jones likes few things better than a good innuendo. Emma thinks it started only after they moved out of Storybrooke though she can’t remember the precise moment. What she does remember is sliding to the floor from too much laughter, Killian leaning on the kitchen counter and looking down at her with sparkling eyes and her asking where on earth he came up with that stuff. She remembers the way the skin under his scruff reddened slightly, the way he cleared his throat and focused on his drumming fingers – caught somewhere between embarrassment and amusement – as he joked that it’s an old skill she has made him rediscover. She remembers that last part – coupled with his looking at her from under his lashes and biting his lip – working for him better than most of the ridiculous innuendoes.

By now she is perfectly capable of recognizing the signs – the way his brows twitch, the mischievous little sparkle brightening his blue eyes, the way his tongue pokes out and swipes over his chapped lips. Basically the way he looks right about now.

“Focus, my love,” she chastises. “Storytime first, playtime after.”

“How do you know there’s a story to it?”

“You’re nervous about it.”

He huffs and the eyebrows settle, his eyes flickering all over the room for a moment.

“It’s not… it’s not nervous per se.”

She lifts a skeptical eyebrow.

“I just want you to tell me honestly, if it sounds silly. I don’t want you to automatically agree because there is a sentimental aspect to it.”

She narrows her eyes.

“Killian?”

“Mm?”

“Remember the first snow last year?”

“Errr… I suppose?”

“Remember telling me about how you and Liam used to bury each other under the snow – the way normal people bury each other under sand on the beach – to see which one of you will last longer?”

He rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Do you?”

“Yes, Swan, I remember. You made that same “normal people” point back then.”

“And did I agree to do that with you?”

“You most certainly did not.”

“Proceed.”

He gives her a look and she just grins smugly, fully aware that he is more than satisfied with the point she has made, even if he is all huffy about the way she made it.

“Alright. Well… I’m a little fuzzy on the details. It might have been Liam she did it with and I just helped. Or it might have even been both of us. But… I’m pretty confident it was me and my mum. I think we only did it for a couple of years before she took ill and all.”

She squeezes his hand and nods. It seems they simply can’t do Christmas time without some backstorytelling. Wine or no wine.

“The house wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination but there were still plenty of brilliant hiding places. And I remember searching for hours sometimes. I think she gave me hints sometimes. Like a game of hot and cold?”

“What were you looking for?”

“Christmas gifts.”

“Oh.”

“Aye. I… I think she hid a bunch of them – little things really, just… a lolly, a pair of socks – things like that. Yes, it might’ve been both Liam and I looking… There was always something hidden around the house, every day of the week leading up to Christmas. Or maybe just for a few days— I don’t—“

He shakes his head and frowns at his inability to recall the obviously happy memory completely. Emma feels her heart clench a little – she knows the feeling. Some of her happy memories are nothing more than vague feelings of warmth, yet she can still recite word for word the cruel words thrown at her 7-year-old self. It’s not fair.

“No matter, it’s just that… I was putting a book away the other day and I thought “this would make a good hiding place for a present”. Yet it was obviously too small to hide Christmas gifts. And then I remembered that game. The search, the excitement.”

“It sounds like a super sweet thing to do.”

“Aye. And I was thinking we could do it for…” his hand lets go of hers to settle over her belly.

Emma looks down and then her eyes shoot back up. Her eagerness must be plain to see because Killian grins happily back at her.

“Yeah?”

“Yes! Totally! We can start with really easy places when she is little and then make it harder and harder until she is too old to bother with us.”

Killian laughs her favourite laugh – deep and joyful and absolutely unrestrained.

“That’s the idea, yes.”

“It’s brilliant.”

“Well, I’m glad you think so, love. Because I was also thinking we could test it out on you.”

“On me?”

Killian nods simply.

“There are only about five days till Christmas but if you’re amenable, I might be prepared with your first couple of gifts.”

“Really?”

“Mm, I thought what’s the harm – if you didn’t want to play, I’ll just give them to you on Christmas. And they’re nothing special, just—”

“But I’m not prepared.”

“Prepared?”

“With tiny presents for you.”

Killian laughs again and smiles at her.

“Darling, I’m a bit too old to play hot and cold. Or to receive multiple gifts on Christmas.”

“Well, that’s bullshit.”

“Swear jar.”

“Ugh, whatever. She can’t even hear me yet.”

“Oh but she can hear when I tell her bedtime stories?”

“Yeah ‘cause your voice is deeper and it’s… like… different wavelengths.”

Killian lifts an unimpressed eyebrow and just nods in the general direction of their brand new swear jar.

“Fine. Whatever. But if I’m scavengerhunting for gifts then so are you and that’s that.”

“And if we pick the same places? We only have so many rooms.”

“So we just laugh at how cute we are and pick different places.”

Killian sighs in a way that always signals that he knows he has lost the argument but is not ready to admit it just yet.

“You’ll have to worry about finding me things and—“

“No, I won’t, I love buying you presents.”

Another sigh.

“Swan.”

“What?”

“I wanted to do this for you.”

“Yeah, I can see that, my love. And it’s so stinking cute I’m pretty sure I haven’t processed it yet.”

He chuckles and slides his hand down to her lower back, pressing gently to bring her closer for a kiss. She keeps just out of reach.

“I just feel like it’s gonna be even more fun, if we both get to play the kid.”

“Alright then. But I warn you I have already found a couple of marvelous hiding places. If you turn this into some sort of competition, all you’re going to do is embarrass yourself.”

She gasps in indignation and pulls away to glare into his laughing eyes.

“Oh, yeah? See if the first thing I hide aren’t your glasses. Then we’ll see who’ll be embarrassed, old man.”

“Experienced, Swan. Us old people prefer the term “experienced”.”

“Do you now? And do you have anything to back up that “term” with?” she punctuates her questions with the slow grind of her hips against his and smirks triumphantly at Killian’s gulp.

“Indeed.”

His grip on her tightens, wrapping her legs more securely around his waist and he whispers a raspy “hold on” in her ear before he stands up with a groan.

“Killian!”

Her hands clamp around him and her thighs squeeze him in a vice grip even though she knows he just needs to release them and she’ll safely reach the ground.

“Now. About those Irish delicacies we were discussing,” he huffs into her shoulder and turns in the direction of their bedroom.

“Put me down. You’ll fuck up your back again.”

“Swear jar.”

“Killiaaan.”

“Swan, you’re toying with my fragile male ego.”

“You don’t have a fragile male ego. You are 5.9 and have a fully grown beard and a very nice cock.”

His laughter shakes them both.

“No abs though. Also – swear jar.”

“Cock is not a swear word. Abs are overrated.”

Her arms tighten automatically around his neck as Killian starts slowly lowering her down onto their bed.

“So says you.”

She rolls her eyes and pulls him to stand between her thighs, her hands eagerly slipping under the hem of his t-shirt.

“And here I thought you cared about what I say.”

Killian tosses his glasses on his nightstand and drops to his knees so she can easily tug his t-shirt over his head.

“Always,” he murmurs in the space between her breasts. “Especially when you tell me how you want to have me?”

“Mmm, such a good question. Is it a multiple choice? ‘Cause I happen to have multiple answers.”

///

“Warmer… warmer… and now we’re getting cold again.”

“Ugh, I’ve checked every corner of this room! Where the fuck did you hide— I swear to God, Killian, if you say the words “swear” and “jar”, I will throw something at you.”

“You have to put a dollar in the glass container for expletives and obscenities.”

“Jesus, you’re infuriating.”

“Mildly annoying at worst.”

“No, you’re infuriating. Being a smartass only makes you more infuriating.”

“Ah, ah, you’re heating up again, Swan.”

“I’ll heat up your ass!”

“Is that a promise?”

“God.”

///

“Emma, love…”

“Shut up.”

“I do not wish to judge but—“

“Seriously, shut up.”

“The bathroom cabinet? I must say, I’m insulted more than anything else.”

“It was behind my pads!”

“Alright?”

“It said it was the best place to hide something from your boyfriend!”

“What did?”

“The internet!”

“Love… did you… google hiding places?”

“Remember when I told you to shut up?”

“Bloody hell, you’re adorable.”

“Jones—“

“Oh, love, come here.”

“Go away.”

“I love you.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I’ve never played hide and seek, ok? Or this… hot and cold thing.”

“Well, that’s why we’re playing now. So you can have some practice, or our little lass will run circles around you.”

“She will anyway.”

“Probably… Did you really google “where to hide things from my boyfriend”?”

“… maybe.”

“Bloody hell, that sounds wrong.”

“Yeah… I don’t think any of those articles and forum entries were made for the purpose of hiding presents from your significant other.”

“They also give rubbish advice.”

“I’ll have you know, the pads and tampons thing was everywhere.”

“Darling, I buy you those most of the time.”

“Yeah, but… yeah, ok. Shit advice. For shitty boyfriends… and shitty girlfriends when you think about it.”

“Just go with your gut from here on, yeah? I’m confident it will yield much better results. No need to cheat, Swan.”

“Ah! I did not cheat!”

“Of course not. I jest. This was most certainly not a very unsuccessful attempt at cheating. ”

“Shut up.”

///

Emma finishes her chapter and leafs through the pages of the next. 15. Then she drops the book on her lap and looks up into the amused eyes of her boyfriend.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Nothing her ass. Now the corners of his mouth are twitching as well.

“You don’t have nothing face.”

“No? What kind of face do I have?”

“A very nice one.”

He huffs a little laugh but his ears immediately turn a shade pinker.

“Ah, excuse the inaccuracy. What kind of an expression do I have?”

She looks around. No one in the café is looking at them and Emma is not even sure why she feels self-conscious saying it but—

“The one you get when you think I’m doing something cute.”

Now Killian flushes with pleasure, the lines around his eyes crinkling along with his smile.

“You are doing something cure. Endearing, if I may use a more appropriate term.”

“You may also tell me what it is.”

She lifts her knee a bit so the book doesn’t slide off her lap and reaches for her cocoa. Killian purses his lips and narrows his eyes, seemingly in deep thought. Emma rolls her eyes over the rim of her mug and gives him a look.

“Oh, come on.”

He sighs but smiles nonetheless and sets his newspaper on the table between them. It’s a nice table. It’s a nice place.

Emma’s life was not one of those lives. Nice cafés, quality hot cocoa, a man who finds her “endearing”. And now—

She wasn’t a “regular” before Storybrooke. That’s to say she never really cared to have her name and order memorized by a barista whose name she was also aware of. She didn’t visit the same burger joints all the time, she didn’t order from the same pizza places and she most certainly didn’t go to the same coffee shops and sit around, making herself at home.

Storybrooke of course didn’t give her much of a choice. You either ate at Granny’s or you cooked for yourself. But once they moved to Boston she naturally fell back on her nomadic ways.

Killian was a whole different story. If he’d ever been a regular at Granny’s, that was over and done with long before she arrived. So Emma really didn’t expect him to develop a partiality for some random diner or coffee shop when they moved.

Then again, The Caffeinated Bookworm is hardly any random café. It is, Emma has not too begrudgingly come to admit, one of the most charming places she has ever been in, made even more so by its multitude of bookshelves you can borrow from, its extremely friendly and enthusiastic owner named after the most bookish princess of them all and its small but extremely well-mastered collection of beverages.

Emma cringes at the thought of ever setting foot in a Starbucks or a Costa again. Though she definitely misses the muffins but Belle keeps saying she can’t bother with all the permits she’ll need.

It didn’t take nearly as much convincing to get Emma to come to The Bookworm again and again and again as she thought it would. Mostly because it’s now Killian’s favourite place to spend a Saturday, if they are not at home, and maybe because she wanted to see this Belle with all the good book recommendations and the fantastic coffee.

She loves Belle now, don’t get her wrong. She just—

“You do this thing.”

Emma blinks a couple of times and focuses on Killian who is looking at her with his head tilted to the side and oh – his eyes are really soft now.

“What thing?”

“I can always tell when you’ve finished your chapter because you always leaf through to see how long the next one is.”

He says it likes it’s this miraculous thing she does and not just a silly quirk.

“Well, I like to be prepared.”

Killian laughs and reaches across the table to take her hand, bringing it to his lips.

She will do the silliest things 24/7, if they make him smile like that.

“This is a public place, you know?”

They both look up to see Elsa standing beside their table, a perfectly formed eyebrow cocked up in barely suppressed amusement.

“Yes, and we are so indecent.”

Emma rolls her eyes as Killian hides his smile into another kiss to her knuckles before he gets up.

“The way you’re looking at each other is. Don’t think I don’t know how this happens.”

Elsa waves at her baby bump and Emma tries to laugh off her blush.

“I should hope so. Otherwise sex ed in Norway must be truly appalling,” she looks at Killian shrugging into his coat and gathering his phone and newspaper and frowns. “You’re not staying?”

“Ah, afraid not. There is a… project that needs some finishing touches. I thought I’ll make use of the time while Elsa keeps you company.”

She narrows her eyes slightly, knowing he is not working on any boats in the dead of winter, but decides to let it go. He gives her a grateful smile and a kiss that might go on a couple of seconds longer than Elsa will deem “decent”.

“I can’t believe you still buy an honest-to-god newspaper,” Elsa grins at Killian teasingly and kisses him on the cheek.

“They still sell them.”

Emma thinks forty years ago he might have stuck his tongue out at the other blonde but Killian just grins at Elsa’s eyeroll and winks at her before he leaves.

Elsa goes to get herself a cup of coffee and when she comes back Emma can see the suspicion in her eyes. To be fair, Emma’s grin is a bit evil.

“You know you’re one of my closest friends,” she starts. “But for future reference, you really shouldn’t kiss the man of a pregnant woman right in front of her.”

Elsa laughs one of her rare laugh – loud and unexpected, shaking her shoulders slightly, her braid reaching her seat as she tips her head back.

“Alright, tell me about that lab girl.”

Emma’s expression sours.

“Ugh, don’t get me started.”

“It was obviously what you were angling at, seeing as I’m pretty sure you’re not jealous of your very devoted husband and your very asexual best friend.”

“Not my husband yet.”

It’s been more than a month since they talked about it and she still has two wedding rings stashed in her jewelry box but no ring on her finger.

Not that a month is a lot. Or that she needs a ring. She doesn’t. She doesn’t need anything but to be 100% that Killian wants it as much as she does, that it’s one of those things that she can give him – that they can give each other.

Elsa just hums and takes a sip of her drink, her back perfectly straight again and her elegant, pale fingers wrapped securely around the little cup. She is waiting. Emma sighs.

Emma’s life was not one of those lives either. Best friends she could talk to about boys. Boys she’d want to talk about. And now it is.

“So we were getting my regular blood tests done, right? And Killian’s there, of course. And there’s this lab assistant or whatever, I don’t know, she wasn’t even the one taking my blood so I have no idea why she was hovering around. I mean – I do. She kept going on about how wonderful he is, how nice it is when the father is so involved, how few men are, blah, blah.”

Elsa’s light cough might have been a laugh. Emma just glares.

“I know, ok? I just… ugh, she was so… ugh.”

“What did Killian say?”

Emma rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair.

“He didn’t see it until I said something. Then he found it hilarious, said she could be his daughter.”

Elsa lifts an eyebrow.

“Look, you do not flirt with a pregnant woman’s man. Do you know what is going on inside our heads? And inside like… everything?”

“Yeah, Anna was the same.”

“Your sister?”

“The one and only. She got pregnant just a few months after they got married. Kristoff was working on this reindeer farm back then. She went absolutely mental over how much time he was spending with the owner.”

“Well, can you blame her? Work environments can be very—“

“Emma, she was a lovely woman in her late 50’s with a husband and three children.”

“Oh. Well…”

Elsa laughs her delicate, barely audible laugh this time but her eyes are warm and sparkling.

“It’s just… the two of you have two of the most honest and faithful men I’ve ever met and—“

“I know, I know,” Emma waves her hands around before she drops them on her belly, laughing a little as well. “It’s… It’s not a real thing we’re really worried about just…”

“Flirty nurses are a bit much.”

“Way too much… She definitely wasn’t a proper nurse.”

///

“Names.”

“Hmmm?”

“Names, my love. How have we still not talked about names?”

“Because we’ve been too preoccupied with making sure everything was alright with the babe and procuring any amenity she could possibly need?”

“Mm, when you put it like that… it doesn’t make us the horrible parents I was afraid we might already be.”

“Never. It is simply impossible that you will be anything but wonderful. So much so that you will hardly allow any of my shortcomings to turn truly horrible.”

“I’m not even going to argue with this. I’ll just wait and let her come out and be all smug when you’re amazing at everything.”

“Let me get this straight – you will be smug over me being amazing at everything.”

“Of course. I totally get to be smug about picking you to procreate with.”

Killian chokes.

She giggles, kisses the space behind his ear and moves back to her chopping board.

“I love you.”

“Emma.”

“What?”

“Stop. I cannot bare for my love for you to grow anymore because you use the word “procreate” in casual conversation.”

“It’s a word. Also, this is not just any conversation, we were discussing baby names.”

“I don’t think we ever got that far.”

“And we should. Names, Killian. Girl names.”

��Have you ever thought about it?”

“Procreating with you? Repeatedly.”

“Swan.”

He sounds like she’s physically torturing him. It might have something to do with the fact that his only available hand is currently engaged in stirring some sauce that apparently needs to be stirred constantly. If the way his jaw is ticking is any indication, he wants it to be engaged in other ways. She laughs and goes back to chopping walnuts into really tiny walnuts.

It’s her assigned task. She doesn’t know why. Killian is not very good at explaining recipes.

“Sorry, sorry. Baby names? Not seriously. I mean… yeah, okay, I… I had some moments with Neal. Not when I thought I might be— Before that. Before it all went to shit.”

God, Neal was an asshole. She can’t believe she considered having babies with him. It’s probably not fair comparing— No, you know what, screw that, it’s totally fair. Neal was nearing 30 when they met.

Man, someone would think she has a thing for older men which she honestly wouldn’t mind, she doesn’t see anything wrong with it when both parties are adults. Except she doesn’t like how it seems to cheapen what she has with Killian. She didn’t like Neal for his presumed maturity or experience. She loved him with her own inexperience and innocence and insecurity. Mostly she loved him with her need to be loved.

And she would be lying, if she said she doesn’t like Killian’s moments of staggering sensibility and measured maturity, his old-fashioned manners and considerable experience. But that’s like, just somewhere down the very long list. She loves Killian with everything she is, with her certainty and her confidence and even her crankiness. Mostly she loves him with her need to love and her faith in being loved.

“Emma?”

Killian is in front of her, his hand cupping her face. His thumb runs slowly across the rounded edge of her jaw. His fingers are rough but his touches are always so soft.

“Everything alright, darling?”

“What happened to your needy sauce?”

Even his chuckle is soft.

“It will survive. My attentions are yours and yours alone until a certain little lass comes around.”

“Hmm.”

“Where did you go?”

“Nowhere. Just thinking how much my taste in men has improved.”

“I selfishly hope it will not continue to improve.”

“Nope. I have officially peaked.”

He hums, kisses her cheek and takes a few steps back to check on his demanding sauce.

“Good. So would it be rather strange, if you told me the baby names you considered back then?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so? I didn’t like, actually consider them for a baby I actually wanted to have. It just… made me think about it for the first time. But if you mind—“

“I don’t mind. What did you like?”

“I liked Angela for a girl. Or Alexandra. I dunno what’s with the A’s.”

She chuckles and it sounds nervous even to her own ears.

“I like Alexandra,” he says lightly, softly. “I like that you can shorten it to Alex.”

“Yeah, but…”

“No?”

“No. I mean… I still like the names but… there’s nothing special about them. They’re just names I like the sound of.”

Killian hums in understanding. As if her ramblings make perfect sense. She supposes they do to him at this point, he is very good at listening to her ramble and has been doing so for over two years now.

He is also really good at letting her get to her point or letting her talk herself to whatever decision she needs to make. She has developed the questionable habit of calling him, saying what she needs to figure out and then just talking until she has come to a conclusion or a decision, Killian mostly just humming and guiding her along with the right questions. Maybe she feels like she can figure anything out when he is there to watch her do it. That makes it sound less silly.

“So would you like to look up names with certain meanings?”

“Maybe. Although I don’t really feel like naming our daughter Lucasta.”

“Are we big enough fans of Lovelace for that?”

He says it so seriously, brows furrowing in contemplation. She can’t help but laugh. She swears she has laughed more since she met Killian Jones than in all the years that came before. It makes perfect sense to her.

“I don’t know, my love, you’re the resident bookworm. But I don’t really like Lucasta. I just looked up names meaning “light”.”

“Light. That’s quite lovely, Swan.”

She shrugs as she feels her cheeks heat up a little. She just googled it, it’s not like she knows stuff like that. Killian probably knows stuff like that but—

“But I thought maybe…”

“Maybe?”

“Well, this is really all up to you, since I can’t be of any help whatsoever in that department—“

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No, I really can’t, I’m not being modest or some bullshit like that.”

Killian has finally taken his damn sauce off the stove. He comes up behind her and his teeth sink lightly into her shoulder, so tender she almost doesn’t realize the bite is meant to be an admonishment.

“What happened to that swear jar?”

“I said “bloody” should count as a swear.”

“Ah, right.”

She tilts her head back and sticks her tongue out at him.

“Are you offering that to me, love?”

She sticks it out further and keeps it that way until he leans in and draws it into his own mouth. She licks lightly at the roof of his mouth, tickling him on purpose until he bites at her lip. She still doesn’t feel admonished though her neck is staring to ache a bit.

Killian pulls back first, leaving a series of kisses on her forehead – so innocent she would laugh, if she wasn’t worried that will make him stop.

“So what is this thing only I can do?”

“Oh.”

She draws her own lip under her teeth even as his mouth continues to press lightly now to the top of her head.

It’s— She didn’t realize how much she wanted it until it’s time to ask him. Shit, she really hopes he says yes. And she really hopes she can temper down her disappointment, if he says no.

“Do you have any… family names you might like us to use?”

Killian stops kissing her. That’s never a good thing in Emma’s books no matter the situation. He pulls back and turns her around carefully so he can see her face fully and she can see the perplexed way he is blinking at her. He might be floored, he might be upset. She really hopes for the former.

Her hand slides up his neck, her pointer finger fitting perfectly behind his right ear and stroking the lobe gently.

“Like… a grandmother… or your mom’s maybe?”

“You—“ Killian clears his throat, it sounds very businesslike to her but then his voice comes out a little breathless the way she has only heard it a few times. “You want to name her after my mother?”

“Only if you do.”

“Have I ever told you her name?”

Emma shakes her head. He has told her a lot of stories about Liam but very few with his mother or father present. Their little Christmas game is one of the few. She supposes those are a bit more painful. She doesn’t think he has ever mentioned their names.

Part of her wonders if he doesn’t want to tell her too many family stories that she can’t meet with any of her own. She should tell him she wants to hear more.

“Umm,” his tongue flits restlessly over his lips, a sure sign that he is a little nervous and she settles her other hand over his heart. “My grandmother’s name – my mother’s mother was Catriona. I think my father’s was Nora but I never met her and I can only remember him mentioning her a handful of times.”

She nods encouragingly and tries not to look too eager.

“My… my mother’s name was Alice.”

Alice.

He swallows and looks at her from under his lashes.

“Do you like it?”

His voice is so soft – a little uncertain, more than a little hopeful.

God, Emma wishes she could say that she wouldn’t have saddled her kid with some difficult, old-fashioned name but she is looking into the blue, blue eyes of the love of her life and she is just damn grateful her daughter lucked out with such a beautiful name.

“I love it.”

If she comes off a bit breathless and emotional – well, this is a pretty damn big moment. They just picked their kid’s name. She hopes.

“Truly?”

She really hopes the way Killian’s eyes are shining is a good sign. She nods.

“Can we? Please?”

“Bloody hell.”

His lips crash onto hers almost violently, almost like he couldn’t quite wait to determine the strength with which to drop his mouth on hers. She doesn’t mind. She doesn’t mind one bit. His beard really needs trimming though.

“Of course. Emma— Gods, of course, I— You truly wish to?”

“I may or may not be incapable of imagining giving her another name now.”

Killian groans in what is definitely approval and delight and a whole lot of other emotions. And then he kisses her again.

///

“Swan.”

She beams at him, her hands clasped behind her back and an unapologetically self-satisfied smile on her lips.

“This is not a little present, love.”

“Actually it’s pretty tiny. It fits in your palm.”

“You know it is not the size that matters.”

“Huh. I never thought you would need to use that phrase.”

“Swan.”

He doesn’t give so she sighs and sways closer, her eyes earnest and bright.

“You eye it every time we go to The Bookworm.”

“I eye yachts at the marina as well.”

“Yeah, well, those weren’t going to fit in my shoe box. I had to compromise.”

Honestly, if she could, she would’ve gotten him every yacht in the damn marina. If she could, she would get Killian Jones every single thing he could ever wish for. Unfortunately, she has to be content with what’s within her power to give him.

Killian sighs and gently sets the small book on the table before his hand and stump settle on her hips.

“Thank you,” he leans down, his nose brushing hers sweetly, reverently, before his lips press against hers – the skin of them rough and warm.

“Is it my turn?”

If her eyes shine with excitement and slight impatience now – sue her. No one has done anything like this for her.

She used to date a guy. A few years after Neal. She was wary at first, the way she was with every guy after Neal. But he kept calling her and he kept buying her flowers and then he started buying her lingerie and then jewelry.

Emma likes to think she is not a material person. There have been times in her life when she went hungry, there have been times when all she had were the clothes on her back. Emma is the kind of girl you can impress with a single flower and a cup of coffee, some seashells and a pair of gloves. But maybe that was exactly why the expensive presents seemed all the more fairytale-like, why they seemed to imply such strong feelings. If people who got you pizza and tickets to your favourite movie, cared for you, what could a man who bought you dozens of roses and gold bracelets feel?

Apparently, anxiety that you would find out he was married. Or maybe guilt over two-timing you and his wife. She didn’t stay long enough to find out.

Emma never cared for lavish gifts. And after that she became downright suspicious of them.

She was most certainly not suspicious of the gorgeous pair of earrings Killian got her for her last birthday and yet. She likes this better. All the small presents that he found for her that make so much sense – from the exclusive hot chocolate flavours and orange and cinnamon candle to the duckling socks and the Princess Bride bookmark – all the thought that obviously went not only into the presents but into their hiding places as well, seeing as she has yet to find one in under 19 minutes and 30 seconds.

“Aye, your turn.”

Killian takes a deep breath and she smiles at him in amusement. He is acting as if he is about to be scouring their apartment for half an hour. That’s her average time.

“Alright then.”

She looks around eagerly and heads for the small hallway.

“Warmer.”

Good. Three options then – bathroom, bedroom or their soon-not-to-be-spare bedroom. They’ve both used the bathroom already so she puts her hand on their bedroom door.

“Colder.”

Killian’s breath stirs the hair on the back of her neck and she feels the goosebumps erupt under her sweater.

Alice’s room it is then. She opens the door and feels Killian right behind her.

“Warmer,” they say in unison.

“Confident are we?” he teases but his voice sounds the tiniest bit uncertain and Emma grins – she can already taste her victory.

Killian’s record for gift-finding is a whooping 6 minutes and 46 seconds. She is sure he has put on the timer and she can’t be more than a couple of minutes in. She looks around the room and heads for the large window. She learnt not to rule out any place after she found one of her presents literally hanging among the drapes in the living room.

Pulling the ephemeral white curtain however reveals no secrets and Emma rolls her eyes at herself. Of course he wouldn’t use the same trick twice. She looks around again. There is the changing table folded in the corner, the crib whose assembling alone would’ve bankrupted them if they’d stuck to the rules of the swear jar.

She is just about to check it from all sides when the mobile above it catches her eye. Or rather the way it is slightly leaning to one side. Emma circles the crib and grins. There, in one of the small boats, is an even smaller box.

She can’t hold in her little whoop of triumph as she reaches out and relieves the boat of its cargo.

“I hope you set the timer because this was definitely less—“

Emma turns around, holding the box proudly.

“Oh.”

He probably didn’t set the timer. What with the kneeling and everything.

“Emma Swan—“

Killian’s voice comes out very hoarse and as he clears his throat, she feels her fingers clutch the velvet box so hard that it dents a little under them.

“I-I know this is far from a grandiose proposal. And, believe me, I have debated every way, place and time that I could do this so it will be… so it might at least come close to what you deserve.”

She bites her lip and tells herself to be quiet. Knowing Killian, he has most certainly thought way too much about what he will say and the last thing she wants to do is cut him short.

“But… nothing about us has ever been grandiose except… except how we feel… how much we… bloody hell.”

He swallows again and Emma lifts her free hand and actually bites on the side of her thumb in an attempt to stop herself from smiling like an idiot. If Killian’s relieved little laugh is anything to go by, she is probably not doing very well. He smiles right back at her and this time his voice comes out stronger and clearer.

“Emma, my darling, my love, I never could have imagined you. Even in my wildest dreams and hopes, I never could’ve conjured up anyone as brilliant, as passionate and beautiful and kind. And I would’ve never dared to.”

No, Emma would’ve never dared to imagine that she can have someone like him either. Someone who will look at her like that. Someone she can keep forever. Hers was not one of those lives.

“Having you in my life at all, having your friendship… changed everything for me. It brought me back to… It quite literally gave me new life. But you and only you would dare to take it so far, to take us both so far, that we end up here.”

He looks pointedly around the room and she can’t help the laugh that comes out or how watery it sounds.

“You have filled my poor old heart with more happiness than I thought it could handle and it is nothing but yours. It will never wish to be anything but yours. And I’m hoping – I would be so bold as to say I believe – yours would be willing to be mine just as long.”

She feels herself nod and she sees Killian smile up at her, though he is a bit blurry.

“Right. Well then… Emma Swan, would you fulfill our hearts’ desires? Would you, once again, take me further than I have ever thought it possible to go? Would you marry me?”

There’s no amount of wishing or fantasizing or watching movies or other people’s happiness unfolding that can ever prepare you for the moment when your whole world is one person and the whole world is yours.

Maybe hers is one of those lives. It’s so much better than she could have ever imagined.

Emma bends her knees slowly, Killian meeting her half way to help her kneel down easily. The permanent crease between his brows deepens – simply from concentration as he helps her but her thumb reaches for it on instinct, smooths it out, preparing the ground. In the next moment her forehead meets his and she exhales – loud and long, something between a laugh and a sob.

There’s a “yes” somewhere in there as well. She repeats it about a dozen more times just to be sure.

She has no clue who initiates the unceasing rain of kisses but somehow she manages to pull away. She has good reason. She really wants that ring on her finger. So she opens the box and she takes it out and she places it in his palm.

Killian grins at her and his lips are more kiss-swollen than she has seen them in a while, they are too dry and chapped from the winter winds at the docks and there is a little blood in the corner where the skin of his upper lip has split open under the pressure of her kisses. She leans over to kiss it away as softly as she can. Like the weirdo she is all she can think about is how symbolic it feels somehow.

“God, I love you so much.”

His eyes sparkle and his grin grows and he captures her mouth again and again – uncaring toward the tender skin unlike her.

“And I you.”

He pulls back and nudges the hand pressed to his chest with his stump as his own hand brings the ring between them again.

“Shall we see if this fits?”

It needs a bit of a push and Killian seems to hesitate for a second.

“A bit tight.”

“No, it will be perfect once I’m back to regular size.”

He huffs a little but laughs along with her and with a bit of encouragement pushes the ring all the way onto her finger. She looks down at it and can’t help the little flutter of pride, of possessive preening. And then—

“I can’t believe you gave me shit for an old book when you got me a diamond ring!”

Killian’s eyes go wide for a second – probably just as stunned as she is that that is what came into her mind right now – and then he bursts out laughing. He doesn’t stop until she cradles the back of his head and pulls his lips back to hers.

They stay there until their knees start to hurt. It’s only as Killian helps her up and she looks around that she becomes aware of the tear tracks on her face.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming at all.”

She can hear the awe in her own voice and Killian wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her in so he can kiss her forehead.

“It was alright, aye?”

She looks up at him in shock. There might be a bit of indignation there as well.

“Uh, no. No, it wasn’t “alright” – it was perfect.”

He grins proudly at her.

///

Emma doesn’t know if it’s the little kid inside her or if it’s the kid inside her that wakes her up bright and early on Christmas day. She can feel the early morning light on the back of her eyelids. She can use some more sleep. Maybe.

She runs her hand over her face and feels the press of cool metal. Her lips pull up. Or maybe she could get up and make her fiancé breakfast. The combination of his schedule and her own reluctance to leave their warm bed earlier than absolutely necessary rarely allow her such an opportunity.

But then she turns her head to the right and sees that once again Killian has made it out of bed before her.

“Damn.”

She will probably have to settle for being the recipient of breakfast in bed. Again. Hers is not an easy life. Emma stretches and grabs her phone, scrolling for a few minutes before she realizes how quiet it is in the apartment. Curiosity manages to overpower her innocent laziness and she drags herself out of bed.

Killian is nowhere to be found though. Bathroom, kitchen and baby room are all empty and quiet.

“Huh.”

Emma feels her daughter moving inside her and places her hands on her stomach, smiling down at her.

“What do you say, baby girl? Shall we make breakfast for when daddy comes back?”

She connects her phone to the little Bluetooth speaker on their kitchen counter and puts on her favourite playlist as she goes about making Killian’s favourite breakfast.

///

“Swan?”

“In the kitchen, my love.”

“The one time you were supposed to oversleep.”

Emma hears him mutter more to himself than her and quirks an eyebrow.

“Could you perhaps go into the bedroom for a spell?”

“I will but I’ll have you know I made French toast and eggs just the way you like them and you are being difficult.”

“You are an angel and I should like nothing better than to enjoy your efforts. In exactly five minutes.”

Emma rolls her eyes and leaves the prettily arranged – if she does say so herself – plates on the counter and heads toward their bedroom.

“I’d appreciate it, if you come and get me when I’m no longer under bedroom arrest.”

“Your wit is one of the things I love most about you, Swan.”

She snorts and grumbles but she doesn’t even think about peaking over her shoulder. Killian isn’t one for over the top surprises and he has yet to pull one that she has not loved so Emma plops down on their bed with a little smile and a healthy dose of excitement fluttering inside.

Less than five minutes later there is a gentle knock on their door and she resists the urge to roll her eyes at it.

Killian pokes his head inside and beams happily at her.

“Good morning, my wife-to-be.”

She closes her eyes and leans her head back, humming in undisguised pleasure.

“Oh, I do like the sound of that.”

She gasps in surprise when she feels his lips on her throat.

“Sneaky,” she breathes out and feels his laugh against her skin.

“Just a spot of payback for all those times you’ve snuck up on me.”

“I haven’t been sneaking up on you nearly as much recently.”

“Well, you are a wee bit bigger now.”

Her eyes pop open. Her gasp is laughably dramatic, the slap to his shoulder is very much for real.

Killian grunts and chuckles, catching her hand so he can bring it to his lips.

“My apologies. Perhaps you will accept your Christmas gift as penance?”

“My Christmas gift?”

“Aye,” his eyes sparkle with excitement but all she can do is gape at him.

“What do you call this?”

She waves her hand in his face almost aggressively.

“I call it an engagement ring, Swan.”

“Yeah,” she nods. “And a pretty solid gift.”

Killian shakes his head resolutely.

“No, no, no. That is a completely separate affair. I am rather offended you thought I was going to use our engagement to kill two occasions with one gift.”

“One? You’ve been buying me gifts all week.”

“So have you.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Are you trying to say that you do not wish to see your gift?”

“No. I’m just saying… you’re showing me up.”

“Nonsense. You have given me the best present by accepting to wear this,” his thumb strokes slowly over the ring on her finger. “And you made French toast.”

She rolls her eyes and uses his shoulders to push herself up.

“Come on, smartass. I want my present.”

“There’s my girl.”

///

Emma is kneeling on her daughter’s bedroom floor for the second time in the last 12 hours. Her palms run over the smooth wood – rich and dark with a gorgeous red tint to it. Maybe it’s cherry. It swoops beautifully, the chair legs turning into arm rests or maybe the other way around – it all flows so smoothly. Forming the shapes of two swans – supporting, guarding the soft seat between them.

“Oh my god.”

She rocks it gently with her hand, not daring to sit down just yet.

That corner has stood empty the whole time they were arranging the room. Right beside the window. They always knew they wanted a rocking chair there, they just could not seem to find the one. And now it was here.

“Where on earth did you find it?”

She hears Killian move behind her. He kneels and spreads his legs, caging her between them. His arms come around her and his chin settles on her shoulder.

“I didn’t it.”

“What do you mean you didn’t?”

“I didn’t find it, Swan.”

His hand runs over the dip of her waist the way hers runs over the chair’s leg.

“Did you… make this?”

She twists around, her nose bumping his cheek. She feels the moisture and she’s not sure if it’s the emotions choking her or simply how wide her eyes are right now. His own blue eyes are warm in the morning light and his smile is both shy and a little sleepy and full of delight.

“I was given advice and directions from someone far more experienced. Did you know August’s father is a carpenter? Marco?”

“You talked to August?!”

He chuckles and looks down.

“Come now, love, I’m a grown man. I can be civil.”

“Sounds like you were more than civil.”

“Not to alarm you but I believe I got along with the old man better than with his son.”

She laughs lightly and shakes her head. When she looks up he is staring at her with a hint of trepidation.

“There are some imperfections, you’ll see. Marco was rather kind, said they give it character but—“

“Killian, it’s… God, I sound like a broken record but it is perfect. I can’t believe you made me a rocking chair.”

“Now, Swan, let’s not be greedy. I made us a rocking chair.”

She shakes her head again and turns further in his loose embrace.

“Thank you.”

She kisses him – quick and sweet and so happy. She never knew she could be this happy.

“Shall we test it out then?”

Killian gets up and gives her a hand then he turns and drops into the chair, letting it rock him for a moment until the motion slows down. Then he gives her hand a tug and pulls her into his lap, her legs thrown over one swan armrest and the rocking motion starts anew.

“Hmm, it’s like we’re at sea.”

“Do you think she likes it?” he asks softly, his hand settling over her baby bump.

“Mhm. We’ll make a sailor out of her.”

“I have just the boat in mind.”

She snuggles further into the softness and warmth of him.

“My French toast is getting cold, Swan.”

“Just a minute.”

He hums in slight protest but his arms only tighten around her.

///

The morning slips into an unseasonably sunny day and after bundling up (or rather bundling each other up – Killian insisting she wear gloves and Emma wrapping him up in the scarf and hat she gave him their first Christmas together) they venture outside despite the chill in the air.

Emma has never been afraid of awkward silences. Aging out of the system comes with a whole lot of waiting around in hallways and offices, in bare bedrooms that she was moving into or moving out of, on lumpy sofas or in the back of cars. New families meant awkward silences, new schools meant small talk that inevitably lapsed into awkward silences, social workers meant questions that made you long for awkward silences and new group homes meant a very specific kind of silence – the silence that underlines too much noise that you are not a part of.

By the time she was “out in the world”, she was used to awkward silences and she preferred them to intrusive questions or insincere niceties.

But the concept of comfortable silences was more or less completely foreign to Emma before she met Killian Jones. To her people fell into 3 categories – ones that wanted to talk about themselves, ones that wanted to make her talk so then they could talk about themselves and ones that were silent and she did not see the point of hanging around to be silent with.

Killian doesn’t like talking about himself too much. Yet, he wants her to know him and she wants to know him and Emma can always tell when he just naturally starts telling her something personal without even realizing it and when he is consciously making an effort to let her in. She likes to think that it’s been more of the former recently. He doesn’t try to make her talk either, but when she starts, he doesn’t wait for his turn in the conversation – he sits and listens.

But it’s the silences that get to Emma the most sometimes. Because when Killian doesn’t seem to have anything in particular to say to her, he is perfectly content to just walk beside her or read his book with her half on top of him and just… be. And Emma is perfectly content as well – with him, together, silent or not, whenever, wherever.

It took her awhile to realize this is what people mean by comfortable silences, that this is what it feels like to want to be with someone even when you’re not really doing or saying anything. When you are just holding hands and wandering down the street, looking at closed shops and people carrying presents under their arms and others walking their dogs and yet others – good god why – jogging on Christmas day, walking to the same slow rhythm and swinging your hands between you just because and looking at each other from time to time and letting your breaths mingle and that’s that.

And it’s lovely. They’ve been walking in perfect silence for over half an hour and it’s just… lovely.

And then he is licking his lips.

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“That thing you do with your tongue.”

His eyebrow reaches the edge of his beanie and his grin is overly smug.

“That’s not what you usually say.”

She doesn’t even spare the second to roll her eyes.

“I’m serious. It’s freezing, you shouldn’t lick your lips. That’s why they get chapped and split.”

Killian takes more than a second to roll his eyes at her.

“Are you saying you don’t like kissing me anymore, Swan?”

“I’m saying the exact opposite,” Killian huffs a little but when she wraps her hands around his arm, he pulls her a little closer. “I’m saying I want to kiss you all the time and I’d like to not cause you pain when I do.”

“Never,” he turns around and kisses her cheek to prove his point.

She kisses his split lip to prove hers. It hasn’t had the chance to heal, they’ve probably had too many occasions that required a whole lot of kissing. Like him winning all the “best Christmas present” awards, which—

“Let’s head home. You still have to open your present.”

///

“You are not excited to open your present.”

He shakes his head and she can see the amused little smile in the corner of his mouth.

“I’m excited about all Christmas traditions with you, darling. I simply have more self-control than a young lad and it’s time for lunch.”

“Yup, I’ll definitely get to be the fun parent.”

She thinks it is quite possible she fell irrevocably in love with Killian Jones when she first heard him laugh. But she is absolutely positive she has been falling further every time since.

“I have no problem with that, Swan. But you should really start your grilled cheese now, if you want it to be ready when the soup is.”

She mock salutes him and goes to take the cheese and butter out of the fridge. So they cook and eat and wash and dry the dishes and, deciding to play hard to get with Killian Jones for the first time in her life, Emma starts taking out cookies for desert afterwards.

The cookies, much to Killian’s chagrin, are so hard they can only be eaten with milk. This is fine by Emma. She arranges the slightly burnt and very misshapen stars and swans and Christmas trees on a plate and waits for the milk to warm up, all the while feeling her fiancé’s eyes on her.

If he is on to her game, he is not yet willing to say anything.

But when she hands him a mug and settles comfortably on the couch with her own drink and cookies and her computer in her lap, Killian finally seems to run out of that I’m-not-a-child-on-Christmas patience.

“Swan?” his chin fits perfectly between her shoulder and her neck, watching her browse the Spotify Christmas playlists.

Her only response is a deliberately distracted little hum. She can’t see if he rolls his eyes at her but she feels his nose skip over her bare skin before his lips press lightly.

“Can I have my present now?”

“Oh? Don’t you want to wait until New Year’s?”

He sighs and lays his head fully on her shoulder, his soft hair tickling her chin and her neck. She almost feels bad. She supposes that Killian’s exasperating patience and unconcern with his own presents has less to do with his age and more to do with him still being very out of practice with receiving any. Not that she has that much experience either. Which definitely shows in her mediocre presents. Dammit. She really shouldn’t have built this up.

She turns her head and buries her nose in his greying hair, inhaling the scent of his peppermint shampoo and sighing deeply. Killian doesn’t care how good or bad she is at buying and hiding presents. She repeats that to herself a couple of times before she gets up.

When she comes back, Killian has taken over two and a half of the three cushions and has a cookie stuffed in his mouth as he scrolls through her playlists, and Emma feels the tension between her shoulder blades release a bit. The way his eyes widen when he sees the rather large box in her hands helps as well. Or not.

“Ok, don’t get excited,” she warns way more sternly than she intended before she lowers herself onto the floor.

Killian follows suit so that the box rests between them and he is definitely curious at least. Nervous insects taking up residence with their baby aside, she doesn’t mind the way his eyes sparkle at her.

“So you know how men get their girlfriend lingerie and pretend it’s not a present for themselves?”

“I cannot deny that part of me would be flattered, if you got me a box full of lingerie but—“

“That’s not—“ she rolls her eyes and tries to give him a look but she still has to let him open this so it’s probably more nervous than reprimanding. “I mean that it’s kinda a present for me. I mean, it’s for both of us but I—“

“Emma.”

He grabs the hand that she is waving around way too much and smiles at her and—

She reaches over and runs her thumb over his bottom lip.

“Open it.”

Killian’s eyebrows furrow in confusion but he dutifully opens his mouth and her laughter is so loud compared to the soft Christmas song coming from the speakers.

“The box, Killian.”

It might be the quickest she has ever seen him blush. He ducks his head and lifts the simple lid to reveal all the other boxes inside.

“Ok, so this,” she reaches for the smallest one and shakes out the lip balm. “Is for your lips. It has no colour but it’s pomegranate flavor so you’ll like it.”

She doesn’t really look up to see his reaction, just powers on and grabs the next box.

“Since we definitely don’t have space for a dishwasher in that kitchen, hand cream it is. Mine is rosewater and yours is cucumber but we can totally exchange if you want. OK, on to the serious stuff.”

She keeps shoving boxes in his hand and sharing the information she spent more than a week accumulation. Unisex body lotions, a series of bath products that are supposed to help with loose skin – post her pregnancy, and sore muscles – post Killian’s every work day, an oil that is good for both old and new burns – and Killian keeps acquiring those in the kitchen, sunscreen with the highest factor and special protection against salt water, capsaicin cream and gel meant to help alleviate phantom pains, creams and lotions for her stretch marks, and a series of other ointments recommended for deep scars or muscle strains.

She is about to move on to the rolls and massagers when she looks up. Killian’s jaw seems a bit more slack than usual.

“Too much? Too girly?”

He doesn’t laugh, he shakes his head and pulls her into a kiss. She shoves the boxes to the side so she can move closer.

“Not at all. I hope that strawberry and vanilla one is for me,” he says against her lips and she laughs and nods.

“Whatever you want, my love.”

Before Killian, there were only a handful of times when Emma entertained the idea of a serious relationship with an actual living and breathing human, but there were plenty – especially when she found herself in a particularly dreary apartment or her neighbours were a particularly cute couple – when she hypothetically wondered what being in a comminuted, full-time relationship will be like. To be quite honest, her mind also strayed that way when she got particularly lazy in the winter and stopped shaving for a month or two or when she woke up in the middle of the night with a little bloodstain on her bedsheets.

Overall, she gave a thought or two to how exhausting being in a full-time relationship might be – having to always be in a state in which you wouldn’t mind your significant other seeing you in, having to reign in your less than charming or downright disgusting habits.

And she honestly has no clue if people keep worrying about all that once they are in a relationship but frankly, now – there is no state in which she would mind Killian seeing her. No, when she thought “Shit. Pregnancy stretch marks.” her following thought was “Oh, I’ll get Killian to give me massages.”

And Killian – Killian was all about lights off, clothes on, “no, it’s fine”, “let me spend an hour between your legs but oh, no, you don’t have to” at first.

Now – she has to remind him of the benefits of sleep pants every other month and when he pulls a muscle at the docks, he doesn’t wait for her to offer him a massage so much as he butts his head into her arm or thigh like an over-eager puppy until she gives him her full attention. And she is far from displeased when—

“I do have a question though,” Killian picks up a bottle of body milk with aloe. “How is this at all similar to purchasing lingerie?”

She grins and turns her head to nibble lightly on his ear.

“Well… I don’t mean to underestimate you but these things are much easier to use with two hands.”

“Indeed.”

“So you might require assistance.”

“Emma, love… did you get me an outrageous amount of skin care products just so… you can regularly get your hands on me.”

He looks both shocked and so absolutely delighted by the prospect that Emma can literally feel her whole body sputtering in confusion, unsure whether she should blush or laugh or scoff or—

She buries her head in his chest and pulls the ends of his cardigan closer to hide herself. Killian folds her further into his arms and whispers silly things like how much he loves her.

She pulls back eventually, smoothing her hair away from her face and trying for a serious tone.

“Let’s get one thing straight though – I fully expect you to reciprocate.”

“Swan, have I ever been opposed to—“

“No, but this is not gonna be like… fun times. There will be like two months of no fun times. And you gotta help me do post-pregnancy damage control. While we take care of a baby.”

Killian smiles at her – lovingly and way too serenely in her opinion.

“I’ve… God, this is so stupid and vain and just— I’ve just really enjoyed being your young and pretty girlfriend, ok?”

His eyes are very blue. Also very wide, unnaturally wide.

“First, the word “pretty” is an insult to your radian beauty.”

She snorts and she blushes and yeah. This is her life now. Her husband-to-be says stuff like this.

“Second, you will always be my young and much-more-than-merely-pretty girlfriend and no marks of aging or stretching or anything could ever diminish that. Least of all ones that result from you giving birth to our daughter. And, bloody hell, if you worry about that, how am I supposed to feel?”

Her hand makes it under two layers of clothing for the delight that is Killian’s bare skin under her fingertips and she leans down to kiss his neck.

“You’re supposed to feel very good and very much like trying a few of these out with that woman who is constantly looking for reasons to get her hands on you.”

“She is a pain.”

She pinches his side.

“Ah-ah! But I supposed I should oblige her.”

“You’re such a gentleman.”

“I’m getting the strawberry and vanilla.”

Killian unearths the desired bottle from the pile beside them and helps her to her feet.

“You do realize I’m the worst massage partner one can have, yes?” he asks even as he tugs her toward their bedroom and Emma just frowns up at him in a mix of confusion and offense. “I have just the one very rough hand.”

He slips said hand below the stretchy waistband of her sweatpants and Emma feels anything but deterred.

“For the sake of honesty, I admit nobody else has given me a massage.”

Killian was rather outraged when he first found that out even though it works both ways.

“But, also for the sake of honesty,” she attacks his buttons with a speed that might be unbecoming for a pregnant woman but Emma really can’t bring herself to care. “I should say I’m perfectly satisfied with the arrangement.”

For what it’s worth, Killian doesn’t seem to find anything about her unbecoming as he assists her with the express undressing.

“Not yet. But you will be if I have anything to say about it.”

For the sake of honesty, she should add that nobody has ever touched her as softly as Killian does, as carefully, deliberately, reverently – his hand fitting perfectly around her ankle, along her calves and thighs and in the dip of her spine.

For the sake of honesty, she should add that the only thing she loves more than Killian’s hand on her is her hands on him – running the expanse of his shoulders, connecting all the little dots and marks on his back like a treasure map, her thumbs fitting perfectly in the dimples on his low back as her palms fit over his ass.

For the sake of honesty, she should add that she has never been more certain than she is in the golden afternoon light, with Killian spread out on their bed and their bedroom smelling of strawberry and vanilla, with her ring turning round and round – slippery from all the lotion on her hands, and her daughter making her presence known inside her – she has never been more certain that hers is not one of those lives she longed for and knew she should never have.

It's better.

#csjj #cs january joy #captain swan #cs ff #captain swan fanfiction #nots

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